Disclaimer: The Winchesters and Missouri Moseley are not my characters.

A/N: I mention a Hunter in here. Bonus fandom points if you know who I'm talking about. PM me with the answer :) Also...this is the last chapter? Maybe? I don't know.

We're off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz.

Hah. Just kidding. That was Dorothy's lame-ass thing.

We—meaning Riley and Winchester Bros Incorporated—were off to kill a psychotic vampire who had sacrificed almost his entire nest just to play a week-long, homicidal version of hide-and-seek.

That just didn't have the same ring to it, though.

Of the three of us, one was humming a classic rock song under his breath and navigating the streets using the fading sunlight, one was plagued by fever-induced chills, and one was a responsible, six-foot-four giant attempting to map our course using printed out directions that had previously been sat on, bled on, and coffee-ied on by one Riley Stewart.

"It's right up here on the left," Sam said with a frown. He turned the directions sideways, squinting. "Either that, or it's on the other side of town." Dean shut off the engine, making the decision for us. "You're directions suck, Riley," Sam concluded, tossing the tattered paper into the backseat where I sat hunched inside a blanket.

I elected not to reply, kind of liking it when Sassy Sam and his bitchface made an appearance. Usually he was all grim and responsible. Also, I couldn't really counter, since I had pretty much forced them to bring me along. It wasn't so much that I was feeling better, rather I just refused to tell the Winchesters where the final vampy showdown was going to take place unless they promised to take me with them.

I had also teared up a little—using a quick one-two tear streak pattern down my cheeks—which had gotten me my way quicker than any amount of threats or bribery would have. Of course, I did feel a little guilty for using my feminine wiles against Sam and Dean, but there was no way I was going to let them finish this Hell Week without me. It was a matter of professional and personal pride.

And also the fact that I would probably never be able to sleep soundly again if I didn't take care of this myself. So there was always that.

In the front seat, Dean stopped drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel. He twisted in his seat, throwing his arm across the back of it. "So you just went out and met him?" he asked for the umpteenth time in reference to my meeting with Head Honcho. "What did he say?"

I wrinkled my nose and fought the urge to roll my eyes. "I got the distinct impression he was trying to charm me," I said carefully. I didn't mention being propositioned like a street-corner girl as I doubted it would go over well with this audience. "But I think my lack of blonde ditzyness and my overall bad attitude killed the mood."

I yawned, but it was a good yawn. I wasn't bone tired and in constant fear for my life, which is actually a pretty great feeling. Glancing out the window, I continued my narration of the meeting. "Then we reached the threat-making portion of the evening. You know, 'I'm going to kill you. Slowly. Painfully. Blah blah blah.'"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "And how did that go over?"

I shrugged. "Told him where to find his most recently deceased crony. Mika and I left him in an industrial fridge on Maple Street."

Sam twisted in his seat. "Speaking of Mika, I did some digging on Jemma McAllister. She's a good Hunter, better than most. But, Riley, she's crazy."

I stared at him for a long second, and a half-hysterical giggle burst from my throat. Oh, please. Tell me something I don't know, Sam Winchester.

Sam looked annoyed, which told me I might have said that last bit out loud. He must have felt the need to make the gravity of the situation known, because he started ticking off negative personality traits of his fingers. "She's driven, violent, obsessed…"

"Batshit insane?" Dean suggested, looking out the window. Sam pulled a face, but he didn't deny it.

"We met a Hunter like that once," Sam said.

Dean looked up sharply. "Nearly killed Sammy," he said in a low, dangerous tone. I wondered why anyone would want to kill Sam, but I didn't push. Dean's countenance suggested I keep my mouth shut. Besides, I didn't need to ask how that one had played out.

Sam pulled another face. "What we're saying is...be careful. People like that...you never know when they're going to snap."

I thought about it.

It was true.

Jemma McAllister was manipulative and secretive, and I really didn't know what would set her off. But at the same time, I wasn't so far from snapping myself. When crazy people snap, it's bad. But when normal, semi-rational people snap...something far worse tends to happen. If I was a wild, monster-killing weirdo on my better days, then I shuddered to even think about what would happen if I snapped.

I laughed again, this time less hysterical and a lot more menacing. "I'll be fine," I said, and I meant it. "Let's just get this over with.

The Winchester's climbed out. I followed. We all had our machetes held ready. I felt like part of a Hollywood action movie death squad, which was depressingly accurate. There was no laughing, no joking. It was just silent, grim camaraderie. Yay for us.

