Luck Lamented

The summer heat in Buffalo, New York was of the wet and muggy sort. Faith felt like she was inhaling water every time she breathed, and that morning, Toby had come out of the bathroom in a pair of cargo shorts. She'd calmly taken photos with her phone before bursting into laughter – which he had not appreciated.

Breakfast was had at the local diner, and from their booth in the far corner, Faith demolished a plate of waffles while Toby laid out what little they had to go on for the job.

"Three boys missing over the course of three weeks. All under the age of six, and all with red hair," he began, slapping a hand on the missing persons' report he'd printed at the local library. "None of them from wealthy families, and no ransoms demands have been made. The kids were simply there, then gone. No bodies have been found."

"Where were they when they went missing?" Faith asked in between bites of her breakfast.

"From their local daycare."

"And we're not thinking this is just a run-of-the-mill kidnapper because…?"

Toby put down the file he was holding, his stare serious. "In every case, it's the mothers who collect the kids at the end of the day."

Faith slowly put down her fork. "Okay, or it's the guilty receptionists saying it's the mothers."

He shook his head. "Security footage proves it."

Something wasn't adding up. "This all happened here?" she asked dubiously. "I mean, at this point, why would the daycare even stay open?"

"No, the first case was in Glasgow."

Faith frowned. "Scotland?"

Toby took a moment to pray to some nameless god for strength before he jabbed a finger at the map he'd laid between them. "Glasgow, New York," he said with waning patience. "It's only a few miles north of here."

"Right, and the second case?"

He dragged a finger down the line in the map that represented the highway leading down south. "Haywood," he said, pausing at a small town only a few miles south. "And the third was here, in Buffalo."

"When?"

"Two days ago."

Faith sat back in the booth. "It's travelling down the highway." Trying not to think about those kids – so small and scared, at the mercy of some terrible thing – she picked up her fork despite not feeling quite so hungry anymore. "What're we thinking? A spirit? A satanic cult of some kind, looking for sacrifices?"

"I doubt it," Toby shook his head. "My money's on shapeshifter."

"Ooh," said Faith, thoughts turning to the possible hunt, "I haven't had one of those yet."

Toby looked annoyed. "This isn't a game of bingo, Faith."

She shrugged and kept on eating. "Maybe not for you."

Toby put down the tea he was sipping and looked at her hard. She glanced up from her waffles with a frown. "Well? What's our first move?" he asked expectantly.

Realising this was another one of Toby's 'teachable moments', Faith set down her knife and fork, reaching for the papers spread out on the table. Toby said nothing as she took her time scanning the information he'd gathered, trying to come up with a plan of attack.

"We'll go speak to the most recent victim's family, maybe they can tell us something we don't already know. And we'll also drop into the daycare, speak to whoever gave the most recent kid over that day. I'd say for this one we'll go with FBI. Which is good, 'cause I like being Agent Lewis. She looks great in a suit."

Toby didn't bother responding to that. He just signalled for a fresh pot of tea while Faith returned to her meal.

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened at Bobby's?" Toby asked once his tea was delivered, and she was finishing off the last of her breakfast. It took effort for Faith's muscles not to lock up at the words, but she managed it, calmly sipping her coffee and scraping up the last of the berries on her plate.

"Nope."

"Faith," he sighed, "it's been over a month—"

"There's nothing to talk about, Toby," she insisted, flicking him a frustrated frown.

"I disagree."

"Noted."

He sighed again, loudly. Faith knew she was being difficult, but she couldn't help it. She didn't want to talk about it – she barely even wanted to think about it. She just wanted the world to be simple again, a place that made sense, where there was justice for people like her mom, who'd died – seemingly just because Faith happened to exist. An unhappy accident. A downright injustice.

"We've gotta talk about it at some point," Toby said quietly.

She remained unmoved. "Why?"

"Because we've been going from one hunt to the next without even acknowledging that the Cult's out of Hell, that they're looking for you because you're destined to break some weird curse. Which, by the way, puts both of us in danger."

"We've been fine so far," Faith shrugged.

"It's only been a month," Toby pointed out. "At this point, they're probably still getting the hang of things topside. But this calm won't last forever, Faith. I think we both know that they're going to come for you. It's just a matter of when."

She shrugged again. "We'll manage."

"Faith," he said her name sharply. When she looked up it was to find him frowning at her, and she felt like a child being scolded for drawing on the walls. "We can't take this so lightly."

"What do you want me to do, Toby?" she asked, setting down her fork with a clatter. "Go hide out in that panic room Bobby's been building in his spare time? I've still gotta live my life."

Toby sighed. "I know, it's just-"

"You're worried," she nodded. "I get it. I really do. You're a worrier." Toby didn't look amused, and she sighed. "Look, I know things are dangerous. But I'm not gonna stop living my life."

"Well, you're not exactly seizing the day," he said drily. "We've had five hunts over the course of a month."

"Which is me living my life. I like hunting. It fulfils me."

Toby shook his head. "You're a strange one."

"You like hunting too."

"Yeah, but you're a pretty young woman. I'm just an old coot."

It was enough to draw a bark of surprised laughter from her lips. "You're only thirty-one, Toby," she chuckled. "It's not like you've got a foot in the grave."

Toby sighed wearily. "Some days it feels like it."

Faith steepled her hands and leant towards him over the table. "I'm not just burying my head in the sand on this one," she promised him in a moment free from levity. "I know I'm in danger. But honestly, what would you have me do differently?"

Toby tipped another packet of sugar into his tea as he shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. I'm just not used to doing nothing."

"We're not doing nothing," she argued. "We're working."

"You could be training more often," he pointed out. "At least then, if they do surprise attack us, you might stand half a chance."

"Okay," she agreed. "Then we'll start making time for more training."

He didn't look entirely satisfied, but he seemed to realise it was as close to a plan of action as they were going to get. They were both right – she couldn't ignore the problem entirely, but talking about it all the time wouldn't stop the demons from killing them if they really wanted to. All they could do was work the job and keep themselves sharp. It was a shitty solution to an even shittier problem.

After breakfast, they went back to their motel to change into their FBI get-ups. Toby's was a fancy, pinstripe suit with a blue tie that brought out his eyes, while Faith's was a women's version of a suit that Toby had chosen for her when they'd initially shopped for their disguises. Her one non-negotiable was that it would have pants rather than a skirt, and Toby had run with his freedom like a bird taking flight.

