There turned out to be another case for us to work. Sam picked it up in the paper the morning after we dealt with the ghosts of Veronica and William Unther, and after breakfast we made our exit from the motel. This involved a rather teary goodbye on Mia's behalf, and though I was loathe to admit it, I was somewhat sorry to say goodbye to my first friend.

The case was a ways south; in a city that had been gradually growing in population over the last thirty years. It wasn't nearly as big as New York City, but it definitely had its dark corners. As Dean guided the impala into the city I used my phone to skim through news articles that pertained to the case.

Basically, someone called Harry Jameson had been running around the city beating people up. He did so mostly at night, though a few attacks had been during the day, and all on some not very upstanding citizens. Several drug dealers, some thwarted rapes, and some abusive partners. So far no one had died, though there were a few broken bones. Sam had almost gone past the article when he'd read it; it had seemed like a local vigilante case. Then something in the article had caught his eye, making him read it again.

Here was the thing; Harry Jameson had died three years ago.

I scratched at an itch on my nose as I finished skimming through the latest article, careful not to catch my hand on my red lipstick.

"So what are we thinking?" I asked. "Shape shifter?"

Both boys nodded.

"There's got to be a reason our shifter chose that face," Sam said. "I've been looking into Harry Jameson, but the local obituary was pretty vague about his death. I could hack police records, but not without better wifi." As he spoke he frowned and hit his phone against the palm of his hand, making a sour face as it took its sweet time pulling up results for his latest search.

"It might be easier if you two pretend to be FBI," I said. "This way the local police will keep you looped into the investigation."

"What about you?" asked Dean. "I'm guessing you're not planning on sitting this out."

"Of course not." When did I ever sit out on a case? "I'm not sure what I'm gonna do yet."

Dean sighed. "Just be careful, ok? Let us know what you're going to do."

I nodded. "Aye, aye Captain."

In front of me Sam snickered, and Dean looked annoyed.

The first thing we did, like always, was find a motel to stay in. Sam and Dean changed into their suits and left, pulling uncomfortably at their collars the whole while. As they left I pulled my phone out of my pocket, dialing Cas's number. For a few minutes it rang, then it went to voicemail.

"Hey Cas, it's me. Just checking in. The boys and I picked up a case a few hours south of the last one." I quickly gave him the address of the motel. "Call me back tonight. I miss you."

With a sigh I hung up, tossing my phone on my bed. For a moment I sat there, drumming my fingers against my leg, and then an idea occurred to me. There weren't any maps of the town in the motel room, so I walked around to the lobby, grabbing several.

Back in the motel room, I dotted on each map where our shape shifting vigilante had struck. By the time I was done I had a series of red dots placed all over town, and set to finding a pattern.

I connected the dots in different ways on each map, trying to find a central place among them, somewhere relatively close to them all. Often I excluded some dots as I drew lines and circles, varying where I laid my designs. By the time Sam and Dean returned I had taken several more maps from the lobby, and was sitting on the little table in the corner of the room. On the floor and beds surrounding me were each map, each dotted and outlined.

"Whoa." Sam froze as he opened the door, then edged carefully inside. "What's all this?"

I scowled. "Maps of the city. I can't figure out the pattern."

Dean frowned. "Sorry?"

I sighed. "Whoever this person is, they're attacking people all over the city. But they've got to be coming from somewhere. Wherever it is, it should be central to these points; at least most of them. I've tried every different pattern I can think of, but none of them seem right."

"Somehow I don't think it's this one," Dean commented. He held up a map that had been crumpled and tossed to the side. On it were a series of red scribbles, eliminating the work I'd attempted on it.

I felt my cheeks color. "Yeah, uh, I sort of got angry."

"At a map?" asked Sam.

I scowled. "Shut up."

The boys chuckled and joined me, tiptoeing their way past the maps. I wasn't sure the table could take the weight of all three of us, but somehow it held, though it creaked as Sam shifted his weight.

It's holding for now, I thought.

"What'd you find out at the police station?" I asked.

"Not much," said Sam. "Harry Jameson got beat to death three years ago, but no one knows who did it. They're thinking drug deal gone wrong or something."

I nodded.

"It could be someone close to him doing this," reasoned Dean. "But it might not be. I tend to think it is though."

"Where did he have friends in the city? What about family?"

"All over," Sam said. "He was pretty well liked. Not the super popular kind, but the kind that just got along with everyone."

"So basically that's a dead end."

"Yep." Dean sighed and glanced down at the maps spread out. They were our only lead.

For a few minutes we stared at the maps together, none of us with any idea about what the pattern was. Glancing back and forth between the two of them, I saw that Sam was tapping a finger against his chin, his eyebrows drawn together broodingly. Dean had a pained expression on his face, and was rubbing at his temple as though a headache was forming. I reached behind me and grabbed the Advil to hand to him.