We walked up to the barn, and Sam pulled the giant door open slightly. I walked in, hesitating for a second as a small slice of fading sunlight silhouetted me on the floor. Then Dean slipped in behind me and Sam followed, pulling the door shut as he went.

My silhouette was swallowed in the gloom, and I took another step forward. It was like stepping into a void. The darkness was all-consuming, and I was feeling just malicious enough to blend right in. Sam and Dean flanked on either side of me, splitting off and edging along the far sides of the spacious barn. I walked down the center aisle, where all the stall doors were, making myself as flagrant a target as possible.

Straw rustled underfoot, and it wasn't until I reached the first set of stalls that Head Honcho started talking. "You cheated," he said, borderline sulky as his voice echoed and bounced through the shadows. "You were supposed to come alone, but you brought friends."

My heart started pounding, and a chill slithered down my spine. Mika thought I was going to die. I hadn't had the courage to ask her if it was part of her future-thing or just normal fear. I could very well die in this cold, empty barn. I could be talking to my killer right now.

That feeling alone was almost indescribable. I swallowed. Then I shrugged casually, knowing no matter what happened to me, the Winchesters would take care of Mika. "I never said I'd come alone. I just said I'd be here."

"It's the spirit of the matter," he said, speaking from somewhere out there. He was still treating this like it was a game, and it made me sick. People weren't playthings. Familiar anger started burning in my chest. I would be glad when he was dead. Because, one way or another, he would be dead after tonight.

My lips twisted into a sneer, and I shook my head, not sure if he'd even see it. "You called me a lioness," I offered back coldly. "The thing about lions, though? They don't play to win." I paused a beat, letting that sink in. "Because lions don't play at all. They survive."

I continued to walk, checking the stalls left and right so that I wasn't randomly ambushed. There was a sharp breath from the infinite darkness, and I knew in my gut that Head Honcho was pissed. A minute later, his words confirmed it. "You stole what was mine!" It was little more than a hiss, and I could hear the fury in his tone. "You wanted to use her for yourself, so you stole her."

There was a small crackle of brittle straw from the stall to my right, and I swung in that direction. The stall door lurched towards me as the vampire appeared and started to exit the stall, reaching for me. It wasn't Head Honcho. It was only Number Eight. I kicked out, savagely hammering the wooden door with the bottom of my foot. The door bounced off and slammed back into Number Eight. His forward flight was hampered by flying wood to the kneecaps, and he stumbled.

Without pause, I lashed out with a fist, smacking him in the face and causing him to stumble to one knee. Then I kicked out again, this time slamming my boot into his face. Something crunched, maybe his nose or jaw, and I brought the machete forward in a furious arch. His head went rolling, and I stood panting, blood dripping from the machete.

Then I turned my attention back to Head Honcho, wherever he might be lurking. "I rescued Mika because you were slowly killing her, asshole." He didn't reply to that one, so I kept moving forward down the aisle.

Four steps later, I came to the end of the stalls, and the barn expanded up into wide open area in front of the other big door. I dipped my head out around the corner quickly before pulling it back. Seeing the area was clear, I eased my way around the bend and headed towards the west wall. I didn't know where Head Honcho was, but if I was at the end of the aisle, and Sam or Dean hadn't run into him, then I was willing to bet he was in the loft.

"I would have taken Kate, too, but you'd already killed her," I said, heading for the closest ladder.

He laughed at that one, a slow malicious sound that crawled slowly downwards through the air. Yep, definitely in the loft. "Ah, yes. Well, Mika was getting...difficult. We thought we might persuade her to continue working with us." I thought about how special Mika was and shuddered. I didn't know what kind of work he'd had for her, but it couldn't have been good. Doubly so if Mika would rather risk her and Kate's lives than keep doing it.

Head Honcho was back to being serious. "There's still time for you to join me, you know. Kill the two you brought with you, and I'll let you become what I am."

I hesitated on the ladder, trying to see where he might be in the loft without exposing myself. "You're a monster," I said slowly.

He laughed. "Oh please. You've killed eight of my family in the last week, buried several of their bodies like common trash, and paraded around your victory in front of me. I'm the monster? What does that make you?"

I thought about it, but not for very long. "A Hunter," I said. "That makes me a Hunter." And with that, I heaved myself up the last few rungs of the ladder and into the loft.

Head Honcho was sitting on a straw bale, which was a bit disconcerting. Just sitting there, watching me. Awesome. "I could kill you before they can even get to me," he said quietly, no longer broadcasting to the entire barn. "Even then, they might not be able to beat me. So...any last words?"

Half a dozen pithy statements flooded through my mind, but only one concept really stuck around. "It's Sam and Dean Winchester," I said simply.

