Chapter Two:
The Morning After

Summary: Being a fan isn't always easy. Meeting the object of your desire isn't all that it's hyped up to be, either. The Winchesters are certainly no exception, in any case, whatsoever. A woman must find her way back home, and endure the drama and heartbreak of the Winchester's lives. No pairings for now.

Notes: To answer a reviewer's question, things will begin to click into place. Don't want to ruin the reveal ahead of time!

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"Good morning, nightmare!"
— Ljupka Cvetanova, "The New Land"

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The early light of the morning drew Shay out of her sleep, along with the grey haziness of the early hours. Everything above her shoulders was tight and throbbed from stress and stiffness. Everything below her waist ached from her uncomfortable choice place to sleep. Shay fumbled in her bag for her medication and once she downed it, she tried finding a more comfortable position on the couch to wait it out.

Not long after, she heard one of the Winchesters rouse themselves from sleep and get up. She kept her eyes shut; one arm flopped across her eyes. She lay there, listening to the morning rituals conducted, much of it taking place in the bathroom. Soon, the other woke as well, and by the time both had a bit of wakefulness energizing them, Shay stirred. The throbbing in her head was little more than a very faint pressure now. Her back was also feeling leagues better than when she woke as well. The miniscule stretches she'd been doing in the meantime had also lessened the pain.

She went through familiar motions: stretching to limber up a bit and loosen her tight muscles; taking Kosmo out to conduct his doggy bathroom business; returning to change out of her grubby clothing she'd been wearing for more than two days. Sam greeted her when she exited the bathroom and she nodded to him and gave a little wave.

"So, what now? What's the game plan here?" Shay inquired once she was sure that both Winchesters were undoubtedly awake and ready for approach.

"We find out if the cops really found your missing key, and if so, who did and where they took it."

"Hooraaaay. A scavenger hunt. That is absolutely what we needed, hands down. Anyone got it on their bingo cards?"

"Not necessarily," Sam responded, interjecting quickly to keep Dean from answering. "See, if we find out who the officers on the scene were, we might be able to trace back to who handled evidence from your bag—"

"Then chances are we'll run into the individual who stashed away a seemingly expensive piece of art that could be sold off on the downlow." Shay responded flatly.

"Exactly," Sam nodded.

Shay drew in a breath, slow and steady and purposeful, before letting it expel just as gradually.

"What should I do, in the meantime? I'm not the one who has the fake FBI badges. I can't just walk in there and demand to search for the key myself."

That revelation broiled her from the inside out. This was her mess. She should have been the one to repair the damage, to recover the key herself. Not being about to do anything to help…she was worse than useless!

"We'll figure out how things should go down and when we do, we can send you back to where you came from," Dean answered without hesitation. Shay felt small under his intense gaze. She broke eye contact first, shoulders hiking upwards in a futile attempt at shielding herself from his gaze.

"I don't want to sit here and not do something about the mess I made."

"It's not your mess. I mean…not really. You couldn't have known about any of this. And you're not one of those movie-set people, are you?"

"…no. I have nothing to do with the show that's based on your lives," Shay answered grudgingly. It only reminded her of the fact that the show had ended years ago. How she could only stomach watching the series finale once. How much she had cried her eyes out after everything. It all came crashing down on her, reigniting her worst fears and queasiness all at once.

"Then do us a favour and quit it with the pity party, all right? It's not helping anyone. It is what it is, whether we like it or not." Dean said with gruff finality.

His words rattled about in Shay's head. There was hardly any relief to them, but the burden she thought she had to bear seemed to have lightened considerably from her shoulders. The Winchesters finished their daily ministrations, but before they left, Dean fumbled inside his pockets and pulled out a phone. He shot a look at it, before handing it off to Shay. She gripped it tight, taking it on automatic response before asking, "What is this?"

"Your phone's not working, I take it. We'll keep you posted on how things play out. Just stay here, don't go out anywhere, and we'll send you updates."

"What about food?"

Dean hesitated, sharing a brief look with Sam. He turned back to her. "You got any cash on you?"

"Some tuck back money," Shay admitted, brows beetling together. "Why?"

"There's a Biggerson's and Sip n' Gulp about a quarter mile down the road from here. Walk your dog, stretch your legs, get breakfast. We should be back in a few hours. Hopefully we'll have some more info when we come back."

Common sense drew her back before she could prod them any further, advising her to trust instinct instead. The more stubborn corners of her head balked at the idea of simply handing off the reins beyond her own control.

