I do not own Supernatural.

Rewritten as of 1/23/2019

"I am the fire,

I am burning brighter

Roaring like a storm,

and I am the one that I've been waiting for

Screaming like a siren

Alive and burning brighter

I am the fire."

—I Am The Fire by Halestorm

As Jude dropped her bag onto her desk, the contents spilled out onto the dark wooden surface haphazardly. Sighing in frustration, Jude stuffed her belongings back inside before plopping down onto the black swivel chair that sat behind the desk. She wanted to get some work done before she went home; maybe she could manage to solve this stupid case before the weekend crew got to it.

Jude Jones was a detective who worked for the Lebanon Police Department in Kansas. She was one of the youngest—only twenty and fresh from the police academy, and she was extremely good at her job, too. Jude had an eye for detail that many of her coworkers did not have, which helped her work her way up in the world.

"Jones, you've been staring at that screen so hard, I think you might go blind," Amy Ramírez joked. She was an older Latina woman who was very kind and dedicated to her job. Placing a sisterly hand on Jude's shoulder, Amy continued, "I think you should give it a rest, kiddo. You've been working on this case nonstop since we got the call."

Sighing, Jude nodded reluctantly and turned away from her computer. She stood up and smiled at the older woman. "You're right, Amy. I..."

Amy smiled softly. "I get it," she assured the younger woman. "It reminded you of your family. But you don't need to worry, Jay, we'll catch them. I promise."

"Jones, Ramírez!" Captain Torres called, leaning into the bullpen. "Come into my office now, please."

The two women exchanged confused looks before making their way toward his office. There, two rather tall men in suits stood by Torres's desk.

"Detectives, these are Agents McClane and Powell." Captain Torres motioned to the men. "Agents, these are two of my best detectives, Jones and Ramírez. They've been working on the case you're here to investigate."

The case in question was definitely one of the strangest ones Jude had seen in her short career, and it hit very close to home, as well. The victims were all new parents with their hearts ripped out of their bodies. The killings had been going on for a week and a half, but Jude had been getting nowhere.

"Why is the FBI getting involved?" She asked suspiciously.

The taller one, Agent Powell, answered, "We heard about the case, and our superior officer wanted us to check it out." He shrugged apologetically.

Jude bristled. Why now? This isn't right. "Alright," she replied reluctantly. "I was about to go and get the autopsy report for the newest victims anyway." With that, she turned on around and stormed out of the office, Amy following after her.

The older woman put a hand on Jude's shoulder and jerked her around to make eye contact. "What the hell was that, Jones?"

"Something's fishy, Amy," Jude told her, her voice hushed. "When this happened to my family, the police were on the case for about six months after the killings stopped before the case went cold. The feds never even bothered to check it out. Why now?"

Amy sighed. She should have known it would be something like this; the younger woman was always a tad dramatic. "I don't know, kid, but they're here now. You might as well suck it up and go do what Captain Torres told you to do."

Nodding, Jude tried her best to smile. "Thanks, Amy. I'll give it a shot." She looked over, noticing the agents leaving the captain's office. "Agents," she called. "You'll be following me in my car."

Without waiting for a reply, Jude walked out to her car, a sleek black 1967 Ford Mustang that she had taken care of since the day she bought it. Driving out of the police station, she looked back to make sure the agents were following her, and sure enough, a beautiful Chevrolet Impala was not far behind her.

When they arrived at the morgue, Jude stepped out of her car, glancing over at Agent McClane, who had whistled appreciatively.

"Nice ride," he told her, a boyish smirk plastered on his face.

"Thank you," Jude told him indifferently. "Come on; they finished the autopsy hours ago."

McClane cleared his throat as they walked down the hallway, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable silence. "So, your name's Jude Jones? That's not really creative." He winced when Powell elbowed him in the ribs

Shrugging, Jude replied, "The head of the orphanage I lived at was obsessed with the Beatles. My full name is actually Jude Penny Lane Jones."

"Head of the what—"

"Detective Jones, there you are!" Dr. Morgan called, appearing at the young woman's side, beaming at her. "I was beginning to worry about you."

Smiling thinly, Jude replied, "I'm sorry to make you worry, Dr. Morgan, but Captain Torres wanted me to bring these FBI agents to look at the autopsy with me."

Dr. Morgan looked over, noticing the tall men standing next to the young (and rather attractive) detective. Clearing his throat, he said, "Right, the autopsy! Well, Detective, Agents, follow me, if you please." He turned into a room on their right, where the newest victims laid on the table. "There's nothing different from the previous victims," he told them, his face composed and serious. "All of their hearts taken right out of their chest. It obviously wasn't done by a tool; it looks more like something just ripped them out with their bare hands."

Jude rubbed a hand over her face. This was not good. The body count was rising quickly, and she was getting nowhere!

"Detective, did you ever have any suspects at all?" Agent Powell asked.

"Not really," she told him. "The people who had a motive didn't have the ability, and vice versa. We considered the idea of an animal attack for a while, but it's too precise for that."

"Well, could we see your list of possible suspects?" Agent McClane asked. "Just to double check," he added when he saw Jude's raised eyebrow.