Dressed in her fitted, dark grey suit and a pair of heels high enough to look official but low enough that she could still kick ass, Faith drove Toby's car over to the Kingsley's house. Their son, Micah, was the third victim, and though the chances of them learning anything new was slim, it was at least worth a visit.

Andrea Kingsley answered the door, a tall woman with long ginger hair and red-rimmed eyes.

"Mrs. Kingsley? I'm Agent Fitzgerald, this is my partner, Agent Lewis," said Toby as the two of them flashed their fake badges in tandem. "We're here about your son. May we come in?"

Andrea immediately burst into tears. "He's dead, isn't he?" she sobbed into her hands. "You found him?"

Toby's expression flashed with alarm, but before he could panic too much, Faith was there, stepping uninvited into the house and threading an arm around the distraught woman's shoulders. "No ma'am, we don't have any news on your son's whereabouts," Faith hurried to reassure her. "We're only here for some follow-up questions. We don't mean to disturb you."

It took a minute, but Andrea managed to get a hold of herself, eventually gesturing for them both to follow her inside. Their house was neat and tidy except for a small scattering of toys on the floor of the living room that they hadn't seemed to be able to find the will to pick up.

A man appeared, also with ginger hair, although not quite as tall. "Pete," said Andrea, stepping into the circle of his arms immediately. "They haven't found him," she hurried to tell him. "They're just here to ask more questions."

Pete's expression folded in frustration. "We've already answered everything the sheriff asked us—"

"We're not with the sheriff's department," said Faith quickly, pulling out her badge to flash. "Agents Lewis and Fitzgerald with the FBI?"

He took her badge to examine more closely, and for a moment Faith felt her heart skip a beat. She didn't think he'd actually be able to tell it was a fake – Toby had assured her more than once that it was a perfect forgery – but the worry was there all the same.

With a soft huff the man handed it back to her, and she took it with a smile that was only a little wooden. "What do you need to know?" Pete Kingsley demanded frostily.

Toby gestured to the couches across the room. "May we?"

Running a delicate hand beneath her nose, Andrea hurried to say, "Can I get you some coffee, or – um – I think I have some iced tea—"

"No, thank you, ma'am," said Toby in his smooth American accent. Every time he pulled it out, Faith had the terrible urge to laugh – it was so wrong on him, like an ugly sweater that didn't fit right – but this was hardly the time, so she focused on the conversation. "We won't be here long. Just a few routine questions."

"It's about time they brought the FBI into this," muttered Pete as they all took seats on a couch that smelt sickly sweet, like someone had spilled juice on its cushions more than once. "Maybe now we'll finally get some answers."

Toby gave a strained smile. "One thing at a time, sir."

He flipped open his little notebook and held his pen at the ready before nodding for Faith to take the floor. She shifted forwards on the couch and shot the grieving parents her softest smile.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley, to the best of your knowledge, is there anyone who might have wanted to harm Micah?" she asked gently. "Someone with a grudge against the family? Maybe a jilted past lover, or an abusive family member you no longer speak to?"

The two were quick to shake their heads. "No one."

"Have you looked into that video, yet?" Pete demanded. "What about the daycare? I've never seen a video doctored so perfectly—"

"All in due time, Mr. Kingsley," Faith said sternly. Pete shut his mouth begrudgingly and she returned her attention to the mother. "Andrea, is it true you have six people who can verify your whereabouts on the afternoon of the incident?"

Another sniffle. "I was at work," she said softly, weakly. "I'm a hairdresser. I own a salon in the centre of town. I supplied the sheriff's department with a copy of our own security footage—"

"We've seen it," Faith lied. "We just wanted the confirmation from yourself. Now, these next few questions might seem odd, but please answer them to the best of your ability."

She was getting better and better at sounding professional. When she put on her 'FBI voice', it was impossible to tell she'd worked at a truck-stop diner only a year ago. Toby was very proud.

The parents nodded, and she pressed on to the difficult part of the questioning. "Had your son spoken recently about making any new friends? Had he mentioned any names you hadn't heard before, or maybe a new imaginary friend you assumed to be harmless?"

"Imaginary friend?" spluttered the father. "Why should that matter?!"

"Please, sir," said Toby, voice hard. "We're only being thorough."

Andrea put a hand on her husband's leg, and that seemed to calm him some. "No, not that I can think of," she told the two of them shakily. "Micah, he – he keeps to himself. Making friends isn't very easy for him. We're – we're very close. I would have known if there was somebody new in his life."

"Of course," Faith nodded. "What about other strange occurrences?"

The two exchanged a look. "Strange?"

"Any phone calls you can't explain? Problems with your water or electricity? Maybe cold spots around the house, even in this time of year?"

Pete looked ready to explode again, but Andrea silenced him with another touch. "No," she answered the question. "Everything's been completely normal. All I know – Micah was at daycare, and I went to get him after I left work, and they were so confused when I came in…" she began to grow unsteady. "How is this possible? It wasn't me! Who could have done this?!"

"We're doing everything we can to figure it out, ma'am," Faith assured her. And that, at least, was true. She pulled one of her fake cards from her pocket, sliding it across the table. "Thank you for your time. This is my personal cell. If you remember anything else, please don't hesitate to call."

Andrea hid her face in her hands, but Pete took the card with a nod. Knowing it was as good as they were going to get, Faith and Toby stood to their feet and let themselves out.

"Well, that told us nothing," muttered Toby as they walked down the drive to their car, tugging restlessly at the knot of his tie. He'd returned to his usual English accent, which was something of a relief. Faith slid behind the wheel as he got into the passenger seat. "We'll go straight to the daycare, see what we can get from there."

The town wasn't very large, so it was barely a three-minute drive to the daycare. Mother Duck, the centre was called, a one-storey building with a large play-castle sitting behind a tall fence, the space overrun by children, their laughter like bells ringing in the summer air.

The woman behind the desk in the front of the building was young, and she looked nervous at the sight of the two of them in their suits. They flashed their badges and introduced themselves, and the woman was quick to call for the owner of the building – a tall blonde woman who walked into the room on sky-high heels, wearing a pencil skirt and a blue shirt covered in embroidered ducks.

