DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING!

A/N: This story is an almost-redux of my Justified fic "Finally Free." It stars the same OC anyway. This is also my first foray into Supernatural, so please be kind. The fic is set in Season 2 of Supernatural, right after the events of "Playthings," and Season 3 of Justified in general. Hope you enjoy!

Raylan and Tim were at their respective desks filing some long overdue paperwork when Art summoned them into his office. They exchanged looks. Raylan wondered what he'd done this time. Tim knew he hadn't personally done anything to warrant Art's wrath and hoped he wasn't being dragged into one of his colleague's messes. Almost at the same time, they slid their chairs back and walked toward Art's door. Raylan dropped into his usual seat in front of Art's desk. Tim remained standing, leaning against the doorframe.

"Gentlemen, we've got a manhunt, times two," said Art by way of a greeting.

"Let me guess," said Raylan. "Wynn Duffy and Robert Quarles?"

Art shook his head. "Pair of grifters from someplace out west by the names of Sam and Dean Winchester. They're wanted for credit card fraud, impersonating law enforcement officers, arson, and tampering with a crime scene, amongst other things. Multiple states."

Tim repeated the crimes, ticking them off on his fingers. "Didn't think any of those were our jurisdiction."

"Yeah, well, this part is," Art said darkly. "Dean, the older one, he's gotta federal warrant outta Missouri for multiple homicides. All young women. Strange thing is St. Louis PD swears they shot 'n killed him."

Raylan frowned curiously. "Maybe they missed?"

Art shrugged. "I guess it's possible, though Missouri tells me otherwise. What they say he did to those girls, I woulda made damn sure he was dead."

"Shit," muttered Raylan. He'd gone after murderers before, but a serial killer was a new one. He supposed Tommy Bucks had been a serial killer, though not in the classic psycho-killing-random-strangers-for-the-hell-of-it sense.

"These two, their particular con is playing psychic." Art went on. Tim and Raylan both raised their eyebrows at this. "They were down in Richmond last week lookin' for ghosts or some such over at EKU. Used one of their phony cards to buy gas. A passerby recognized Dean from the CNN coverage and called in a tip, but they split before KSP could get to 'em."

"And that's where we come in?" Raylan guessed.

"Yeah. I just got a call from the chief out of New Jersey's south district," Art explained. "They've got tips from reliable sources that Dean could be headed into that neck of the woods. They want me to send someone up there to help track these two so we can extradite. These guys are smart. Been on the run for almost a year. It's got legs. And at least one of 'em is considered armed and dangerous. For safety's sake, I'm sendin' Tim with ya."

Raylan didn't protest. Tim was an okay kid and remarkably tolerant of the older Marshal's shenanigans. Art passed them each a copy of Dean Winchester's mugshot bulletin and an envelope containing their per diem for the road. Tim offered to take the first shift driving. Raylan welcomed the opportunity to catch up on some much-needed sleep. Once they were in the car, Raylan reclined the seat and tipped his hat over his eyes. He'd just dozed off when the car stopped. Raylan watched through half-lidded eyes as Tim came out of a mini-mart carrying a slush drink and two large plastic bags.

Raylan's curiosity was piqued when his partner set the bags on the console. He started to dig through them while Tim was pumping gas. He discovered a family-size bag of Ruffles, at least 5 XL Snickers bars, various Little Debbie snack cakes, string cheese, Goldfish crackers, and Kellogg's cereal bars. After the pump turned itself off, Tim got into the car. He was precariously balancing his slushie and two microwave ham-and-cheese sandwiches wrapped in napkins. He was already midway through a third. He set the others on the dashboard.

"You sure you got enough provisions for the mission?" asked Raylan, looking slightly amused by the sheer amount of groceries. "If ya wanna run inside again, Tim, I think you mighta left behind that big rack of chips by the door."

"You're the one always bitchin' about how I act when I don't eat," said Tim.

"And for good reason," added Raylan. "You're like a scarier version of that goddamn Snickers commercial. You know, the one where the fella's at the party an' he turns into Joe Pesci?"

Tim motioned at the grocery bags. "Would you rather I go lookin' for a drive-through every couple hours?" he asked, crumpling up the napkin.

Raylan cocked an eyebrow. He wasn't sure even newborn babies ate that much. "How'd you ever make it through Ranger School?"

Tim, now unwrapping a Snickers, shrugged. "Eh, mind-over-matter stuff to take the worst of the edge off. But that don't work when I know there's a McDonald's every 50 yards."

Raylan could see how that made sense.

"You wanna grab anything?" Tim asked, gesturing to the store. "I prob'ly ain't gonna stop again for awhile."

"Just a nap," said Raylan, pulling his hat down over his eyes again.

Tim drove them to I-65 and started heading east. He didn't turn on the radio out of respect for his partner. Raylan was dozing in the passenger seat but could roughly gauge how long they'd been in the car by the intervals at which he heard Tim munching away on something. Tim had enough energy for both of them. He only stopped at two rest areas and made it all the way to Annapolis, Maryland before deciding to call it a night. The Marshals grabbed some bad road food before retiring to a motel.

The next morning, Raylan made an executive decision as senior Marshal that was highly unpopular with Tim. They were to hit the road without breakfast and continue on to their destination.

In the meantime, elsewhere in the country, Sam took a last look at the Pierpont Inn. It was really a pretty old building now that the malevolent spirit of Maggie was gone. Too bad it would probably be knocked down to build a mall or something. The adrenaline from rescuing little Tyler was starting to wear off. Sam wanted to just take a nap although it wasn't even 10 in the morning. Definitely not in the mood for another "Please kill me if I go to the Dark Side" argument with Dean, but they had one anyway.

Once Dean started the car, he abruptly changed the subject. "All right, Sammy, first thing we're gonna do is find someplace for you to change outta those wet clothes. I just replaced these seats and you're not gonna ruin the leather."

Sam had no objection to that; he was starting to shiver.

"And then we're gonna find you a clinic or something," Dean continued as he pulled out of the driveway. "That little dip you took probably wasn't good for your cast."

Sam nodded tiredly. That was probably a good idea. He wasn't currently feeling any pain from trying to break the poolroom window with his cast, but that didn't mean he wouldn't later. Dean stopped at the first gas station they came to and asked for the key to the men's room, only to be told that the bathrooms were for employees only. The manager refused to bend the rules even a little. Dean finally guilted the guy into changing his mind by telling him that Sam had just rescued a little girl from drowning and was a hero.

After Sam put on dry clothes, Dean got directions to the nearest urgent care center. He stared at the pile of unappealing, ancient magazines on the tables while Sam signed himself in. It wasn't long before the nurse took Sam into the back of the clinic, leaving Dean alone to find some way to amuse himself. He was just about ready to go crazy from boredom when his phone rang. It was Ellen.

"Got another job for you boys," she said.

"I'm listening." said Dean.