A/N: And Riley is back! Boom shaka-laka! Bonus fandom points if you can tell me what monster she's Hunting. :) Totally had to research for this one. And by research I mean re-watch old episodes. Such a burden. :P Anyways, Winchester involvement in imminent. Meh heh heh. Enjoy!

ONE DAY BEFORE THE INCIDENT

Metal clattered and creaked underfoot as I raced across the warehouse roof.

To my left, a piece of roofing broke free and fell, clacking loudly as it went. I could hear it smash and clatter all the way down to the ground, knowing very well that I could be following it at any second. "Oh my gosh, Finn," I screamed over my shoulder at him, completely pissed, "this is so freaking dangerous." But I might have used a higher caliber word than "freaking."

Hopping from section to section, I picked up speed. "Why the heck didn't you just take me on a normal date?" I screamed. Then I spun to glance behind me, looking past Finn and bringing my gun up to squeeze off three quick shots at the blurred shape of our pursuer.

"Geez, woman! Point that thing at someone else," he yelled, still hunched defensively under his arms as he ran, never breaking stride.

"I am pointing it at someone else, you...you, turd." It was the only insult I could think of at the time. Finn passed me quickly, grabbing my hand and catapulting me forward again as he ran by. "You suck," I puffed, unable to say anything more due to lack of breath. I was in great shape, but this was ridiculous.

We were running for our lives against freaking bite-y ladies. They hunt in pairs, so there'll only be two, Finn had said. We can take out two easily enough.

And we had. There had been a pair, and we had taken them out fairly easily using silver knives. Stab, twist, done. Except there hadn't just been two. Two pairs, yes. Two monsters total, no. We'd lost the element of surprise, and they'd turned out to be a whole lot stronger than either of us. Finn had been tackled, and I had lost my silver knife trying to keep him from getting bitten. I'd missed the thing's heart, but I'd gotten her off him. After that, Finn and I had done the sensible thing. We'd gotten out while the getting was good.

They weren't fast like vampires, but they liked to bite, and they had venom, some kind of paralytic, which made things a lot of fun. For them—not for us—which is why Finn and I were currently fleeing for our lives while the remaining two monsters hunted us down like stray dogs. It was awesome, really. What girl didn't want to spend her Friday night picking her way across a rooftop and possibly dying a horrible death? Oh, wait. Probably every freaking girl on the planet—myself included.

"You know, when you asked if I wanted to hang out today, you could have told me we were Hunting. Because really, nothing brings two people closer together than killing things together," I told him, skidding to a stop. We had reached the end of our current section of roofing and were now facing another section, only this one was raised higher than either of us could jump.

I shoved my gun into its shoulder holster before setting my feet and cradling my hands so I could boost Finn up onto the next portion of roof. He backed up slightly then ran right up to me, using my hands as a springboard to launch himself upwards.

The lip was a good five feet above us, but teamwork trumped either of our limited parkour skills, so it wasn't a problem. Finn caught the edge and pulled himself up quickly before turning and offering me his hand so I could follow. "You really, really suck," I reiterated, dusting my hands off once I was up.

"Yeah, yeah. Heard you the first time," he growled, sounding only a little bit out of breath. Then we started to run again. Turd.

This part of the roof had dirt and gravel, along with a small metal structure containing a door and probably stairs. Cigarette butts were still abundant, even though the warehouse had been abandoned for years, so I gathered this was the "smoke break" spot of choice.

I pulled at the door, but it was both locked and rusted shut. Fantastic, there went my escape route of choice. Finn hammered on it with a few solid kicks and a manly slam of his shoulder. The door didn't even budge.

We ran around the structure, not making it more than a few steps before a lady vaulted up onto the roof behind us. She was tall—supermodel tall—and her hair was a coppery flood down her back. I was jealous until I realized that I was human, and she was not. Besides, there was coppery stain spreading down her shirt. It grew a little wider each second, and I was a little grossed out because I'd stabbed her, and it hadn't even seemed to bother her at all.

Maybe being human wasn't so bad.