"Sarah Hubbard," she introduced herself in a slanting southern accent, shaking their hands and meeting their eyes respectfully. "I assume you're here about Micah Kingsley. Please, tell me what I can do to help."

"We'd like to see the security footage from the day in question," said Toby.

"I already gave a copy to the sheriff's department…"

"I'm afraid we're working a separate investigation, ma'am."

Sarah led them into a back room that housed a large oak desk with a single television set atop it. Sarah pulled a large plastic storage container from beneath the desk and began to finger her way through the CD's filling it. "We only installed the cameras because of a recent custody dispute in town. A father without any visitation rights tried to pick up his daughter … it was a whole mess. We thought it best to be prepared in case something similar ever happened again. It's a miracle we had the cameras up for this, too, otherwise we'd have been looking at a lawsuit…"

Thankfully she found the recording before she could continue to ramble, putting the disc into the TV and hitting play on the remote. Faith and Toby leant forwards, watching in careful silence as the tape played – luckily, also with sound.

The door opened with a creak as a woman who, for all intents and purposes, was Andrea Kingsley, walked into the room.

"Hi Katie," Andrea's voice said to the receptionist.

"Andy, here to grab Micah?" said the younger receptionist. "You're earlier than usual."

"Got off work early," said not-Andrea as she bent to scribble her signature onto the sign-out sheet sat atop the counter. "How's he been today?"

"Got a bit cranky around lunch, but once story time started, he'd settled back down."

A door out of view opened with a creak, and from the bottom of the screen a woman wearing a Mother Duck uniform walked into frame, holding a little boy's hand. The boy was dressed in a Spiderman onesie, his tuft of red hair like fire.

"There's my little man," said not-Andrea, reaching for Micah.

Only Micah seemed to sense – as most children inexplicably could – that something wasn't right with his mama. He began to cry, curling himself around the daycare worker's leg, twisting out of the imposter's grip.

"Micah, it's okay!" the daycare worker was saying over and over, but he continued to cry. "It's just your mom!"

Not-Andrea gathered the screaming, sobbing child into her arms while the two woman at the daycare stared openly. "He'll be fine once we're back home," the false Andrea told them with a casual laugh, holding the squirming child close to her chest. "See you tomorrow!"

And with that she left. The point of view switched to a camera on the exterior of the building, and they watched as the imposter strapped a hysterical Micah into a seat in the back of her car, and Faith was half aware of Toby scribbling down the license plate number on his notepad.

Then, just when Faith was sure they'd found another empty lead, the not-Andrea turned to dart her eyes across the daycare building, her gaze skimming over the camera lens, and in that one move, exposing herself. "Rewind it," Faith ordered Sarah, then, "Freeze there."

The imposter was staring directly at the camera, eyes glowing like fire on film. Anyone else would think it was just a trick of the light, but Faith and Toby knew the truth. He'd been absolutely right; they were dealing with a shifter.

They thanked Sarah and gave her a card before leaving. Back in the car, Faith pulled out onto the main road and glanced at Toby expectantly. "Knew I was right. I should've put money on it," Toby muttered, and despite the grim nature of the case, it drew a smile from her lips.

"We need to run that plate," Faith said.

"I'm sure the local police will have already done it. That should be our next stop."

The sheriff's station was also a small building, nestled in a grove of trees, with a small church sharing its yard. The deputy behind the front desk was handsome, and he grinned at Faith like they'd locked eyes across a club, not met in the reception of a small-town sheriff's department.

For the third time that day they flashed their badges and introduced themselves, but the deputy's charming smile never wavered, even as he ducked into the back room to tell the sheriff they were there. The sheriff's office was cluttered, lived-in, and smelt distinctly of citrus. The sheriff was a heavyset man with well-groomed facial hair and a friendly smile.

"Agents Lewis and Fitzgerald, right?" he asked, shaking each of their hands in turn. "Sheriff Ross, at your service. I assume this is about the Kingsley boy? Poor kid. I know his father; we were neighbours growing up. I've gotta admit, I'm glad for the assist. This case has all of us stumped."

"We're just running a preliminary investigation, and were hoping you could fill in some of the details for us," Faith said with a friendly smile of her own.

"Anything I can do to help."

They had indeed run the plates, and as the Sheriff handed Toby the results of the search, Faith had to lean over in her chair to get a good look at the file. Even as they read, the Sheriff spoke.

"Car was reported stolen about a week ago, a few miles north of here," he explained. "We haven't found the car in town or in the surrounding neighbourhoods, so it probably hasn't been abandoned. We've got a BOLO out on it, but it hasn't been spotted in any of the nearby towns, either. It's in the wind. Hey, you folks have any idea how they doctored that video so well?"

"We're exploring several possible avenues of inquiry," Faith said distractedly, sliding a hand down the length of the page. When nothing useful was found, she frowned. Toby was still reading when Faith looked up to ask, "What about other crimes in town?"

The sheriff appeared taken off guard by the question. "Other crimes?"

"Has anything been reported? Anyone suspicious or out of place? A break-in, or burglary of any kind?"

The sheriff frowned. "Actually, yeah," he said, seeming surprised to remember it. "About a week ago there was a disturbance over at Cassandra Miller's place."

Toby looked up. "What kind of disturbance?"

"Cassandra's a widow – husband died of cancer a few years back. She lives alone now. Neighbours say they heard some crashing and a scream from the house. I took the call myself – me and Hughes, we went up to the house – Cassandra was fine. Said she'd dropped a glass bowl and the crash made her scream. We went inside just to be safe, and there wasn't any glass or anything. She said she'd cleaned it up – but we got there pretty fast, and she's an old lady. I dunno, something about it just seemed a little off."

"Did you check the rest of the house?"

"No – like I said, it was just an accident. No need to sweep the property – no probable cause," the sheriff looked confused. "What does this have to do with Micah Kingsley?"

Faith shot him her most dazzling smile. "Maybe nothing, but we like to be thorough. Could you give us a copy of Ms. Miller's address?"

"Smart thinking," Toby said as they climbed back in the car not ten minutes later, the address in hand.

She grinned. "I learned from the best."

