Chapter Six:
Hit The Road Jack

Disclaimer: I do not own the series Supernatural. Like, at all. It and all its respectable characters are © to Warner Bros. However, all writing contents and semi-plots here are © to me; unless it is stated otherwise. All shows/ books/ video games/ songs that are mentioned in this chapter are all © to their respective owners, I do not own them.

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.

Notes: Sorry for the delay. I recently had one of my cats pass away and it was emotionally draining. My fur-babies, alongside my actual babies, are very important to me. It wasn't easy to get past, as they'd been with me for over ten years. But I'm hoping posting this on my birthday is a decent enough gift for y'all!

"When stuck, hit the road."
—John Fante

There was an unusual surge of energy in the cabin. Shay could see the writing on the wall and packed up her things, long before either of the Winchesters said a word to her. She was braced for one of two things: she was to be left there in the cabin to her own devices, or they were going to take her with them. Nervous energy thrummed through her as she kept an especially sharp eye on Kosmo, who also picked up on the increased activity. Where else could she go, except either staying here or end up somewhere else of their choosing?

She hadn't bothered unpacking much to begin with. They've only been in the cabin for a scant few days, not even a full week. She'd cooked a few times, and they would leave no leftovers behind to go bad in the fridge. Both men had seen to that after every meal. And they had actually seemed to genuinely enjoy her cooking. That was an encouraging sign. Right?

Despite all that, Shay didn't expect to be taken with. She kept telling herself that she would most likely be left behind and that she should be braced for that. It began to make a strange sort of sense to her. She would only get in the way, take up valuable space in the car. Room that could be better used for someone else, someone more qualified, more accomplished.

"You ready?"

Shay was startled out of her thoughts and found Sam and Dean staring at her expectantly. She cleared her throat and found herself nodding along before the rest of her mind could comprehend what she was doing. Her stomach did a flip as she stood. She had been braced for the worst even when part of her had been hoping for the best.

She realized, seeing the two Winchesters standing by the door, looking at her, waiting…she wasn't ready to say goodbye just yet. She wanted to come with them, even when she knew what lay ahead of them. In spite of all that, however…she wanted to go with them. She wanted to stick by their sides. They were perhaps simultaneously the safest and most dangerous choice of company to stick around with. Shay glanced at Kosmo, who gazed up at her expectantly, grinning and thumping his tail happily on the scuffed hardwood flooring.

Shay found her lips twitching upwards as she gathered her bag, nodding decisively toward the Winchesters.

"Yep, I'm good to go."

Their trip was short-lived—shorter than Shay had anticipated. She had been expecting an hours' long trip to speed away from the state of Montana.

Instead, they pulled up into a plaza just off the highway and the Charger was parked off the side of the long building of shops. Doors swung open, with Sam nodding at her to get out as well. Confused, and admittedly curious, she followed with Kosmo on his lead.

Sam reached back inside and handed off her bag back to her. She took it and followed the two men with her eyes, brow growing more beetled with puzzlement by the second.

"Um, guys? What are we doing?"

"It's funny you should say that. We are working. You are not," Dean replied sharply back as he strolled toward the trunk and popped it open. Sam was already at his side, gathering up equipment. The both of them worked fluidly, without word or instruction to the other.

Shay's grip tightened around Kosmo's leash. She gave him a light tug and he followed as she shouldered her duffel bag more securely. Sam made room upon seeing her coming closer, and wordlessly handed off a bag of…something to her. Something heavy. She wasn't going to ask.

"You got it?" He asked, and she bristled at the doubt in his voice. His grip did not relent. She pulled away from him and he reluctantly let go at last.

"We switching cars or something?"

"Hey, look at that. You got a bingo." Dean answered before Sam could. Sam sighed and nodded at her. He offered her another bag, one smaller and made of waterproof canvas. It was lighter than the other one he had given her.

"Gotta trade wheels every other week or two."

"To throw the Leviathans and the authorities off," Shay guessed.

"You got it. Doesn't hurt that it throws off some demons every once in a while, too. Especially nowadays."

There was pause and Dean stopped working. Sam stilled a few seconds later, exchanging a look with Dean. The two then looked to Shay.

The seconds ticked by, and the wheels went grinding away in her head. "What? What are you two planning?"

The Winchesters ignored her, exchanging another look with each other.

"Seriously? Do we even have any time for that?"

"Shouldn't take more than an hour, hour and a half. There's a place in Kalispell that takes walk-ins, no problem."