"Ok," said Dean. He took another moment to peer at the maps, then shook his head. "I got nothing."

"Same." Sam looked like he was starting his own migraine, and Dean passed the Advil.

"So what are we gonna do?" I asked. "Hit the streets tonight? Try and find this guy on our own?"

"Maybe," said Sam. "Let's listen in on the police scanner."

"But by the time we hear anything, whatever it is will have already happened," I objected.

Sam frowned. "True."

"So you stay here and listen to the scanner, and Sam and I will drive around," suggested Dean. "Together, we might be able to catch something."

I snorted. "No chance."

Dean sighed. "Lucy."

"You're not keeping me cooped up in the motel room to keep me safe. I'm a hunter now; that means I go out onto the streets."

Dean's nose crinkled in annoyance, but he didn't say anything. He knew I was right.

"We need to figure out this pattern," Sam said.

For another half hour we mused over the maps, throwing suggestions back and forth to each other. Finally Sam sat bolt upright, eyes widening.

"Hold on," he said. "I've got an idea. Do you have another map?"

I shook my head. "I can get one," I offered. I scooted off the edge of the table, weaving my way delicately through the maze of maps spread out on the floor. I jogged quickly to the front of the motel, smiling softly in embarrassment at the raised eyebrow the guy at the front desk gave me.

"Another one?" he asked. "You're cleaning out the rack."

"Sorry." I grabbed three maps, just in case, and started back out the door. Behind me the clerk chuckled.

Back in the room Sam grabbed the map, spreading it out on the table and grabbing the red marker I'd been using. It didn't take long to dot the locations of each attack, but then, to my surprise, Sam started adding more information. Writing as small as he could, next to each dot Sam jotted down the time and date of the attacks.

"Ok," he said. He began to trace, moving in chronological order, and Dean and I watched his progress. "There."

I surveyed the map. The pattern now went in a sort of swirly, starting towards the center and working slowly outwards. Dean grinned and pulled the map towards him; now we were getting somewhere.

"Of course," he said. "Whoever this is starts out small, close to home. Picks a random direction one night and walks until he finds a crime to bust. Next night he decides to go in another direction, so that he's not focusing in one area. As time goes on and he gets more confident he branches out, moves further away from home. And he's still finding crime all over the city, so that he isn't focusing on one particular section."

"But what about these irregularities?" I asked. I pointed to the few places where the swirly pattern was disrupted, the line dipping back towards the center of the page, only to head back out again for the next point.

"The times are different," Sam told me. "These," and he pointed to the irregularities, "have later times. Closer to morning. Maybe he got a late start, knew he couldn't go far out before the sun came up and people started noticing a vigilante running through the streets. So he stays closer to home, so he can get back quickly."

I nodded. That made sense. I peered closely at the area at the center of the pattern. It was just off the city center, though not by much, encompassing a couple of neighborhoods.

"So we hang around there tonight?" I asked. "See if we catch anyone sneaking around?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds about right." He sighed, glancing over to me. "I don't suppose you-"

"No." My statement was firm, verging on annoyed. "I'm coming."

Dean huffed.

I started rounding up the maps, wanting something to do before Dean and I started fighting. I couldn't fit them all in the garbage can, and I made a mental note to leave a nice tip for the poor maid who had to clean the room.

We spent the rest of the day cleaning the arsenal of weapons in the car. By that point I was well versed in all the nuances of taking apart, cleaning, and reassembling a gun. The boys and I fell into a comfortable silence as we worked; somehow the familiar feel of oil and metal was comforting. It brought about feelings of long distance drives and road side camps, nights spent gazing at the stars. Long hours poring over cases and the final, satisfying kill at the end.

More importantly, it also felt like stiff leather jackets and faded plaid shirts. Like family. I knew my new little family, as dysfunctional as it could sometimes be, wouldn't exist without the job. And though Sam, Dean, and Cas could never replace my original family, could never replace my parents or the twins, I still loved them. Just as much as I loved the family I'd left behind.

The last thing I polished was my angel blade. I always took care to keep it clean. I had no idea if it could rust, but I didn't intend to find out. Cas had given me that knife, given it so that I could keep myself safe. It was heartwarming, to say the least.

Plus, the knife had proven itself useful.

After a while, as we neared the bottom of the pile of weapons, Sam slipped out to stock up on other supplies. When he returned a half hour later he had bought two new bags of salt and had refilled our two tanks of gas.

When the weapons were clean we put them all back in the car. Everything had its place, and though nothing was marked, we all knew what went where. We still had a few hours left of sunlight, so Dean popped the front hood and started giving the impala's different parts a quick clean. Nothing special; he didn't start taking things apart, he didn't make too big of a mess. He still needed a shower when he was done though.