"Are you guys sure you don't want or-or…need me to come along?" Shay wanted to make sure she wasn't needed. Hated the idea that she couldn't help. Without realizing, she began twirling the rings on her fingers, and sucking on her tongue piercing.

Sam met her indecisive gaze, looking torn before he offered a dip of the head in response. "We'll handle things from here. If we do need your help, we'll let you know."

And just like that, Sam and Dean disappeared behind the motel door, the slam of it delivering a final blow that resonated within Shay.

Admittedly, for the first hour or so, she allowed her attentions to drift along with local television. It wasn't long before she turned back to her computer's scant access to the internet. She rummaged through what she could grab at, but it wasn't enough.

Sadly, Shay knew she was overwhelmingly out of her league, compared to either of the Winchesters.

She took Kosmo on a walk halfway through the morning, grabbing breakfast from the aforementioned Biggerson's, and a morning burger for Kosmo. She stopped by the gas station on the way back, nabbing a case of Blue Moon beer and a bottle opener.

I fucked up.

It was so much more than a common mantra that played on repeat in Shay's mind. She sipped at one of her beers, barely tasting it. The sour bile at the back of her throat was hard to wash down.

I fucked up so badly, it's sending ripples through the space-time continuum, and it's going to fuck everything up more than it already is—

Kosmo plopped his head in Shay's lap, sighing deeply. The motion startled her, and she sat there for several seconds, hands drawn up in the air. The moment passed and she settled, hands digging into his fur, getting at all the good spots. She drained the first bottle and paused before opening another.

"Thanks, buddy. Sorry I've been so cranky and crazy for the last couple days," she murmured softly to her dog, leaning down to plant a soft kiss atop his head. "I'll try to contain the crazy for the time being, okay? I might need some help, though. Can you help me do that?"

He groaned back softly in response. She smiled softly, scratching Kosmo behind an ear. He leaned into her hand. "Good enough for me, bud. Thanks."

Television was much the same. There were morning talk-show hosts complaining about the political climate and societal problems. News cycles that rolled through the mundane tidbits before turning over to feel-good puff pieces that disguised the veil of surprisingly disgusting stories beneath their saccharine-sweet wordings. A soap opera that wasn't Days of Our Lives played itself out. A rerun of an old Baywatch episode drawled away.

Shay eventually settled on an old rerun of Prince of Bel-Air instead, but she barely paid attention to Will Smith's over-the-top antics with his extended family and whatever guest-of-the-week that premiered. She vaguely remembered the episode and watching it as a child.

It was familiar. Comforting.

She liked the familiar. It soothed the raw, painfully exposed parts of her nerves. She could smile absently at Will offering well-timed sarcastic remarks to snap back at Carlton or Uncle Phil or an off-topic comment shot off by Hillary that drummed up canned audience laughter.

It was safe. Familiarity was safe. It gave her some manner of hope, however slim, that things would go right for once, and that she could make it back home scotch-free.

Kosmo's low, chest-deep growl gave her all the warning she got before the motel door broke open in a shower of wooden splinters.

She had no shame in ducking over the side of one of the twin queen mattresses, dragging Kosmo with her over the bed by the collar, and closer to her while shielding her eyes from harm.

When she dared to peek over the edge of the bed, she saw the figure of a man standing in the doorway. She could see the rise of his lean shoulders, the straightened posture he held himself with. Kosmo began barking like mad, staccato gunshots ringing in her ear with every boom. Her hands shook as she extracted the burner phone Dean had leant her, fingers dumbly striking at buttons in hurried vain to get to the list of contacts.

Her thumb smashed into a listing labeled as Dean's Other Other Phone and hit the send button. She hardly heard the first ring before she was yanked away, and she screamed. The man had taken that time to cross the motel room's threshold, coiling around the bed and with little effort, he smacked aside Kosmo with nary a care. Shay let out a strangled cry seeing her dog go flying, but hardly had time to call for him as she was lifted up by her throat. She heard Kosmo yelp but nothing further was uttered. Her terror was short-lived.

The hand clamped around her neck held her up off the ground with terrifying ease. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she struggled to draw breath. She could barely suck in sparing sips, nothing more. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

The face before her blurred between focus and fractals. She struggled to memorize telling features.

She could see a grin, white as snow, plastered on the man's face and the shine of malevolence in his bright eyes. That was all that stood out to her, aside from the dark suit he wore.

"I can smell them on you, I'll have you know. Not that hard to sniff out, mind."