Hair Lady let out a weird laugh as Finn and I came to a stop, all of us realizing we were out of rooftop to flee on. Finn said a bad word, but I just rubbed my hands on my jeans—ridding them of sweat—before retrieving my gun from my shoulder holster. We turned back to face Hair Lady, and I saw a small embroidered name on the shirt of her waitress uniform.

Charis. Wonderful, how was that even pronounced?

"Care-iss," I said slowly, holding one hand out in a placating manner as I took a step towards her. "We can work this out. Let's just talk about it."

Really, I had no intention to talk things out. But Charis was the younger of the two monsters, and I'd already tagged her once with my silver blade. So I figured she'd be less of a fight. And when her partner in crime—literally, since murder is about as criminal as it gets—showed up, Finn would take care of her since he still had a silver blade.

The door to the structure exploded outwards and skidded into the gravel, having been torn off its hinges by a single kick from the second bite-y lady. Yep, she was definitely going to be Finn's problem.

I moved a few steps to the left, away from Finn. "Now it's a party," I muttered, and with that, Charis let out a screech and rushed me.

Screeching before attacking—though completely normal and instinctive—was a terrible tactical decision. Whether or not there was a direct correlation between screeching and lack of thought devoted to follow-through, it wasn't very hard to counter Charis' attack. She came at me, almost flailing, and I danced to the left, using a backwards kick to smash my foot into the back of her knee as she went past me. Then I spun around, hands held in the ready position.

Charis snarled and turned awkwardly on her one and a half good legs, eyes suddenly very catlike and teeth spiking down. Bleck, she was definitely not winning America's Next Top Model looking like that.

Behind me, I could hear Finn and the other lady grunting and scuffling. Putting them out of my mind, I focused on Charis' next attack. She came in slower this time, more wary and less mobile. I held my fists up defensively, half frustrated with and half enjoying the thrill of a fight.

Sparring in the gym was fun, but real fights were something else entirely. The adrenaline, the fear, the sweat. Background distractions blurred out, and the only thing that mattered was the person across from me.

Sometimes people say that everything slows down in a fight. But that wasn't true. Everything is quick and dirty, and mistakes are costly, which is probably where the thrill comes from. I loved fighting. I loved it a little too much, I think.

Charis came at me, hands held like claws, and attempted to maybe claw my eyes out or something. I wondered if she'd ever really fought before, because superhuman strength doesn't save you when you don't know how to use it.

I lashed out with my left arm, more of a sweeping blow than anything else, and knocked her clawed hands aside. Then I took one step in and smashed a heavy right hook across her jaw. It was nothing like hitting practice pads, and pain flared across my knuckles. It was a good kind of pain, though, and savage satisfaction flooded through me when she stumbled backwards from the blow. I kicked out, not giving her a break, and slammed my foot into her thigh, sending her staggering again.

But for all my efforts, Charis just kept coming. She swung at me with a quick left, and I ducked. She must have expected that, though, because she grabbed two fistfuls of my jacket, and I was suddenly airborne.

I hit the ground a good five feet away, bouncing and rolling in the gravel. My jacket and jeans shielded me from the worst of the gravel, but it still hurt. Charis hesitated, maybe trying to collect herself and recover after her first successful offensive move. She really shouldn't have.

The woman Finn was fighting let out a scream, but it was abruptly cut off. He'd killed her, then. "Knife?" I yelled, unable to see him even as I pushed up onto my hands and knees and then into a crouch.

Finn appeared, leaning heavily against the corner of the structure with blood streaming down the side of his face. He was too far away to help me out, and worse, Charis was still between us. How inconvenient, I was going to have to get the knife somehow other than a handoff. I think Finn came to the same conclusion, because he hefted the knife in his hand, and then he tossed it to me.

The knife clattered to the ground and bounced, coming to a stop only a foot in front of me. For a second, Charis and I both froze, staring at the silver blade reflecting the fading sunlight. Then we exploded into motion.