The cogs clicked into place and her eyes flicked toward Sam and Dean's chests, where she gathered where their anti-demon possession tattoos resided.

"Seriously?" Shay emphasized the word more strenuously this time, incredulous at what they were suggesting, even without actually saying it.

"Would you rather be possessed by a demon or would you rather be safe?"

Dean slammed the trunk shut; his other hand fisted around a rifle as he posed the question to her. Shay hesitated, brows knitting together as she weighed the options before coming to a quick and definitive conclusion. Her shoulders sagged.

"No. I'd rather get another tattoo than to risk being possessed by a fucking dickbag demon."

He flashed her an approving look and wordless nod. He tossed the Charger's keys in through the open window and jerked his head for her to follow. She had to take more steps to keep pace with the taller men, and she scowled as they began to pull away.

Stupid long-legged giants.

They crossed the lot, taking a pause only once. Dean dropped his load, making sure to cover the rifle up with a few bags. Sam motioned for Shay to hang back with him. It became apparent what his target was: a cherry-red Mustang. The finish gleamed in the late morning sun. Dean disappeared from behind it just as the sun winked out of existence behind slate-grey cloud cover.

Barely a minute later, the Mustang's engine gunned to life and Dean was peeling out of the parking spot and over to the curb where she waited with Sam and Kosmo.

Dean had barely thrown the car into park before he was scrambling out of the driver's seat. The trunk popped open as Sam moved toward it. Shay was hot on his heels, and she helped secure everything inside. Dean inserted himself between her and his brother with a whistle and she scooted over. He stooped toward the license plate and quickly unscrewed the one on the car and replaced it with another he had in hand.

When he was finished, he went to gather the rest of the stuff on the curb. Shay finished tucking the rest of the things inside and was hopping in the backseat just as Dean dumped the rest of the gear in the trunk. They were gone a minute later, tires skittering noisily on the asphalt to rocket off southward on Highway 93 again.

The sun's bright light was growing dimmer as the clouds came rolling in, layer by precipitous layer. Distantly, even over the Mustang's rumbling engine, Shay could hear the thunder.

Two more pitstops were made; one to a store in Kalispell to gather road food, and the second to the tattoo parlour that the Winchesters had made mention of.

Hot Take Tattoos and Piercings, read the sign outside the store front.

Inside, red pleather seats and a showcase of piercings sat in the main waiting area. Walls were covered in awards, pictures of the staff and some clients, and a few sheets of "first designs" sat framed and hung.

A bored looking woman with a nose piercing was reading a magazine and chewing gum, which she blew every once in a while. It popped satisfyingly after it had reached its limit, and every bubble varied in size. She flicked her gaze upwards, dark brows rising momentarily.

"You have an appointment?"

"Ah, no. Walk-in today."

"You need an appointment," she drawled back at Dean. He blinked at the woman, clearly taken aback. Shay was drawn to some of the "first designs" that had been proudly put on display. At least two of them were of some vague "tribal" tattoos that weren't distinctly part of any tribe at all.

"Since when? You still have a 'walk-ins welcome' sign out front."

"Since last month," the woman sighed, pushing back a long lock of dark hair behind her ear. There were a few piercings there as well. She sighed a second time, straightening to lean on the showcase of piercing options. She craned her head to peer back into the parlour behind her. "Hold on, let me check something with my boss."

Shay could hear a familiar rock station playing in the back, mingling with the faint sound of tattoo guns buzzing. The woman swung away from the storefront and disappeared into the back.

"Hey, Ricky! We got anyone that can take a walk-in today?"

Whoever answered her, his voice was too low for Shay to understand. The woman returned and opened a door that closed off the back of the shop from the front. She ushered them to come through.

"Who's getting pricked today?"

Shay raised her hand sheepishly and the woman gazed up and down her. Her honey-brown eyes lingered on the sleeve of sharks winding around Shay's left arm and shoulder. She moved toward the Last of Us tattoo and the spiral of raptors on her right.

"I'm guessing not your arms," the woman said. A man came rounding out of a room, skinny and lean, donning a graphic shirt emblazoned with the shop's name and faded blue jeans. She averted her gaze at the Pennywise tattoo that was displayed openly to the world on his right forearm. He was already snapping on gloves.

"Who's here for the pricking?"

I have never heard that before, Shay thought, and it was such a quirky phrase that it made her snicker.