They went back to their motel first, changing from their FBI get-ups to their usual clothes. Faith shrugged on her favourite purple jacket, and it felt like wrapping herself in a cosy blanket. She liked her Fed suit and the sense of authority it gave her, but it wasn't the same as her usual clothes, which were much easier to fight in. There was something powerful in looking like herself, too.

As she tied the laces to her dirty old chucks, Toby searched through their things for the silver bullets. "How do you kill a shifter?" he asked while they worked.

"Silver bullet or blade to the heart," she droned, all too used to her partner's ongoing lessons in the supernatural.

"And if for some reason that fails?"

"Decapitation."

"Very good."

She looked up with a smirk. "Do I get a gold star?"

But Toby wasn't laughing. He was frowning into his duffel bag of weapons, and Faith stood to her feet, sliding her iron dagger into the brace on her shin beneath her ripped jeans.

"Toby?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

He turned to her, grim. "We're out of silver bullets."

"What? Of course we're not."

Toby just shook his head, and she stared at him in mounting horror.

"Toby," she said slowly. "They're silver bullets. We're hunters. We'd be idiots not to carry a backup supply."

Toby ran a hand through his short, curly hair, and Faith couldn't help but notice how tired he looked all of a sudden.

"We used the last of them on that Wendigo," he said, shutting his eyes, frustrated. "I meant to make more – but then there was that whole thing with Pamela and … Oliver," – pain drenched his voice as he said his late-partner's name and Faith felt a pang in her chest at the thought of losing her own – "and then there was the Roadhouse and the Devil's Gate and … things got away from me."

"Do you need a vacation?" Faith asked playfully, but she was only half kidding.

Toby sighed. "Maybe."

"Well, we've got, what? Four silver knives?" she asked, doing a quick count. "Plus that tomahawk you're so fond of. We're set."

"Still, it's risky."

"Toby," Faith said. "There's a kid's life at stake. Maybe more than one, if this thing's keeping the other kids captive, too."

Toby took a moment, then finally nodded. "You're right."

He hefted up the tomahawk in question as Faith tucked her gun into the waistband of her jeans – just as a precaution – and together they slipped out to the car.

Cassandra Miller's house was fairly large, when compared to all the other houses in the suburb. Faith would be willing to bet the family came from old money, if the ostentatious wrought iron fencing was anything to judge by. They made their way up the long drive, then climbed from the old car which looked hilariously out of place beside the large, expensive house before them.

Faith was the one to ring the doorbell, knife within reach but still out of sight. They had no proof that her hunch was right, that the shifter was masquerading as this Miller woman, or even that the child was here. For all they knew, the Sheriff could be right, and this was all one large, uninteresting coincidence.

But Faith was willing to bet it wasn't.

Nobody answered the door for a full minute – she had to ring the bell twice more. Just as Toby was pulling the lock pick from his pocket, the door opened to reveal a blonde, middle-aged woman wearing a pretty pink dress and a wooden smile.

Faith glanced at Toby as he glanced at her, in the same moment realising their error. Neither had thought to check what Cassandra Miller looked like – for all they knew, this could be someone else entirely, and then they'd be caught in their own lie. "Cassandra Miller?" Faith asked carefully, fingers itching for the hilt of a knife.

The woman's toothy smile widened. "Yes?"

"I'm Agent Lewis, this is my partner, Agent Fitzgerald. We just have a few questions for you, if you wouldn't mind letting us inside. We won't take up too much of your time," Faith said sweetly, pocketing her badge after the woman had had enough of a look.

She hesitated. "May I ask what this is about?"

Toby made a show of looking across the lawn to the neighbour's house. "Please, this is better discussed indoors."

She still seemed hesitant, but whether she was a shifter or not, she didn't seem to see a way out of the corner they'd backed her into. With a wary look on her face, she took a large step backwards, opening the door just wide enough to let them both through.

The inside was as ostentatious as the outside, decorated in a minimalistic style and reeking of bleach – just one of many red flags. The woman shut the door behind them and began to click her way into the next room. "Can I get you some tea and cake, Agents?"

"That would be great," said Toby. She nodded, smile exposing all of her teeth, and they followed her into an equally spotless kitchen, where she began to prepare cake and tea. "Ma'am, what can you tell us about the incident that happened the other week?"

"Oh, that silly thing my neighbours rang the police for?" she laughed. "I slipped in some water and dropped a crystal bowl. I'm jumpy, these days, and the sound of it crashing made me scream. I was so frightened, I thought it would cut up my legs."

Faith glanced down at her legs, covered by smooth stockings. "They seem okay."

"Oh yes, I was very lucky. But the bowl was my mother's, so you can imagine how upset I was that it was ruined." She began to pour boiling water into the waiting teapot. "Forgive me, but why would the FBI be worried about something like that? It's hardly worth a trip from the sheriff's station, let alone all the way from Quantico."

"We were in the neighbourhood," said Toby calmly.

The woman let out a chuckle. "Well, don't I feel special?"

She opened a covered cake tin, but before she could reach for one of her own knives, Toby pulled a silver one from seemingly nowhere, holding it out to her blade-first. "Please, use mine," he said smoothly.

The woman hesitated, looking surprised by the offer, then wary. "Oh, mine's only here-"

"I insist."

Her eyes narrowed and she shifted where she stood. "Might I see your badges again, please?"

A pregnant pause, and in that moment, they knew she wasn't human just as much as she knew they weren't real agents. Tension shuddered through the room like a living thing, and Faith's fingers began to inch towards her own knife. "Of course, ma'am," she said calmly, and both of them reached into their pockets in the same instant that the shifter struck.

The cake tin made a terrible cracking noise as it collided with Toby's temple, and he went down hard. Faith yanked her knife from its sheath and swung her arm in a smooth arc, the blade of the knife slicing clean through the shifter's shoulder. It cried out and struck out again with the tin, chunks of carrot cake flying across the kitchen. Faith managed to dodge the attack, ducking underneath her swing and bringing the knife up into the shifter's stomach.

The shifter cried out, its skin sizzling where it came into contact with the pure silver. Faith kept the blade in its stomach, away from the heart, even as hot blood spilt out over her hand, staining her skin red. They couldn't kill it yet – they needed to know where the children were, first.

"What did you do to the children?!" Faith shouted.

