Chapter Five:
Adjustment Period
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: I had this chapter ready to go and uploaded, but recent drama in my life sort of had me forgetting to post this. My apologies! And welcome to the lovely new readers and reviewers who stopped by! Thank you for your words!
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"Adaptability is not imitation. It means power of resistance and assimilation."
—Mahatma Gandhi
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Whitefish County proper was just as Shay remembered it. The cabin, however, was far removed from plenty—the highways, the town, the people.
Except Shay knew where they were.
Her parents had moved to the area years ago. Or, years ago for her, at least.
Being back in Montana made her hunger for venison, fishing and hunting, and picking for berries and edible mushrooms. She missed those times that she'd spent with her dad. She missed drinking and cooking with her mom and sitting up late at night, watching movies Shay otherwise would have never seen.
The most she could do about it now was to keep herself. No need to offer more of herself to the Winchesters. It was all for the best.
Shay found herself reading one of the books she had had in her pack while Sam was reading through something on his laptop. Dean was on a food and beer run, and Bobby was…somewhere. She wasn't sure where his flask was, but she suspected Dean had it on him.
She chose a glass of Coke and Jack for the afternoon, sipping from it every so often. She had a decent buzz going on. Kosmo slept next to her on the couch, snoring softly.
She could barely get past a page for the last twenty minutes. It was bugging her, because she'd been wanting to reread this novel for quite some time. Thrills on par with Jurassic Park, killer mermaids, and characters she could actually get behind…
The author never disappointed.
"Hey Shay…is it all right if I ask you something?"
Shay blinked, the words on the pages blurring as her focus bounced back and forth. Quietly, she sighed through her nose, setting aside her killer mermaid novel and shifted her attention to Sam. She gave him a shrug of the shoulders and a nod. He cleared his throat, bobbed his head in return and pressed on.
"What is it that you did before all of…this?" Sam gave a motion to the cabin around them, before motioning back to her. Shay's shoulders slumped and she ran a hand over the hardcover of her book.
"Don't you remember what I said the other day? It's better for everyone involved that I don't open my mouth, so we can keep everyone happy that way."
"Everyone but you. And it's been kind of a buzzkill with you sitting around moping like you've been doing." He paused before adding, "Kind of like the car ride up here."
Sam gave her a rather pointed stare and Shay ducked her gaze first, face growing hot in the interim.
"You know what? I'm usually a motherfucking delight to be around, but considering the current situation, I think an exception can and should be made."
Sam wasn't wrong. She was absolutely miserable. That was the truth of it. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball in a ditch on the side of the road. She wanted to cry until she was a dried-up husk and there was nothing left to give, and even then, she'd still shiver from unshed tears.
But I can't. I have people to get back to. Somehow.
She had family. Friends. Connections she's been slowly rebuilding back at home, and all she could see was the potential of what could be. She wanted to see more of that. She wanted to see her everyone again.
I just have to make it up over this hill. Just one more hill. Just one more. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other.
Shay ran her tongue over her teeth, her tongue piercing bumping against the backs of them. She realized she really needed to brush her teeth.
"Fine. You want to know what, exactly, about me?" Shay said, caving in and looking back at Sam.
He perked, straightening in his seat at the kitchen table. He cleared his throat a second time, pushing down the clamshell of his laptop as he turned toward her.
"Well…what exactly did you do, back home?"
"I…I was a Marine for eight years. After that, I went to college in Chicago and got my degree. It's a Bachelor's in 2D animation, with a minor in creative fictional writing. Moved to Los Angeles not long after that."
Sam's brows rose. "You were a Marine?"
"I've been out of the game for a while now," Shay pointed out, the urge to squirm under his gaze strong all of a sudden. "I don't really want to talk about it, if it's all the same."
"Uh…fair enough. So, what do you do now?"
Shay's eyes dropped, heat rising to her cheeks. "I'm…in customer service. I…I've been trying and failing to get into a company that would take me on for animation. Or for character design or…or anything, really. I can't even get a supply chain job in any of the places I've been trying to wiggle into. It's what I did in the Marines. I can't even get an entry-level position either. It's…embarrassing."
"I'm…I'm sorry to hear that. Is it really that hard?"