"Who?" Shay wheezed out. She already knew the answer. A part of her just wanted to hear it out loud, a morbid confirmation.

"The Winchesters. I plan on drawing them out, and you? You're going to help me."

"Go t'hell," she strained past the iron grip clinching her throat shut, centimeter by centimeter. Shay pawed at the hand gripping her, legs weakly kicking out at the figure. Panic settled in quickly, as her fingers clawed in, trying to dig deep into the flesh she could grab at.

She saw a hand go up in the blur of things, wagging back and forth as he tsked her.

"Come now. I won't have that vulgarity be the last from you. If you cooperate, I promise to devour you in a quick fashion, let you hardly suffer."

Any number of monsters or gods of legend could devour her. There were simply too many to pick and choose from. The tears welling up broke free and pushed down her cheeks. The grip on her throat tightened marginally. Spots danced across her vision.

"Suck my dick, ass wipe. When Dean and Sam catch up, they're going to fuck you up."

Every word burned in her throat, every syllable struggling past clenched pressure that was applied around her neck. Blackness fringed along the edges of her vision before evolving into dark spots that grew rapidly. Before long, they consumed much of her field of vision.

She passed out from the lack of oxygen that struggled to cycle through her lungs and body. The last glimpse she saw before blacking out was the crescent of teeth flashing a wide, bright smile at her.

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The room was a wreck. The door was broken down into cheap wooden shards all over the place. One of the beds was flipped over completely.

Kosmo was lying up against one of the walls, and they could hear him softly whimpering. The wall itself was cracked, plaster dusting the cheap polyester carpet floor like snow. The dog struggled to sit up and only succeeded in collapsing to the ground. Sam stepped over the tossed mattress and frame to get to him, gently checking on him while Dean scoured the room for other signs of Shay. Instead, he found one of the phones he'd leant her, the plastic casing completely crushed.

"Damn it."

"This is bad."

"Ya think?" Dean shot back. "Shay's gone. The cop's gone. And we're no closer to finding that damn key to send her back home."

The call made to his phone earlier was still cycling through his head. It hadn't even begun before it had ended. As soon as he'd picked up, Dean could hear the struggle going on in the background. Shay's voice, almost distant and whispered, telling someone to fuck off, before silence hit the speakers. That was before the voice came on.

Low, smooth, confident. Dean's Douchebag Radar was going off like an alarm bell, loud and obnoxious.

"Winchester, I presume."

"Yeah, who's asking?"

"My name's Reginald. I have something you want. And you have something I want."

"Can't imagine I have anything you'd want, other than a rump roast and some ribs."

"Well, there is that. Although they wouldn't taste all that good without some additional…seasonings added."

"How about you do me a favour and cut the chase, Reggie? I don't have time for this crap."

A small huff. "I can see where this young lady grew to develop such a vulgar vocabulary. Very well. If you want this little snack to be left unharmed, find me that coveted gateway key and bring it to me."

"And where is that, exactly? Got a meet up location?"

Reggie's laugh on the other line sent a shudder of disgust down Dean's spine as he committed the address to memory.

"Be there by nine tonight, or…I'll eat the girl. Then I'll eat you two for your incompetence. After that, I'll simply snatch up the key anyway. I'm sure Roman will be pleased to know I've brought to him an untapped resource of boundless food."

The line went dead before Dean could glean anything else. He turned his attentions on Sam, who was hauling up Kosmo into his arms.

"Leviathan."

Sam huffed. "Of course, it's a Leviathan. Why wouldn't it be?"

Kosmo whimpered in Sam's arms. Sam gave the dog a quick once-over before meeting Dean's gaze. "We have to get him to the vet. We can leave him there so he can get some help, find the key."

"Save the girl?" Dean finished.

"Pretty much." Sam finished with a bob of the head in agreement.

They gathered up the rest of their things, quick and efficient, and left in a hurry. They didn't bother to properly check out. It wasn't their first time leaving a place in a rush.

The local vet wasn't too far from the motel. By the time Dean was slowing the Charger to an agonizing crawl in the parking lot, Sam was already rushing out, Kosmo bundled in his arms, and the first-story building swallowed him up. The minutes ticked by, but it was the seconds that agitated Dean to no end.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

He could suddenly relate to Captain Hook and his hatred for clocks.

It was an eternity later by the time Sam emerged from the vet building. Relief was clearly painted on his face as he swung himself back into the Charger and closed the passenger door behind him.

"What's the verdict?"