The shifter cried out but didn't answer, and Faith used the knife grip to shove it back against the cupboard built into the wall. It slammed against the doors with enough force to knock one of them off its hinges, wood splintering under its weight.

"Where are they?!" Faith shouted again. Toby gave a pained groan from the floor, but she couldn't look away from the shifter, not now. "Answer me!"

"I'm not … the bad … guy…" she shifter panted, blood dripping from the corner of its mouth.

Faith scoffed. "I think we'll have to agree to disagree-"

Before she could finish, the shifter threw its weight at her, even despite the way it drove the silver knife deeper into its own gut. Faith was taken by surprise, shoved backwards with enough force that her grip on the bloody knife slipped and she fell to the floor, head colliding with the tiles. Glowing spots danced across her vision.

The shifter took hold of the knife handle and wrenched it from its own gut, dropping it with a clatter before stumbling clumsily for the door. The world was spinning and dipping around her, but Faith climbed unsteadily to her feet and launched herself across the room just in time to grab the shifter's ankle and send it tripping to the floor.

It began to shriek as Faith climbed on top of it, holding it down against the tiles with one hand, the other scrambling for the knife in the sheath at her leg. "Grey!" the shifter was screaming. "No! Grey!"

Faith had no idea what or who Grey was, or why they mattered so much right now, but she managed to silence the shifter by wrapping her fingers around its throat, its cries cutting off with a sick choking noise. With her other hand she pressed the tip of the blade against the creature's cheek, watching as the skin bubbled and steamed.

"Where are the children?" Faith asked again, voice low and deadly.

Behind them, Toby was climbing unsteadily to his feet. She heard the sound of him cocking his gun, which wouldn't kill the creature she held captive, but would certainly slow it down, should it escape again.

"Grey!" the shifter cried again, tears streaming down her stolen face.

"The children!" Faith shouted, using the hand wrapped around its throat to lift it off the floor, then slam its head back against the tiles once. A warning.

The shifter only cried, sobbing as well as it could without air or room to move. Faith flinched at the feeling of a hand on her shoulder, but Toby's grip was firm. "We're not going to get any answers this way," he said quietly.

Looking back at the distraught creature beneath her, Faith knew he was right. She wouldn't get anything from it like this, not while it was crying and moaning, scrambling uselessly at Faith's hand. Setting her jaw, Faith pulled the shifter up by its throat, then with a strength she couldn't explain, slammed its head back into the bloodstained tiles.

The shifter was out like a light.

With it still and unmoving beneath her, Faith finally let go of its throat and climbed unsteadily to her feet. Toby was holding a hand to his temple, hand slick with his own blood, but he had enough wits about him to arch an eyebrow. "It worked, didn't it?" she said defensively.

"You frighten me sometimes," he muttered, only half kidding.

Despite their various wounds, together they managed to secure the shifter to one of the dining room chairs with the cable ties from the trunk of Toby's car. Its head lolled, blood matting its hair and staining its pretty dress.

"I'll go check the rest of the house," said Toby once he'd wiped most of the blood from his face. "You can handle it?" he added, nodding to the unconscious shifter before them.

"I'll manage," Faith said from where she was rinsing the blood off her silver knife.

Gun in hand, Toby crept from the room, beginning a search of the rest of the house. If they were lucky, maybe he'd find evidence of the kids – or better yet, the kids themselves. But honestly, Faith wasn't feeling very lucky at all.

Filling a cup with ice water from the fancy fridge, Faith threw it onto the shifter, who awoke with a gasp and a cough, blinking the water from its eyes. Once it orientated itself, tugging uselessly against the cable ties around its wrists, the shifter turned its furious snarl onto Faith, who simply fingered the tip of her knife, a silent but real threat.

"Now, let's try this again," Faith said slowly. "We'll go from the top. Where are the children, and why are you taking them from their homes?"

"Grey!" screamed the shifter again, desperation clinging to every letter. Faith stepped close enough to slide the blade of her knife beneath the shifter's chin, which automatically tipped back to avoid getting cut.

"Who's Grey?" Faith demanded. "Are you working with someone else? Are you alone in this house?"

The shifter just snarled, the animalistic sound strange coming from a mostly-human throat. "Hunters," the shifter spat the word like it was a curse, "you think you're so much better than the rest of us. But you're not – you're worse. You're a scourge on the face of this earth."

Faith's smile was sharp as the knife digging into the shifter's throat. "We're not the one kidnapping kids," she said conversationally, a friend pointing out an error in their logic.

"No," sneered the creature before her. "Not if they're human."

It could have been nothing – a throwaway comment designed to wound and confuse – but something about it made Faith pause. Maybe it was the pain that saturated the shifter's voice as it spoke, like a raw, open wound that would never quite heal.

"We don't hurt anything that doesn't hurt someone else first," she told the shifter, voice hard.

"Anything," it snarled. "You treat us like we're not even living beings! Like we're the scum of the earth!"

Faith couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're killing people!"

"So are you!" roared the thing before her, tears spilling in torrents down its pale, bloodied cheeks. "You murdered my son!" it shrieked, pulling against its bonds hard enough to make its skin turn white and bloodless. It bared its teeth and Faith wisely moved her hand out of the way of its jaws.

She blinked in surprise. "We didn't touch your son."

But the shifter just continued to sob and snarl. A captured, distraught beast. "You're all the same. Maybe it wasn't you holding the knife. But when one of us commits a crime, every one of us is held responsible. Why should it be any different for your kind?"

Faith wasn't sure what to say in response. She stared at the shattered shapeshifter, watching it sob and growl and scream, thinking that it suddenly looked less like a beast and far more like a grieving mother – even if it was wearing somebody else's skin.

"He was only a boy!" she screamed at Faith, fire in her leaking eyes. "He never hurt a soul! And they strung him up like an animal and flayed him alive, simply for the crime of being what he was!"

Nausea crested over Faith in a wave, but she let none of it show on her expression, keeping her eyes hard and her mouth tight. "So, you're, what? You're taking kids from their homes out of some sort of vengeance? How is that any better?"

Her lips pulled back from her teeth. "You humans think you're so much better than the rest of us. So high and mighty. You took my son from me. I'm only taking what I want in return."