"Sure," Jude replied suspicions arising in the back of her mind once again. Reaching into her canvas satchel draped across her shoulder, she pulled out a thin manila file. "Here you go. I'd like them back when you're done if you don't mind."

Sam and Dean Winchester sat on the bed in their motel room, scanning the file given to them by Detective Jude Jones, a storm raging outside their window.

Well, not exactly to them, but to Agents McClane and Powell, whom they were pretending to be.

"It's a werewolf," Dean grumbled to Sam, tossing the paper he was looking at onto the floor. "We know that much."

Sam sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "Yeah, but we have no idea who it might be. Detective Jones's files helped to narrow it down a little, but we've still got a pretty big suspect pool here."

Dean pulled Sam's laptop into his grasp. "Speaking of Little Miss Detective," he spoke as he typed rapidly into the computer, "I wonder what her deal is."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, furrowing his eyebrows at his brother.

Not looking up from the laptop, Dean responded, "Well, the kid didn't seem too happy about the Feds stepping in on the case. Maybe she's getting cold feet." He stopped typing and moved the computer's cursor around.

"What the hell?" Dean murmured, eyes glued to the screen.

"What is it?" Sam wondered as he tried to look over Dean's shoulder. "Oh, my god..."

On the screen, there was a photo of a newspaper article titled New Parents Found Dead.

'Earlier this morning, James and Maria Jones were found dead in their home, their child, unnamed at the time, in critical condition with claw marks across her chest. The cause of death seems to be blood loss and the loss of a major organ—their heart. The infant was rushed to the hospital and is currently stable. When she recovers, she will be taken to Miss Catherine's Home For Troubled Children. Miss Catherine, who knew the Jones's personally, took it upon herself to name the girl, calling her Jude Penny Lane Jones.

As for the parents, the police are currently investigating their deaths, but many fear that the case may go cold. Unfortunately, there is not enough sound evidence that this is the doing of a person and not just a feral animal. A few townsfolk have taken to protesting this; believing that there is more to this story than meets the eye.'

The article's date was Friday, October 17, 1997, and, after a little more digging, the brothers discovered that the night prior to the discovery of the Jones's murder was a full moon. Sam and Dean shared a look of sympathy. Now they knew why Jude didn't want the feds on this case—she wanted to solve it herself and bring justice to her parents. That was something they could understand.

"If she keeps trying to solve this, she's gonna get answers she didn't know she was looking for," Dean muttered, shutting the laptop. "She seems like a good kid—there's no way we can let her go down that road."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Definitely. But how?"

"Dunno," Dean shrugged. "We'll figure something out."

They began to settle down for the night, when Sam shot up and looked over at his brother, eyes widened in alarm.

"Tonight's a full moon," he said. The brothers scrambled to grab their guns—maybe they could catch the werewolf before anyone else died.

Jude yawned as she stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped tightly around her body. Her short curly hair dripped onto her bare shoulders as she moved to get dressed. Throwing on a sports bra, old T-shirt, and sweatpants, she made her way to the couch. She passed by the small display of pictures she had on the top of her bookshelf, and she found herself stopping to pick one up. It was of her mother, smiling with love in her eyes at something just out of view. Suddenly, there was a loud crack of thunder, and Jude dropped the picture, its glass frame shattering on the wooden floor. Minding the glass, Jude carefully picked up the photo, furrowing her eyebrows when she noticed writing on the back.

I don't know why you left, John, it read. All I know is that you abandoned me and my daughter. Don't worry, though, we've moved on. I'm not sending you this to make you feel guilty, but I just wanted you to know. I'm sorry I tore you out of this picture. I was bitter and angry, but I've learned to let some things go.

Love,

Maria.

She ran her finger on the edge of the picture, where it seemed that a part of it had been torn out. The tear was very neat and oddly straight, almost unnoticeable. Jude wasn't sure how she should feel. It was such an odd way to find this sort of thing out. Even though she had grown up without her parents, the man she recognized and knew as her father wasn't even her real father. The picture slipped from her hands, and the tears she had been holding back finally slipped out and down her tanned cheeks.

CRASH!

At the sudden noise, Jude jumped up, grabbing her Glock-19 that was sitting on the coffee table. Gripping the gun tightly, she crept toward the sound. She saw a woman kneeling by a broken window; blood surrounding her. Her face was obscured by her long blonde hair as she looked down.

"Get down on your knees and put your hands on your head, now," Jude ordered in a firm voice; one that was oddly intimidating for such a small woman.

The blonde didn't move.

"I said now!"

Suddenly, the blonde woman jerked her head up, her eyes large and green. Jude faltered slightly when the woman opened her mouth, revealing large, sharp teeth; teeth that were definitely not natural for a human. The Blonde stood, raising clawed hands

Quickly, Jude fired a bullet, which quickly made contact with the woman's stomach.

The blonde stumbled back a little, but she seemed more annoyed than anything. She advanced quickly, smirking as she raised her hands in an attempt to grab Jude.

Jude fired several more bullets, but they didn't do too much. The blonde woman grabbed Jude by her hair and slammed her head against the wall. Before the world went black, she thought she heard another crash and faint shouts.