"Not sure. They'll give me a call as soon as they have a full assessment of things. Shouldn't be too long. No visible wounds or broken bones that they could tell from a quick exam, so they're hopeful he's just stunned and nothing more."

"Good. In the meantime, let's switch things up. What did we miss from the station? Hennig was the officer assigned to detailing Shay's stuff. Why did the key go missing if she dropped it into her pack?"

"Who was the arresting officer, again?" Sam fired back as Dean whipped out of the parking lot faster than a bat out of hell.

"Mendenhall. One of the guys we first spoke with at the station." The rising pitch of the engine soothed his frazzled nerves. Reminded him of the here and now. Grounded him. It wasn't his baby, but it did well enough in a pinch.

Dean found a mostly empty parking lot and then the two of them delved into the facts.

Officer Hennig was missing still. The arresting officer, Officer Mendenhall, was had been too busy to bother with them their first visit to the department. And now, this. A Leviathan in town.

That was never a good thing, having even just one of them sniffing about. And "an untapped resource of boundless food"? The glaring implications of that was beginning to piece themselves together. If those big-mouthed bastards wiped this world clean, they could simply hop over somewhere else and begin anew with that key.

It only made Dean more paranoid the longer he thought on it. What if the cops he and Sam had encountered were already copied over by Leviathans? How much did they know about this entire situation? Did they already have this phoenix key thing, or were they still searching for it, same as the Winchesters?

All valid questions that had no clear answers yet.

Too many loose ends.

"Mendenhall it is, then."

White Pine Police Department wasn't long before it was in their sights. Dean and Sam marched their way through, flashing their fake IDs the entire way, even while still in their civilian clothing. When they finally located Mendenhall, he was knee-deep in an interrogation and paperwork, same as he had been when they first attempted to speak to him. It was a fight to peel him away from it all and draw him out toward his previous case.

"What can I do you for, agents," he asked, not even bothering to mask his sneer and annoyance.

"Your buddy Hennig is missing, and he was the officer who catalogued all of Rusty Shackleford's belongings. The major discrepancy? She claims something important was missing from her stuff. Family heirloom of hers. Some kind of key with a bird on it."

Mendenhall could only scowl, his aggravation clearer than ever. "Look, I heard what Office Greene had already told you the first time when you came snooping about this morning. There was no such thing documented in that woman's belongings, even if she claims to have had it—"

Mendenhall didn't get a chance to finish his commentary. Dean pressed in close, invading the officer's personal space and refusing to back off. "Bullshit. Either you start being straight with us, or we'll tear this town apart to find that piece of evidence. We know for a fact that it was here, and now that it's missing, we're getting a little pissed off that we're not going to be able to close this case because you and yours are being stupid little fuckers."

There was a long period of silence that passed between Dean and Officer Mendenhall. Sam shuffled beside Dean, offering another presence of intensity and intimidation to the atmosphere. It wasn't hard, considering the man was much shorter than either Dean or Sam. Mendenhall's eyes flitted between the two of them, his nervousness growing more apparent as the seconds ticked on by.

He finally ducked his gaze, conceding defeat.

"…Hennig was going to fence it. He owed a loan shark a pretty hefty debt, but this thing that girl had—it would have paid that guy off and then some. Could have set us both up for life, twice over. We been in it together since we were both kids and stuck together since we joined the force and made it in through the academy. Why wouldn't we look out for one another?"

"How about the fact that the law doesn't give a damn about you and your little friendship club. You're screwing with someone's life right now."

"Where's Hennig?" Sam requested pointblank; his voice low, almost grating. Mendenhall shook his head, looking a shade or two paler.

"I don't know! I've been trying to contact him, and nothing's going through. We were supposed to fence the damn thing yesterday, but he…he never showed. I just figured he was trying to negotiate a better price. And he missed briefing this morning. I didn't think anything of it at first, but…" There was genuine panic flashing across his eyes. Officer Mendenhall hesitated, his facial features growing more apprehensive the longer he stalled. Eventually he broke, diverting his eyes to stare at the ground. "He's been talking about leaving for months now once his debts were cleared up, but I…oh, god. What if that loan shark sent his goons to bust him up?"

Mendenhall made a soft noise of displeasure in the back of his throat, eyes darting between the two of them in mild panic. Then his gaze hardened as he shot a look over his shoulder to the interrogation room he'd left.

"We all got our debts to pay off," Mendenhall rumbled softly. "Look, just…help me find him, make sure he's okay. I'll help get that thing back if you just…don't mention none of this to anyone. Please."

"Fine. Let's get going."

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