Charis hobbled towards the knife, and I dove forward, snatching the blade up and tucking into a roll. I came out of the roll and went up on one knee, stabbing the blade upwards with both hands. The silver entered Charis' heart as she stooped down for the knife, and she shuddered to a stop with a choked gasp. I twisted my wrist before she had the chance to react, and she desiccated within seconds, crumbling into dust onto and around my hands.

"Oh my gosh. Did you see that?" I called to Finn, huffing and trembling. "Because I will…never be able…to do that again…in my life." Despite my ragged breathing, I was utterly impressed with myself for pulling off a Hollywood-worthy fight move. The tuck-and-roll, the upward impalement—classic action movie material.

"I might have missed it," Finn wheezed. He was back out of sight again, so he also missed my baleful glare.

I dropped onto my butt and let the knife clatter back onto the gravel. I was still full of adrenaline from the fight, but I wasn't ready to stand just yet. "You suck," I told him scathingly between breaths. "You totally suck."

Despite my earlier allegations of Finn sucking, he totally made up for it by having pizza ready for us by the time we got back to the motel. I paid the delivery guy and waited until he'd left before helping Finn out of the car.

The cut on the side of Finn's head had stopped bleeding, but there was still a wash of dried blood leading down his face, and it looked garish. Plus, I think the second bite-y lady had also nailed him in the ribs, because as I slipped under his shoulder to help, he was definitely favoring his left side.

While we slowly made our way from the car to the room, I thought about what a good thing it was that we were staying at a motel, because here, no one cared if you came in covered in blood. If this were a hotel, I was pretty sure there would be at least four concerned bystanders prepared to help, and two of them would have already called 911. Pshh, people—so inconvenient sometimes.

Bumping the door open with my hip, I scooted the two of us inside before pulling up short. There was one bed in the room. It was a Queen sized bed, but there was still only one. "Well, this is awkward," I said, wondering if Finn had mistakenly ordered just one.

I said nothing for a beat, still uncertain what to make of the single bed conundrum. Maybe he was trying to tell me something. I shook my head, pushing that thought out of my head. Or maybe it was just a mistake, and I was totally over thinking it. Yeah, that was probably the case.

"I'll take the floor," he said with a heavy sigh, and he disentangled himself from me, hobbling forward. Then Finn turned, a second later, scowling as he wrapped his arm over his ribs again. "What, no exacerbating my misogyny? No complaining that I am cheapening your feminist ideals?"

My eyebrows shot up. "Nope," I said with a slight grin. "I happen to enjoy chivalry. Makes me feel like a lady."

Finn looked me up and down with a skeptical expression. I followed his gaze and took in my heavy boots, dark jeans, and gun under my faded army surplus jacket. "Uh," I faltered. Yeah, I wasn't even remotely lady-like right now, but that had never stopped me before. "Just…whatever. Shut up."

I let him stew for a little bit—in the contemplation of having to sleep on the floor. Then I took mercy on him. "Anyways, I can sleep on the floor tonight." I held a hand up when he looked like he was going to protest. "Chivalry aside, the least injured person—" I pointed a thumb at myself, just for emphasis "—gets to sleep on the rock hard surface. The broken person gets the nice, soft bed."

Finn's look of protest disappeared, and he gingerly sat down on the end of the bed. Then he let out a giant sigh, this time in relief. Yeah, that's what I thought, I thought snootily. But I didn't mean it. In the spectrum of things that upset me, sleeping on the floor didn't really even make the list.

"You okay?" Finn asked, out of the blue. The hand resting on his thigh twitched up to motion at my jacket. I looked down, surprised, and noticed some blood on my sleeve.

"Oh, yeah, just a scratch. Nothing a little antiseptic won't fix." It was just a scratch, but I neglected to mention just how big it mostly likely was. When Charis had thrown me, part of my sleeve had been pushed back, and the gravel had scraped some of my arm raw. I didn't know how bad it was, and I wasn't very concerned. Finn's ribs were the bigger problem.

Ribs were always tricky. Most of the time, it was just bruises that caused aches that lasted for days. But sometimes, it was fractures, and fractures could mean bad things for internal organs.

"Ribs?" I asked casually, trying not to sound like a mother hen.

"They're fine," he grunted.