"And what you want in return is a gaggle of red-haired children?" Faith asked sceptically.

She snarled again, snapping her jaws like she was imagining the chewy tendons of Faith's neck between her teeth. "What I want is my son back! That's all any mother wants."

Realisation began to trickle through Faith's body. "You're taking the children to replace him," she murmured. "That's why they're so young; why they all look the same. You're trying to find one that reminds you of him."

Now the shifter's smile was wicked, full of hunger and death. "I can teach him to be like me. I can make him strong enough to kill every last hunter he comes across."

"But you've taken more than one," Faith said with a frown.

"They weren't right," snapped the shifter, defensive. "I had to make sure he was perfect. And those children were too loud, too unruly. I did the world a favour."

Behind the shifter, the door to the kitchen was open wide. Through it, Faith watched as Toby appeared from a doorway that seemed to lead down into a basement. In his arms was a boy of no more than five, with curly red hair and a face sticky with tears. He didn't look hurt, but Faith knew the scars he'd gotten over these last few days would never fade. Not truly.

Toby met her eyes, holding the little boy's face to his chest so he wouldn't see the bloody mess they'd made in the kitchen, and he nodded his head once before heading straight for the front door. Faith read everything in that one simple nod. Her grip on the knife tightened.

The front door creaked loudly as Toby and Micah escaped out into the fading light of day, and the shifter looked over her shoulder with a gasp. "Grey! Don't take him! Don't you touch him! Grey!" she shrieked and she shrieked.

In that moment, Faith felt nothing but simmering pity. "I'm sorry," she told the shifter quietly, and she even meant it, "but that isn't your son."

The shifter flinched like the words were a slap. "He will be," she insisted. "I can make him better. Don't take him. Please. Grey!"

"Your son's dead," Faith said, and it wasn't without her own sorrow. "I'm sorry."

"Please," moaned the shifter, rocking back and forth as much as the zip ties would allow. "Please, please, please. Don't take him from me. Don't take him. Please. He's all I have left…"

Faith laid a hand on the shifter's trembling shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said again, and she didn't look down to watch as she drove her blade into the shifter's chest. The silver slid smoothly into her heart, a knife through warm butter. The shifter didn't scream or cry or snarl. All she did was gasp, a small sound layered with equal parts pain and relief.

And then it was over, the shifter was dead, and Faith was left wondering if that wasn't what the creature had wanted all along; even if she hadn't realised it.

Outside the sun was beginning to set, the sky a kaleidoscope of colour. But Faith couldn't appreciate its beauty. She tried to wash the blood from her hands, but the stains remained. She felt them like a pair of gloves, the film and weight of it clinging to her skin.

The little boy was curled against Toby, sucking anxiously on his thumb with tears drying on his cheeks. He looked up at Faith warily as she approached, but Toby whispered something to him and any suspicion was wiped from his small face. He nodded in answer to whatever Toby had said, and a small smile flashed across her friend's face, half hidden by his heard.

"I'm going to let my lovely friend Faith hold you now, okay?" Toby said at a volume she could hear. "She's the one who really saved you, you know?"

Micah sniffled quietly, reaching out his arms for Faith. She glanced warily at Toby, who only smiled and passed him to her. Micah was lighter than she'd expected him to be, and he tucked his little head beneath her chin immediately, as if listening to the steady thrum of her pulse while he kept sucking on his thumb.

"Where're we taking him? The hospital?" Faith whispered, one hand cupping the back of the little boy's head, cradling him to her in a move that felt instinctual, if not entirely familiar.

Toby shook his head as he moved around to the driver's side of the car. "I checked him over. He's fine. I think what he really needs now is his parents."

It was tricky to manoeuvre her way into the car with Micah clinging to her like an adorable little barnacle, but Faith managed it. Settled in the front seat, Toby helped her secure the seatbelt around them both before he started the engine, taking them back into town, towards the Kingsley's residence.

Faith ran a hand down Micah's hair – it was cut short, but soft beneath her fingers. He was shaking a little bit, and everything in her melted. "You're a very brave boy," she whispered to him, thinking distantly that she'd have given anything to have somebody hold her like this at his age; to tell her she was doing the best she could, and that everything was going to all right.

But she'd had no one. And so she would be that person now, in this moment, for Micah.

Faith wondered if he was being too quiet, but she didn't want to move him to see, so they sat in easy silence until they reached the Kingsley's house. It was evening, and all the lights were on in their home, making it stand out from the darkness like a beacon in the night. Toby walked around to Faith's door, cracking it open and helping her out with little Micah still clutching at her, his grip almost too-tight.

Toby knocked on the parents' front door, and in only moments the father was there, pulling it open with a half-hearted greeting ready on his tongue. But all the words died upon the sight of his son, head tucked beneath Faith's, there and alive and unharmed.

When Pete said nothing, Faith opened her mouth to speak, only for Andrea to appear, a hand on her husband's arm. "Honey? Who is-?" she cut herself off with a strangled cry, hands slapping over her own mouth, eyes overflowing with hope. For a moment nobody said anything, then Toby took a step forwards.

"He's unharmed," Toby assured them gently.

Andrea floundered. "Where did – are you – is he –?"

"He's perfectly fine," Faith said again, shifting Micah's weight on her hip. "Micah, you wanna say hello to Mommy?"

For the first time since he'd been put in Faith's arms, Micah lifted his head from her chest to peer blearily up at his parents. Andrea let out another great cry, unfrozen as she surged forwards, arms outstretched for her son. Faith passed him over to her, and Micah went willingly, clutching at his mother.

Pete still seemed speechless, and Toby reached out to clap him on the shoulder. "He's okay, Pete," Toby said warmly, slipping on an American accent like a winter coat. "He's gonna be just fine."

"Where was he?" demanded Andrea, tears streaming down her face. "Who had him?!"

Faith looked over at Toby, who sighed and said, "It's a long story, ma'am. May we come inside?"

It was a very long night. Faith was mostly quiet as Toby spun a very detailed and complicated story about what had happened. It ended up being fairly close to the truth, all things considered – just omitting the part about the culprit not being entirely human. When they got back to the motel, Faith was relieved to wash off the day and sleep. She was so tired, she didn't even dream.