"Me," she finally said, before motioning toward the area on her back. "I've got another tattoo on the back of my neck and between my shoulder blades. There should be some room for the design between those two." She turned around and lifted her hair, showing off the rose compass and Latin phrase inked there. The man tugged down the collar of Shay's shirt before patting her on the back satisfactorily.

"And do you have a design in mind?" The man continued.

The Winchesters stepped up, and both pulled down their shirt collars, showing off theirs. The lean man took his phone out and took a quick picture, then inclined his head once again.

"O-kay, then. Got it. Simple enough."

"Are you guys, like, in a cult, or something? 'Cuz of the matching tattoos and stuff." The woman drawled lazily, although from her tone, she sounded like she could care less what their answer would be.

"Or something," Sam said, lips pulling in a tight, thin smile that held no humour.

"They're all yours, Ricky," the woman said before resuming her original position behind the display case. Dean watched as she went, pulling Bobby's flask from his jacket and taking a swig. He paused, then offered it to Shay. He wagged it a few times as she raised a brow. She caved and took it.

"Thanks," she said, knocking back a gulp. The alcohol tasted sour and acrid and burned her mouth, but she swallowed it down all the same and handed the flask back. She was just glad she hadn't devolved into a coughing fit.

"Thanks," she said hoarsely. "Oof, that's strong." Dean smirked but only gave her a salute with the flask. He bumped Sam in the side with his elbow, startling the younger Winchester.

Shay followed after the tattoo artist into the room he waved her into and began pulling her hair up with one of the hair ties on her wrist. She knew the drill.

"Looks good."

"Yeah?"

The skin along her back was tender where she'd had a needle pressed to it for the better part of two hours. The area directly over her spine was especially sensitive.

"How ya feeling?"

"It felt like getting a tattoo."

"Sounds about right."

Shay chided herself for rubbing at the area. She distracted herself from the ache along her back by running her hand through the thick fur of Kosmo's scruff. He busily gulped water with loud, sloppy slurps from his travel bowl. The dog barely gave pause before he was nearly done, water dribbling in gobs from his jowls.

"He almost done?"

"Just about. We heading out soon?"

"Yeah. Just waiting on Sammy," Dean said. He gave pause to glance at the fuel pump, just as the gauge came to a stop. He returned the nozzle back to its place and did the same with the fuel cap for the Mustang.

Shay gave Kosmo one last pat, dumped the paltry remainder of the slobbery water from his collapsible bowl onto the ground and tucked them both back into her bag for storage. Kosmo dutifully kept his warm gaze trained on his owner.

"How long you had that dog for?"

She turned her attention to Dean, mildly surprised at his interest—or perhaps his attempts at being interested.

"…almost three years. I had another dog, another German Shepherd, but he…he died. I was at a medical appointment, and I came home to find him with a bag over his head and he…he suffocated to death. He wanted the food inside it, and he couldn't get it off. And no one would come pick his body up. I had to get him into my car by myself, and these dogs are about seventy to eighty pounds. That kind of dead weight isn't easy to move. Not-not for someone like me, I mean."

Dean was quiet at first before he managed, "I'm sorry to hear that. I, uh…don't really know what it's like to lose a dog, but…people, I know. And some people think of dogs as…people."

"My kids loved that dog. They were heartbroken when he passed away. Shitty thing was…it was a week after my birthday."

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, filter them out.

Dean said nothing. Shay clenched her jaw, avoiding the sudden feeling of being watched, scrutinized.

And then after a beat, "…you…you have kids?"

There was a sudden pressure in Shay's throat, hard and tight as stone. She kept her eyes strictly on Kosmo, trying to smile, but knew she was failing miserably as she dug her fingers into the scruff of his neck and cheeks and along his ears. He enjoyed the extra attention.

She didn't.

"You have kids?"

The repeated phrase was louder than a gunshot going off right beside her ears.

Shay finally managed a curt nod and managed to find her voice, as tight and quiet as it was. "A boy and a girl. They're with their dad for the summer, back in Wisconsin. Court-appointed custody agreement and all that."

She'd already missed at least four FaceTime calls with her kids. She wondered if her ex had sounded some kind of alarm for her family. Let them know she wasn't answering, that something was wrong. Or if he was even willing to acknowledge that something was wrong.

She hoped her little brother had stopped by her place and taken care of her cats.

She wanted a lot of things to be okay in her sudden absence. She'd texted him before she ended up here, before she had called the cops. Had he taken her seriously? She hoped so.