As the sun finished setting we pulled into a drive through to get some dinner. As I dabbed my fries in ketchup I found my phone buzzing, and glanced down to see that I had a text from Mia.

Hey, it read. How are you?

For a moment I sat there, not sure how to respond. It had been so long since I'd had a friend to text; it felt odd. Then I sighed. It wasn't like the boys and I didn't talk; I hadn't lost social skills after meeting them. Some would say I'd gained them; it took great effort sometimes not to start hitting those two brothers.

But how was I supposed to describe what I was doing? How was I supposed to talk about hunting with someone who didn't hunt themselves? It seemed ludicrous.

But it wasn't like Mia didn't know what I was doing. It was just sort of like talking about some sport that your friend didn't know much about. If that sport involved burning bodies and shooting things.

I'm not bad, I sent back. How're you?

It didn't skip my mind that I didn't mention what I was doing. Which Mia hadn't actually asked about, so that wasn't important, but I still felt awkward casually mentioning that I was hunting. By the way, I'm sitting in my brother's car with a gun stuffed in my belt getting ready to go hunt down some shape shifting vigilante. No biggie.

Despite my trepidations, it was still exciting having someone to text with. It felt almost normal, like I had gotten a bit of my old life back. Like I was sitting in my mom's car texting Jill or Cassie, my two best friends growing up.

So, what're you doing?

Crap. Now I had to figure out how to talk about hunting. For a moment I stared at my phone screen, pondering over how much I could say without things getting weird, how much I even wanted to talk about the job.

As the screen started to get dark I tapped on it, then began to type.

Working a case. What about you?

That didn't seem too bad. Hopefully Mia wouldn't get too weirded out by just the mention of hunting, and I wasn't forcing any details on her. I hit send before my nerve could break.

Not much. Listening to music.

A moment later another text came in.

What's the case about?

I sighed. Now things were getting more complicated. Why did things always have to get complicated?

There's a vigilante running around a ways south of your town, I told her. We think it might be a shape shifter.

Really? Responded Mia. Wow. Why do you think it's a shape shifter?

I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. She was asking questions, which meant she wasn't weirded out by hunting, or at least not completely weirded out. And she wasn't asking any of the harder questions, like what we were gonna do if we found the shifter. The truth was even I didn't know.

What were we gonna do? It wasn't like we could turn the shifter over to the police. Their disguise was genius; there was no DNA evidence to prove their identity. Either way, all they had to do was change appearance and they could probably confuse the police as to how some random person had ended up in a police cell. They'd be set free.

I bit my lip. Would we kill the vigilante? Technically they were acting outside the law, breaking the law. But how many laws had the boys and I broken? Probably most of them.

But the vigilante was hurting people. Sam, Dean, and I only hurt the monsters we hunted; we were careful not to involve others when we could avoid it.

But the vigilante was only hurting bad people. It's not like he or she was just beating up random people in the street. Each had been involved in some crime of their own, which the vigilante had interrupted.

I quickly responded to Mia's text, breaking off my train of thought. The shifter's running around looking like someone who died three years ago. Either it's a shifter or zombies are suddenly real.

Lol, came Mia's response.

"Hey guys," I called.

"Hmm?" asked Sam.

"What are we gonna do when we find the shifter?" I asked. "We can't go to the police. Are we gonna kill them?"

I saw Sam and Dean trade looks. I was guessing they hadn't really thought about that much themselves.

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "I guess maybe we'll talk to them, see if we can convince them to stop."

"And if they don't?"

Sam wrung his hands together. "I don't know." He frowned. "First let's concentrate on finding them."

I nodded, glancing out the window. The sun was finishing its descent, and darkness had finally fallen over the streets. We slipped quickly from the car and spread the map of the city over the front hood, holding flashlights over the page.

"Ok," said Dean. "I say we split up. We'll cover more ground that way. We've got three neighborhoods where this person could be coming from, so we each take one. Lucy, you go here. Sammy, you're here."

I couldn't help but notice that Dean had positioned himself in between Sam and I, so he could rush to either of our aid if need be. I didn't comment though, merely nodding. I took a moment to check my weapons; my usual pocket knife, a silver knife strapped to my ankle, and my angel blade and a gun containing silver bullets stuffed in my belt. I was ready.

"Be careful," Sam said.

I rolled my eyes and nodded, pulling out my phone.

Got to go, I sent to Mia. I didn't elaborate as to why, merely stuffing my phone back in my pocket. I didn't want to be distracted in the middle of a hunt.

The boys and I sent each other final smiles before turning away from each other. We each started off in separate directions, and I began walking alone through the dark streets, scanning the shadows around me for vigilantes.