"It's a very tightknit community. It's hard to break out in animation. Especially when companies don't really do the animation in-house anymore, except for a few major companies. Most of the time, a lot of the actual animation production work goes overseas or out-of-country, while the pre-production and post-production comes back to the studios here stateside. Plus…it's cheaper to do 3D animation, apparently. And I'm fucking stupid—I joined the Marines, for Christ's sake—I can't do that 3D shit. I've tried and…panicked. And failed. Several times."
"That sounds pretty rough. Getting your degree and then not being able to use it? I'm sorry." He sounded genuine. He really did. Shay almost wanted to believe that sincerity.
Shay caught his gaze and how it averted to her arm. She realized that she'd been rubbing her shark sleeve and stopped. She studied it before lifting it up.
"I did all these, you know. All the sharks, I mean. I made—I made them. I drew them, on my iPad and…and yeah. I designed all these and then had a few sessions to get them all tattooed on me." She chose to stop talking then, clearing her throat, and dropping her arm. "So, yeah. I do art, but I can't even get a job making it for a living. I'm just another living example of the "starving artist" added to the body count, apparently."
"For what it's worth, I think you're pretty great at it. Those look amazing."
"Don't do that. Don't pretend to like it or be my friend. We both know that can't happen—"
She jumped when Sam closed the clamshell of his computer with a harsh snap. There was a firm set in his jaw as he leveled his gaze with her, harder than it had been moments before.
"You know, it's getting really hard to have an actual conversation with you, when you're pouting and moping the way you are—"
"Wha—pout—moping?!"
"—and you could use a friend right now, more than anything. So maybe cut the crap and just stop with the bitching?"
Shay swallowed back whatever she had lined up and broke contact first. She wanted to argue, but stuffed down the kneejerk response instead.
"…you're right. I'm sorry. I'm just…having trouble adjusting, I guess. I just don't want to say the wrong thing and make things weird."
Sam seemed to measure her response with some consideration. He sighed quietly, conceding her point with a nod.
"I get it. You were…a fan, in your world of our, uh…show. Of us." He handled the word 'show' with care, almost like it was made of glass he would not want to break in his mouth and for good reason. He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "What…is it like, the show? On your side of things, I mean."
Shay was taken aback by the inquiry and blinked at the man. Her tongue was leaden in her mouth at first, but she eventually got it working again.
"It's…super popular. Millions of fans. People are still talking about it, even after it…after it ended." Shay said, not missing the way Sam's brow creased.
"And I'm guessing that you won't tell us how it ended, will you?"
Shay snorted, canting her head in his direction, brows raised and lips quirked.
"If I did, you and Dean might try to change things—"
"—and it could change things for the worse. I remember." Sam gave her a tight smile, fingers drumming briefly along the clamshell of his computer. "I'm guessing you liked the show because of the monster hunting? Or was it something else?"
Shay's lips pulled into a small smile. "I do have an interest in mythology and horror. I like to write about it from time to time. I like to read about it. So, yes. A big part of why I watched was because of that. The horror elements have also been a…kind of inspiration for my writing." Her smile grew thin and tense. "I…also liked seeing you and Dean kicking ass, not gonna lie. Seeing you guys facing off against impossible odds and somehow, finding a way to overcome it one way or another. Maybe not straightforward at first, but eventually. I…admired it."
That drew another smile from the man, and it was encouraging for Shay. It was a step in a good direction. It was a step towards the right direction.
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By the time Dean got back, he found Shay laughing. With Sam. And they were grinning at each other. Sitting close together on the couch. Shay was more animated in her movements than she had in the past several days.
It was, to him, slightly unnerving.
They barely noticed when he came in until he dropped the bags of groceries he had on hand—all light, snacky objects, nothing delicate or high-risk. The slam of plastic bags hitting the worn hardwood flooring startled Shay more than Sam. Even her dog flipped over with a half-hearted groan to stare at him.
"So, what's happening here, huh?"
"Um…do you need help with the groceries, Dean?" Shay responded, her tone growing reticent and reserved, the smile she'd had on when talking to his brother now gone.
"Oh, no. Continue with your little girlie fest. You gonna braid each other's hair next? Paint nails? Go get couples massages?"