Shay sucked in a shaky breath, forcing down the lump in her throat, schooling her face as best she could and tried to avoid reaching up to scrub away at her eyes. She had a lot she wanted to say. Stuff she was dying to say.

You two better find another way home for me so I can see them again, was perhaps the top phrase she wanted to say out loud—but she swallowed the loaded, barbed words back down, as painful as they were to do so. It wouldn't have been fair to Sam or Dean to sound so ungrateful, so pissant to either of them.

Shay was startled by the firm, large hand encompassing her shoulder. She almost flinched away from it entirely. It held firm and she forced herself to remain still under its grip. She finally turned to look at Dean, taking in the steady set of his jaw, the serious gaze, the actual goddamned concern he allotted to her—

"We're gonna get you home to your kids. I don't know how, but…we're gonna get you back to them. Somehow."

The pressure in her throat doubled down and she averted her gaze again, if only to gather her sense of composure, to keep from bursting into tears. She couldn't do that, not in front of him, and certainly not in the middle of a fucking backwoods greasy gas station. It would only look bad for everyone involved. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Dean."

Kosmo spent most of his time in Shay's lap. He was content and happy, getting all the love he desired in the form of hugs and scratches in all the right places. Shay had lost track of where they were headed hours and hours and hours ago.

Neither of the Winchesters seemed keen on sharing, and neither did they seem intent on including her in the driving rotation. To be fair, she didn't offer either. While a part of her was relieved at having been spared the duties of driving, it also exasperated her. It only served to remind her that she wasn't privy to their destination, wherever that may be. It wasn't until the sun came prying its way out of the cloud cover that had dominated much of the day that she had a sense of direction.

They were heading east, where the horizon was growing darkest, while the sun was dipping lower into the west, shining brightly behind them.

Heading back eastward. That was the most she could glean.

Her timeline was still shaky, but she was more than certain as to what season—what threat—they were facing currently. The Leviathans were the biggest tip-off. The almost-secondary thought of demons and demon possession was an afterthought.

Chicago was where Charlie was, wasn't it? If memory served her right, she was still employed for Dick Roman, and…

Bobby was a ghost. They most likely hadn't met Charlie yet. The demon and angel tablets hadn't been found, not yet—although Dick Roman was right on the cusp of doing so. They haven't met Kevin or been made aware of the Prophets—hadn't encountered Abaddon or the Mark of Cain or Metatron or even Chuck who was actually fucking GOD—

Just so much hasn't happened yet. So much was ahead of them. Years of heartbreak and pain and suffering.

I could stop it all, she thought. I could help them. I could do so much for them, here and now.

But wouldn't that be breaking things? Smashing apart the story, the way things were supposed to be? Wouldn't that be playing God, in some way?

And yet…

Chuck—God, actual fucking God—wanted things to happen this way, for this particular storyline, to watch them suffer and struggle and fight. At least for this particular universe, this particular reality, that involved the Winchesters. And wouldn't that make her no better than Chuck, by trying to influence things in a way she deemed fitting instead of letting it naturally occur? But what was natural for the path that Chuck—God—had set for this exactly universe?

And what did that make her universe? One devoid completely of a Judeo-Christian deity and magic and monsters? Were there some universes that he left completely and utterly alone, to let develop completely isolated as the pieces fell together while he busied himself with the more constructive, deliberate ones he wanted to see happen?

Her head spun in dizzying circles that spiraled upon one another as she was left to her own thoughts, in the backseat alone with her dog. She was going to drive herself mad trying to find the logic in it all.

Sam was driving now, while Dean was taking a little siesta in the passenger seat. Shay found herself soothed by the soft rock music he had chosen to play.

The thought that she could change things—fix things, for the better—tasted as sweet as honey on her tongue. And yet, she had to ask herself…what if it was a trap? A test? Some kind of fucked up form of "reality show" that Chuck—God—whatever he fucking wanted to be called…was watching?

The realization made her skin crawl.

How would Sam and Dean react if they knew all this? The way that she knew?

She couldn't. That temptation, however sweet it may have been, could come at too high a cost. Nothing as good could ever come from this. She could screw things up even worse than what they already were and for what was to come. What if this universe became worse than all the others? I could get other people killed if I make one mistake, one misstep. I don't have the moxie for that kind of chess game. I'm more of a mancala kind of player. And isn't that a trope at this point, just…trying to fix things and even small changes can make a world of difference. Butterfly Effect.

Suddenly, the idea of having been left behind in the cabin didn't seem as depressing an option.