I chewed on my lip. "Pain? On a scale of one to ten."

He lay backward on the bed, letting out another sigh and releasing his ribs. "Four."

Four. Which meant, in man-terms, the pain was probably a seven or an eight. "Okay, I'll get you some Ibuprofen, and then we can check out the cut on your head." I tried to sound casual about the whole thing, but inwardly I was freaking out that he might need stitches again. And who would have to give him stitches? Oh wait, me. Again. My stomach turned at the thought, but I pushed through it, going out to my car to get my first aid kit.

It wasn't really a kit anymore. It was more like a tote. I had taken all the medical supplies out of my now-deceased "Libby Adventure Survival Kit," and they were now in my improved tote. The basics were still there, but I had a lot more supplies, and I had either used the stuff before or researched how to use them, so that when the time came, I would be ready. In theory, anyhow.

Medical stuff, I was fine with. It was the blood that got to me. I wasn't very good with blood. For a second, I wondered if it was genetic, because my entire family was kind of squeamish when it came to blood.

I sobered at that last, almost laughable, thought. Genetics. I was actually adopted, and my biological father had turned himself into a vampire on purpose. So no, it probably wasn't genetics.

Losing my good mood, I went back inside with the tote. "Sit up?" I asked Finn politely, almost clinically. He struggled upright, and I pulled out some rubbing alcohol, upending the bottle in order to soak the small cotton pad held over the opening. Then I placed a careful hand on Finn's head, swabbing the cut with alcohol. He hissed in discomfort but didn't move.

Once I'd cleared the cut and the surrounding area of blood, I stepped back thoughtfully. "No stitches," I reported, deeming them unnecessary. Utilizing the pause between diagnosis and treatment, I gave him a couple of pills. He thought they were Ibuprofen, but they were actually some very nice, low-grade pain pills. Nothing too fancy.

"Oh thank God," Finn said, letting out a breath of exaggerated relief. "I didn't want the Butcher of Oregon messing up my pretty face." But he took the pills from me and downed them without a second thought.

"Very funny. Turd," I muttered, shooting the bloody pad like a basketball at the metal trashcan. I put a quick butterfly bandage on the cut and started to put my stuff away, but Finn caught my hand.

"Arm?" he dutifully reminded me.

"Oh, yeah." I had completely forgotten. I shrugged out of my jacket, taking extra care while easing the sleeve over my arm. Then I grimaced, catching sight of what looked like the world's worst rug burn tracing up the outside of my wrist and arm. It really wasn't that bad, but I knew the rubbing alcohol was going to sting like crazy. "Maybe you better…" I mumbled, looking at the ground.

Finn caught my drift, and he soaked another pad in alcohol, taking my arm gently but firmly. I wrinkled my nose and closed my eyes, waiting. Then he started cleaning, and it hurt way more than getting the scrape in the first place. But I was silent the whole time, and after it was done, I cheered internally for my stoic demeanor.

"Boom," I said, when Finn threw the pad away. "Pizza time." I smeared some antibiotic cream over the whole mess and slapped a bandage on, more interested in eating than fixing myself.

Finn had already eaten two pieces by the time I took one from the box. He'd ordered half Hawaiian, half pepperoni pizza, and the whole time we ate, he made fun of me for liking fruit on my pizza. I mocked him for eating beef and pork that had been mashed together and then seasoned out of this world. He didn't understand until I told him that's what pepperoni was. Then he just looked kind of scandalized.

By the time ten o'clock rolled around, we went to bed like a couple of old fogeys. I crawled into my sleeping bag, and Finn eased into the bed.

"'Night," I said quietly.

"'Night," he murmured back.

Then we were out, like a couple of very boring, very cliché lights. Yep, that was us. Taking care of monsters, some minor First Aid, chowing down on pizza, and then sleeping. This was not how I'd first imagined spending the day when Finn had called me. But still, it was nice.

Not a bad third date, my sleep-infused brain managed to squeak out as I drifted off. Oh, shut up, I told myself, settling happily into my sleeping bag.

Little did I know, it was all about to change.