The next day they lingered. Faith searched national news sites for any hints of a new job while Toby made a few social calls, then around noon Toby left the room, heading into town to grab them some takeout for lunch.

While he was gone, Faith used the opportunity to slip into the shower. She spent far too long under the spray, soaking up the heat and scrubbing her skin clean, even taking the time to shave her legs while she was at it.

When she was done, Faith walked out into the main room dressed in nothing but a towel. As she passed the window she just happened to glance outside, only to freeze as she did. Outside her room was a black, '67 Chevy Impala. Faith narrowed her eyes – what were the chances, really?

Then, from next room over there came a series of loud shouts and bangs – some sort of fight. The coincidence was enormous, but if Sam and Dean really were here, and really did need help, then she was willing to risk looking like a fool just to be sure. They'd saved her – it was only fair that she risk herself to save them back.

Grabbing her gun from the nightstand and the lock pick from her bag, Faith bent at the door connecting the two rooms and began to work on the lock. She beat her own personal record, getting the door open in under ten seconds, then she burst through shouting, "Dean!" with her gun held aloft, nothing but a towel covering her still-damp body.

Her hunch was correct – it was Sam and Dean. Sam was duct-taped to a chair while Dean was stood free near the door. At their feet lay two unfamiliar men. Whatever threat they had posed, Dean seemed to have handled it well enough on his own.

Dean's expression went slack with shock, and Sam looked similarly stunned from where he was bound to his chair. Seeing the danger was over with, Faith wasn't sure what to say, so she just muttered a quiet, "Oh," and lowered her gun to grip the top of her towel, keeping it from slipping.

"Holy shit," muttered Dean, eyes round as dinner plates. He held in his hand what appeared to be a stuffed rabbit's foot attached to a small key chain, bringing it up to a shaft of light like it were a religious artefact. "This thing's amazing," he breathed.

Sam, however, seemed hardly as thrilled. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered bitterly.

Faith felt suddenly very out of her depth. "What the hell's going on?" she demanded, still holding her towel, crossing one leg over the other self-consciously.

Dean looked torn between amusement and glee. "You're the one who just burst into our room in a towel," he said, downright giddy.

"I saw the Impala, and then heard a struggle," she explained. "I thought you were in danger."

"What are you doing in Buffalo?" Dean asked.

"We just finished up a job. What are you doing in Buffalo?"

"Same thing … sort of."

Dean stared at her, doing nothing to hide the way his eyes trailed over her expanse of exposed skin, beads of water still clinging in places, hair hanging damp around her face. Faith felt the slightest hint of a flush rise on her chest and cheeks, and Dean's eyes took in every inch of it. Heart suddenly racing, Faith struggled to catch her breath, skin tingling with awareness.

"Jesus Christ," muttered Sam. "Could one of you untie me from this chair? Preferably before you start screwing each other right in front of me?"

The comment was enough to startle Faith from her stupor. Her open expression hardened into a scowl, and she turned away from Dean with her chin in the air. "You guys are the worst."

"Oh, and that's why you were screaming my name as you broke into my room, naked," Dean asked cockily, pulling a switchblade from his pocket and using it to slice through the duct tape around Sam. "Because I'm so terrible?"

Faith scoffed once and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her. She quickly changed into jeans and a white tee-shirt, shoving on her usual sneakers before shrugging on her ever-present jacket and tossing her hair up into a messy bun to keep it off her face. Staring in the bathroom mirror, Faith quickly ran some kohl over her eyes, feeling more like herself.

It was just armour, she told herself. She wasn't trying to look good for anyone in particular; she just wanted to look put-together. Especially after Sam and Dean saw her nearly-naked. A little effort went a long way to erasing that picture from their minds. Hopefully.

Toby was back by the time she felt ready to show her face again, setting a series of Chinese takeout cartons out on their small table. The door to their rooms was open, and Dean was slouching in the doorway, looking far too cocky for her liking as he dug into a carton of their food.

"Hey," she greeted Toby, wilfully ignoring Dean. "You get the sweet and sour pork?"

"Yes, ma'am," Toby said. "But guess what – they accidentally ruined the first batch, so because I was waiting so long, they gave me an extra carton of Chow Mein for free."

"Which just so happens to be my favourite," said Dean, grinning at her around his mouthful of food. "How lucky is that?"

Faith narrowed her eyes, grabbing the chopsticks Toby handed her and cracking open her own carton. Sam appeared, then, and Faith was quick to offer him some of her dumplings if he was hungry. He made a face, like she'd offered to hand-feed him live tadpoles. "Thanks, but with the day I've had, I'd probably get salmonella."

Dean laughed, but Faith ignored that, too. "You sure?" she asked, waving her carton beneath his nose. "It's pretty good."

Sam only looked sick. "I think I'll wait until we burn the foot."

"Foot?" asked Toby.

Dean nearly choked on his mouthful. "Ah, c'mon, they don't wanna hear about work, Sammy," he said quickly. "It's hardly appropriate dinner conversation."

Sam shot him an unimpressed look, seeing through whatever Dean was trying to cover up. Dean made a face that seemed to communicate something, and Sam rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Never mind," Sam said. "Dean's just an asshole."

Toby snorted. "That, I can believe."

An affronted noise came from Dean, but they ignored it. Sam sipped on some water while the others ate, and the traded case stories. Sam and Dean had dealt with the literal embodiment of the Seven Deadly Sins, and then a few weeks later there was an entire debacle with some Changelings over in Indiana.

Faith and Toby told them about the jobs they'd worked since they'd last seen each other. The cursed painting in Kentucky, and the haunted house in Georgia after that. It was a nice evening, and eventually Sam broke out an esky full of beer for them to share. But as the summer sun finally began its slow decent towards the horizon and Toby began to tell them about the case they'd just finished, Faith felt that same sinking despair from before.

She pulled out her phone as if it had buzzed, making a show of climbing to her feet and gesturing to the door without interrupting Toby's story. He nodded in vague acknowledgement, and she ducked out into the early evening air.

The sky was still a pale blue in colour, and although Faith hadn't smoked in some years now, she found herself with the achingly familiar itch for a cigarette. It happened, sometimes, when things got rough.