Shay shook her head a bit, quietly excused herself from Sam, and stalked past Dean with Kosmo close on her heels. The slam of the front door was all the confirmation he needed that she had well and truly left the building.
"Really, Dean? You're just gonna ignore what Bobby asked of us?"
"I'm not the one who was getting cozy with our information vault."
"She's more than that."
"And what were you talking about with her?"
"She…she actually knows quite a bit about mythology. Monsters and gods that I've never even heard of."
"So, information." Dean summarized up. Sam pulled a face at him.
"Stuff she gave, willingly, without having been forced to give up. Treating people like people tends to go a long way, in case you've forgotten."
"And you'd probably appreciate what she'd have to say more, if it meant life or death."
The voice startled them both and passed just as quickly when they laid eyes on Bobby incorporeal form. He stared back at them with a hard glint in his eyes, looking borderline disappointed. "So, here's the deal, how about you lay off of her, and let her come to you instead? I'm sure she'll open up in between things. In the meantime, why don't you spend a little more effort in finding out how to kill Dick Roman?"
The Winchesters exchanged looks with one another, lingering a moment longer than usual before turning their attentions back to Bobby.
"So, what, we just forget what she knows—"
"Who. Gives. A damn?!" Bobby spat back, articulating each word with all the bite he could manage. The air grew icy in the wake of his snappish response. They both tensed.
"Who gives a damn what she knows unless it's pertinent to the main mission? There are more important things to worry about! Use what she'll give you, without forcing it out of her, and work towards the things that actually fucking matter. She says you'll find a way to kill Dick Roman, so how about you work on that instead?!" Bobby advanced a few steps, closing in towards Dean, fury burning in his eyes. The air, having been muggy and hot moments ago, dropped at least a dozen degrees, nipping away the heat. "Now you stop being an idjit, get your ass out there and make nice with that girl, or so help me, I'll tear you a new one, boy."
He ghosted away in a flash before either of them could retaliate, leaving behind chilly silence to linger in the air.
Sam shot him a look, lips tugging into a thin smile. "Guess you'd better go make nice with our 'information vault', then, huh?"
Dean snorted and muttered, "shut up," as he stalked his walk toward the front door and slipped outside.
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Insects buzzed noisily in the coming summer heat. It was sweltering enough to force Dean to shed his coat and strip to his t-shirt. He laid them out on the back of the car as he passed it by. He spied the six-pack of beer he'd gotten for himself and Sam, left forgotten in lieu of the earlier argument. He snatched up two of them and made his way over to where he spied where Shay sitting.
She was under the shade of a tree, back pressed against the trunk. Her dog, Kosmo, was running full pelt across the property, charging back and forth and rolling in the grass. Looked about as happy as a dumb mutt could possibly be playing out under the sun.
Shay hardly stirred when he cleared his throat to announce himself. She only glanced at him from the corner of her eye, a brow raised, lips pressed thin. He whistled, popped open a bottle and offered it to her. She eyeballed it, then his face.
"Is this a trick?"
"No. No trick. Uhhh…."
He cracked open the other bottle, tossing the metal top and handed that one to her instead. She took it without further encouragement and took a sip.
"Bobby rip you a new one?"
"Why doesn't it surprise me he talked to you?"
"Maybe because you were being a major fucking dick for no reason?"
"There's plenty of reasons—"
"Save it, Dean." Shay sighed back. "All I gotta say on the matter is that I'm more scared of my drill instructors than I am of you."
That threw him for a loop. His eyes narrowed briefly as he chewed on that scrap of information.
"I'm…I'm sorry, but…drill instructors? You in the army or something?"
That would probably better explain her 'where's the head' inquiry the other day…
Shay let out an ugly snort and a pinch-faced snarl. "Don't insult me. You only got a couple of guesses left, but I'm sure you'll only need one."
He puzzled over her comment, mulling it over in his head. Then it clicked.
"Marines."
She shot him a finger gun; beer clenched in hand without looking at him. "Pew-pew-pew. Bullseye."
"Really?" Dean continued, brows beetling together. "Never saw you as the type."
"Clearly you know nothing. Not unlike Jon Snow."