His eyes widened slowly and so did my smile. I wiggled my eyebrows and swept my machete around in a figure eight to loosen my wrist. Head Honcho glanced left and then right, for the first time seeming uneasy. "Besides," I said conversationally, "even if you kill me, they have Mika, and you will never get her back."

His face twisted into fury, and he disappeared into a blur. Heavy hands grated painfully on my shoulders, locking on with supernatural strength as teeth ripped at my neck. It was, of course, nearly the exact same spot all the other vampires had tried to bite me—the crook of my neck. The pain traveled to my brain instantly, but unlike the last time this had happened, I didn't freeze up. Instead, I dropped the machete, grabbed two handfuls of the bulk that was suddenly in front of me, and flung myself backward.

I wasn't super up-to-date on my physics knowledge, but I was pretty sure that things fall at the same rate regardless of their weight. Despite that, during the brief plummet to the ground, Head Honcho somehow ended up on the bottom. He slammed into the ground, and I slammed into him. I heard bones break, but thankfully, they were not mine this time.

Still, pain crashed over me like a fog bank made of cotton balls and concrete. Yowza, that had hurt. Who knew flinging oneself from a loft would cause bodily harm? Oh wait, I had known that. But I'd done it anyway.

Strong, plaid-clad arms looped under mine and pulled me out of the mess of limbs. I let them. It was Dean. I was dragged backwards, my heels making little furrows in the soft loamy ground, and a blurry Sam stepped up on the left, hefting his machete easily.

In one swift movement, he took off Head Honcho's...well, head. I stared mutely as the head rolled, carried by the momentum of the strike, and came to a stop in front of me. Talk about Hollywood-esque storytelling. I wanted to vomit.

"It's over. It's finally over," someone murmured. It took me a second to realize it was me. My brain was slightly foggy, which I guess is par for the course when slamming a forehead into someone else's sternum.

"You're an idiot," Dean remarked. Even foggy, there was no mistaking who said that one.

I chortled into my hand, finding his chiding hilarious. "Never said I wasn't," I reminded him cheerfully. He tipped me upright, his hand on the small of my back in case I fell over. I was a little loopy with fever and bumped head, but I was in no way an invalid. I brushed his hand away, deciding it best if I just pretended to be a statue for the next few minutes.

Sam dragged the body away, kicking loam over the blood trail. The head also got taken away, but I squeezed my eyes shut for that part. After that, I moved my hands to my hips, breathing slowly and wondering if I'd bruised something important. Like my spleen or one of my kidneys.

During my contemplation of the black market price for a new internal organ, I remembered that I'd dropped my machete. Tossed it away, really, to avoid impaling myself as we fell.

"Hey," I said, turning towards the loft ladder again. "Can you get my machete? It's all the way up there." I craned my head, catching a glimpse of the handle, and pointed upwards. Tipping my head all the way back turned out to be a monumentally bad idea, because as I did, I was simultaneously tipping backwards in an uncontrolled descent. Dean's hands caught me again and pushed me upright. "Thankee kindly," I said, tipping the brim of an imaginary hat at him once I was stable again.

He gave me a judgy look but started up the ladder nonetheless.

"Oh!" I murmured, pulling my phone from my pocket. I'd turned it on silent, so as not to get me killed by an inconveniently timed call or text. Flipping through the contacts, I pulled up the number for the bed and breakfast. Then I scuffed my toe against the ground, waiting for the call to be routed through to Mika. She picked up almost instantly.

"It's done," I said simply. "We're safe now."

She started crying. I might have joined her if I wasn't so emotionally stunted. Instead, I waited until she had calmed down enough to hear me. "Pack the room up and put everything in the car. Sam and Dean will drop me off. Then we're getting the hell out of Dodge."

True to my word, Sam and Dean did drop me off. Only it wasn't the instantaneous "unload and peel out" that I was envisioning. Mika was waiting in the car, and it was already running and warm when we pulled in. Telling Mika to stay put with a wave of my hand, I walked in with Sam and Dean, unlocking our room for them. After grabbing a few remaining things, the Winchesters gravitated towards the door, where I stood.

I was just about to thank them when Sam passed me a card. I took it, reading his precise handwriting. "Missouri Moseley," I read, scanning the phone number. I didn't recognize the area code. Then I looked up at Sam, confused by the understanding and kindness in his face.

"For Mika," Sam said quietly. "Missouri is a psychic working out of Kansas. She might be able to help Mika with...you know." I hesitated, chewing on my lip. Was she that obvious? I had been with her for almost a week before seeing it. Maybe Sam just had a spidey sense.