Dean was drawing a blank and she saw that plainly on his face.
"Game of Thrones."
"Oh. Right, that show on HBO, right?"
"Yep," Shay mumbled. Dean waited for more and when none came, he slowly decided to lower himself down to the ground. He took a sip of his beer. Kosmo came bounding in and out through overgrown bushes and grass, looking so damn happy to be running free. He noticed the affectionate smile on Shay's face as she watched her dog.
Dean cleared his throat. "Look, I…I know I've been a bit of a hardass lately—"
"Oh, a little bit of a hardass? I hadn't noticed."
"Cut the sarcastic crap for a minute, all right?"
"Make me."
"Dangerous words."
"I laugh at danger, couldn't you tell? Ha. Ha. Ha."
"Really? Really? Lion King now?"
"Bite me." Shay retorted, taking a sip from her bottle.
"More dangerous words. You just eat it up, don't you?"
"Like pudding." Shay sighed back, her lips creasing with a wicked grin. Dean groaned in return. Her smile was quick to retreat and she flapped a hand at him. "Continue with your heartfelt apology, I'm listening."
Dean rolled his eyes and needed another swig. The taste burned as it slid down his throat.
"I dunno about heartfelt, but probably long overdue."
"It's been eighty-four years…" Shay croaked like an old woman before cackling quietly, her smiling lips pressing tightly against her beer.
Titantic. Great.
…he probably deserved a little bit of the backlash. Maybe.
"Okay. Look…we're not going to torture you for information. But some heads-up would be nice, you know? Just enough to…to keep people from dying. Important people to us. Like…"
"Like another Bobby situation," Shay finished quietly. Dean swallowed back the hard lump in his throat and settled with a curt bob of the head.
"Exactly. To keep another Bobby situation from happening all over again."
Shay nodded and there was a silence that lapsed between them. It wasn't entirely comfortable, but it wasn't as prickly as before either. Somewhere in between the limbo of the two.
"Can…can I ask you something, without you getting mad or anything for invoking the knowledge I know?"
Dean sighed long and heavy. "I make no promises but go ahead."
"Castiel, he…helped Sam when he…he was seeing Lucifer. And he's at that facility, with Meg now, right? If I'm remembering it correctly." Shay had an idea of the timeline.
Chills rode down the length of Dean's spine like arctic ice waters, but he managed to grunt back. He wanted to know where she was going with this.
"He'll get better. Promise. Still kind of weird, even for him, but better if it helps knowing about it. Castiel always bounces back because he's…he's Cas. He knows he messed up, too and…he'll try to fix his mistakes. Is that…is that a good enough heads-up?"
Dean didn't answer for nearly a full minute. The seconds ticked by and she shifted in her seat against the tree trunk, tapping a finger against the beer bottle as she waited. Dean took another long draw from the bottle in his hand and stood, dusting off his legs with his free hand. Then he offered it to Shay.
She stared at it in surprise. Slowly, she took it and he lifted her up to her feet. Her grip, he noted, was firm and strong. Calloused. He wasn't particularly used to that in women. Not for someone as small as her.
"It's…it's a good enough one for now. But we'll need more down the line. Sound good?"
Shay watched him for a moment, studying him. She nodded at last, and it was a relief Dean hadn't realized he needed confirmation of until just then. It was almost nice.
"…you get your very own Batcave."
Dean returned his attentions to her, the beer rising to his lips forgotten.
"I'm sorry, say that again."
Shay smiled shyly, not looking at him. She took a measured sip of her own beer, taking her sweet time before answering.
"You get a Batcave. A headquarters of sorts. A place to call home." She met his gaze. "I can't tell you when, obviously, but if I'm judging things right, it'll be sometime in the near-ish future. I hope I'm not here to see it, that I'm back home where I belong. But you'll like it. You and Sam both."
She took her leave then, calling to her dog and he came bounding out from whatever bush he'd been rustling about in, and followed her back to the cabin. Dean watched her go before grinning into his beer, chest somewhat lighter than it had been before.
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Additional Notes: Ghost!Bobby always kind of scared me. A teensy bit more than Living!Bobby. Anybody else get that same kind of vibe, or is it just me?