Thinking about Spider-man reminded me of my first impression of Mika's ability, and I tried to grin. "So it's not a superpower, then?" I asked, trying to lighten the situation.

Sam smiled, but it was tight and small. "Not a superpower. But with the right training, she can do a lot of good."

I leaned back against the doorjamb, feeling a little overwhelmed. I didn't want her to be trained. I wanted her to be a normal kid while she still had the chance. "She's just a kid," I said, more to myself than him. "She shouldn't be involved with this stuff."

Sam snorted. "So were you, when we first met."

I shook my head. "I met a vampire and then ran him over with my car. I don't think I was ever just a kid."

Sam shrugged, tipping his head slightly. "True," he conceded. "Still, I think it might be better...for all of us...if she's around someone like her."

I nodded, knowing that he was right. Sam was always right. Even when he was wrong, he still managed to be right. "I'll get her to Missouri," I said, and I meant it. Even if I had to go through Jemma to do it.

"Be careful," Sam warned, and I think he knew exactly what I was pondering. Then he slung his backpack and laptop bag over his shoulder and headed out of the room.

Dean took a step forward, having held back during our conversation. He hesitated in the doorway, just like Sam had a second earlier, rubbing his jaw with a hand. "Maybe we should, you know, stick around. Meet this Finn of yours."

"Nope," I said quickly, grabbing his arm and half shoving, half spinning him around. Then I put my hands on his back and bundled him out the door like a mini bulldozer. "Thanks for the help. It was nice to see you. So long. Be safe. Have a nice drive."

He laughed, planting his feet and stopping our forward momentum easily. "Alright, alright, I get the point."

I grinned, swiping a stray piece of hair out of my face.

Then Dean got all serious, and my grin faded slowly. "You're a Hunter, Riley. I wish you were off screwing around and doing normal teenage things, but you're not. So just...be careful, okay?" It was the exact same thing Sam had just said, but at the same time it was different.

I tried to smile but pretty much failed. The best I could manage was a wavering line where my mouth was supposed to be. "Didn't yah hear? I'm not a teenager anymore." His brow crinkled, and he frowned. I shrugged. "January eleventh," I confirmed. Which was today—more or less—since it was still technically not midnight yet.

His forehead wrinkled, and his frown deepened, as he looked down at me. Then his mouth twitched into a smirk. "No offense, but your birthday party sucked," he said.

A quick bark of laughter erupted out of my throat, and I rubbed the back of my neck with a hand, glancing at the ground. "Yeah, well, not all of it. You brought me bacon. Doesn't get much better than that, right?"

He inclined his head with a snort, not really agreeing or disagreeing, but then he reached out and pulled me into a hug. I was kind of surprised and remained stiff for a moment, but then I relaxed into it. "Thanks for coming," I said quietly into his warm, plaid shirt.

"Always," he promised. Then he pushed me back at arms length and dropping his hands. "See you around, kiddo."

A minute later, he was gone, walking down the hall. I followed him out, standing by my car door as he opened his with a familiar squeak. He climbed in, and the engine started. I waved at Sam as the Impala rolled out of the parking spot and started to pull away. He waved back, and I sighed—my breath billowing out in a cloud—and stared after it until I couldn't see the sleek shape anymore.

I climbed into the car, holding my hands in front of the heating vents for a second. "Well, where to, my Lady?" I asked with a grin.

Mika waved a hand dramatically and deepened her voice. "Onward, my brethren," she commanded imperiously. "The world is our oyster." I snorted, realizing she'd just quoted Shakespeare. I quoted movies, Finn quoted philosophers, and she quoted Shakespearean literature. Typical. So typical.

Then I sobered. "But seriously, where to? I can take you to Jemma, or…" I let the numerous possibilities hang in the air like iron-clad promises. I would take her wherever she wanted to go. Screw Jemma.

Mika's silliness faded as well, almost visibly leaking away. "I don't know," she said in a tiny voice, staring at her hands in her lap. "Can you...can you just drive for now?"

I pulled out of the parking lot and started driving.

It was at least ten minutes before Mika spoke again. "I was trying to find my father," she said, breaking the long silence. "I ran away. I saved up three hundred dollars and ran away. I was asking around, traveling and staying with Hunters I'd met before, and making stupid mistakes, I guess. That's when the vampires found me."

That was probably the most dangerous way to go about finding one's dad, but I wasn't judging. I said nothing, hoping she'd keep talking. After a pause, she did. "I know you think I'm stupid, but I found him, right before the vampires grabbed me. One of my mom's old Hunting buddies said that my father is somewhere in New York. That's where I was trying to go before they got me."

I stewed it over, thinking through the possibilities. I could take her to New York. I could help her find her dad, but what then? Would he be like her? Would he have her stay with him?

I chewed on my lip, glancing over at Mika. She was staring down at her hands again, like she was awaiting judgement. "You told Sam... about what you can do." It wasn't a question.

"He guessed," she said quietly. "You were sick and asleep, and we just started talking. I think he was trying to make me feel better, but then I said something I shouldn't have. I told him it wasn't his fault. Just like I know what happened to Finn wasn't your fault. It was hurting him, just like it hurts you, and I couldn't help myself."

I puckered my lips and blew out a breath. "You told him what happened to Jess wasn't his fault. She was going to be his fiancé. He never got the chance to ask her to marry him."

Mika stared out the window. "I know. I don't know how I knew that, but it was just something I felt."

I blew out another breath, feeling out of my depth. Give me a vampire, I'll kill it. Give me a fourteen-year-old psychic, I was totally lost. "Sam gave me the contact info for a lady. Her name is Missouri. She's like you. Maybe she can help you."

"L-like me?" Mika stuttered, sounding shocked.

I glanced at her, wrinkling my forehead. "Yeah, you know, a psychic. Like you."

"A psychic?" she looked flabbergasted. "No, I'm just a freak. My mom said—"

I didn't even listen to her next words. Rage just boiled over in my brain. "Jemma is a fucking liar, Mika. She told Finn his dad was dead. She never even told him he had a sister. Now she lets you think you're some kind of freak? You're psychic. There are other people out there that are just like you." Which was not something I would have ever thought I'd say in my life.

A single tear rolled down Mika's cheek, and I wondered if maybe I was being too abrasive. Riley is a gentle soul, known for her compassionate tact and grace, said no one ever. "She...she said if anyone ever found out what I was, they'd kill me. Or use me. I just thought…"

"I'm taking you to Missouri. The lady, not the state. She actually lives in Kansas, so I hope you like wheat fields."

A spark of hope lit up Mika's face, but it was quickly chased away by fear. "My mom—"

"I'll take care of Jemma," I said harshly. Maybe a little too harshly, but I was beyond caring. "You'll be okay, and I'll be okay. Everything will be fine. And if it isn't, I will make it fine." God, I sounded like the freaking terminator. Only, I had better annunciation.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me? You don't even know me." Mika was sniffling, and I kind of hoped she wasn't about to start crying again. Then again, I was basically telling her to abandon her mother, albeit a madwoman, and start a new life. Maybe tears were justified.

I thought about what she'd asked. "Why wouldn't I do this?" I said finally. Because that's what it came down to. There were no good reasons that I could come up with that told me not to. "I can help, so I will. And maybe someday, when you see someone you can help, you will."

I turned on my blinker, heading to an off-ramp. Then I drove into the town, following the signs to the one place I knew would give Mika her best chance.

She didn't even look surprised when I pulled into the bus station. We got out, and I handed her the backpack of clothes and supplies we'd accumulated for her during the week. Then I pulled out my wallet and handed her a stack of twenties and a pay-per-minute cellphone I'd picked up earlier in the week. Last, I pulled out the card Sam had given me and held it out to Mika. "Call her. Tell her what you can do. She'll help."

Mika took the card from me, holding it tightly. She looked scared, but she also looked determined. "Don't call your mom," I told her. "Don't email her, don't contact her in any way." I tapped the card. "If you really want to help people, this is how you do it."

Mika nodded, and I pulled her into a hug, getting a sense of deja vu since Dean had just done this to me. "Be careful," I told her. Then I paused, making up my mind. "I'll find your dad. And after I find him, I'll find you."

Mika nodded into my shoulder, and I pulled back. "Good luck," I said, not really sure why. She nodded again and hitched the backpack strap up a little higher on her shoulder. Then she turned and marched to the ticket counter, buying a ticket with her head up and back straight.

I waited with the car idling for her to get on the bus. Mika hesitated, foot on the first step. Then she turned and gave me a small wave before climbing up the stairs.

The bus pulled out, and I put the car in drive.

The bus headed towards Kansas, and I got on the freeway. Headed for Michigan. Headed for Finn. Headed, unfortunately, for Jemma.

I didn't know what I was going to tell her yet. Didn't know what I was going to tell Finn. But I had a long drive ahead of me to figure it out.

Part of me didn't care, though. Finn was awake. Awake, after all this time. And, holy crap, I couldn't wait to see him.