For years it had been a crutch, a terrible habit she picked up working in shady dive bars. After a while, the familiarity of it was comforting; the ease of it even better than the chemicals themselves. There was something soothing about it, too – the feeling of a cigarette between her fingers, the smell of it and the smoke that swirled when she breathed. She wanted that now; rattled as she was after her encounter with the shifter.

Leaning back against the shiny hood of the Impala, Faith gripped the neck of her beer, the bitter taste a poor substitute for smoke.

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," came Dean's voice. She looked over at him, somehow unsurprised.

"Well, the solution's simple, then," she said. "Stop following me."

Dean smiled, but it wasn't his usual, confident smirk. Nor was it his teasing, shit-eating grin, or the smile that was wide and sincere and just a tiny bit crooked. It was a new expression; one she hadn't seen before. She wasn't sure how to categorise it – somewhere between soft and grim, maybe?

"Wish I could," he muttered, so quiet she wasn't sure she was even meant to hear it.

He crossed the space between them, leaning beside her against the Impala. For a moment they said nothing, but Faith had a strange sort of urge to be honest with Dean. Well, she supposed it wasn't that strange. Dean had always had a way of drawing the truth out of her, like a syringe drawing blood. There was something about him that made it easy to be honest, even when she didn't want to. That quality in him had never been so potent as it was in that moment.

And if she really thought about it, there wasn't anyone she wanted to talk to about her doubts more than Dean. Toby might sugar-coat it for her, and even if he didn't, she didn't want him to see her as weak.

But Dean already saw her as weak, didn't he? So, what did it matter?

"Do you ever think about how, to the things we kill, we're the monsters under the bed?" she wondered, staring up at the sky, slowly turning from eggshell-blue to a soft, dreamy lavender.

Dean was quiet, either thinking she was mental or genuinely considering her question. It could go either way. He proved the latter true when he spoke. "I guess I don't really think about it," he confessed. "But you have a point."

"Does it bother you?"

Dean took a draught of crisp beer. "Not really," he said. "I'd rather be their nightmare than their victim."

She hadn't looked at it that way. Unsure what to say, Faith dropped her eyes to the gravel beneath their feet, tapping her nail in an uneven beat against the neck of her bottle.

"Look," Dean began again, "if you sit around thinking about the ethical dilemmas of hunting, it's gonna drive you crazy."

She supposed he had a point, there.

"And besides, now that the Devil's Gate's been opened, we're all but fighting a war. You can't feel sympathy for the enemy, no matter whether it's the leaders or the foot soldiers. You've just gotta win the war."

He was right about that, too.

"Not to mention, most of the things we fight wouldn't think twice about killing you and everyone you love. Why shouldn't we do the same?"

"But they don't all mean to hurt people," she argued.

"No, but one way or the other, they all do," Dean said calmly. "The only good monster is a dead one, and you know that. You wouldn't be doing this if you didn't."

Faith said nothing, and Dean tucked a knuckle beneath her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. She sucked in a tiny gasp of surprise, suddenly thinking about how green Dean's eyes were … but he was still talking, and she forced herself to listen.

"Did something happen on this last job?"

She swallowed around the lump suddenly in her throat. "The shifter – I couldn't help thinking it needed help. Sure, of the white-room-and-straight-jacket variety, but help all the same. We wouldn't kill a human killing people, but monsters? I'm just suddenly not so sure where it ends."

Dean tilted his head to the side, and she followed the movement with her eyes. "Tobias said that shifter killed two kids," he said quietly.

Her brow pinched at the reminder. "It did."

"Then you did the right thing," Dean told her, sounding so sure of himself that she couldn't help but believe him. "Whether it needed help or not, it killed two kids. And it would have killed the third, and then kept on killing and killing. But it won't because you stopped it. Faith, we save twenty times the lives we take. Human lives."

He was right – so right, about everything. Faith shut her eyes and exhaled, allowing the doubt to leave her body along with the air. When she opened her eyes, he was still staring at her, and she realised his finger had yet to move from the dip beneath her chin. "Thank you," she said, looking up at him from under her lashes.

She licked her lips, finding them suddenly dry, and Dean seemed transfixed by the flash of her tongue. Her heart fluttered and the finger he had pressed against her chin grew warm, her awareness locked onto it.

It was so strange and unlikely, the situation they suddenly found themselves in. That they would stop arguing long enough to have a heart-to-heart was a miracle within itself, but now as the last rays of the sun disappeared below the horizon, leaving them in the ethereal glow of the evening, tension crackled and sizzled between them.

Something felt different to Faith, like something was urging her forwards, towards Dean. Closer, closer, closer still. She couldn't explain it; it just seemed inevitable.

Then, just as she tipped her head up and her lids began to droop, Dean tore away from her like she'd burned him. Blinking in shock at the loss of him, when she looked up, he was turned away from her, hunched over himself, muttering something under his breath.

But the space between them was sobering, and Faith had to wonder what the hell was happening. What was she doing, nearly kissing Dean? Had she lost her goddamn mind? If there was one sure-fire way to fuck things up, well, that was it. She couldn't possibly do anything more stupid.

Dean was still turned away from her, and Faith decided to plead temporary insanity – at least within the safety of her own mind. She took a step towards him, hearing him mutter, "Goddamn foot-" before she interjected.

"Didn't Sam say you had plans after sundown?" she asked, forcing her voice to come out airy and aloof.

Dean spun around, an awkward sort of smile on his face. All signs of casual confidence were gone by now, and suave-Dean had been replaced by someone shifty and awkward, and she cursed the fact that it hadn't made him any less attractive, even as he placed his hands self-consciously on his hips, like an idiot.

"Well, Toby and I are getting the hell outta dodge," she said, eyeing him thoughtfully. One hand was shoved in the pocket of his leather jacket, and he was squeezing something tight. She decided she didn't want to know. "You don't need any help with this thing you've gotta do?" she offered, if only for lack of anything better to say.

"Nope," squeaked Dean, utterly unconvincing. "We're good."

She pushed off the Impala, tossing her empty beer bottle into the trash can at the curb. It clattered against whatever else was inside, but she ignored it, walking directly past Dean. He didn't call out to her, and she didn't look back. She tried to convince herself she wanted it that way.

They said a quick goodbye to Sam before packing up the last of their things and getting in the car. Earlier that day, Faith had found a news story about some mysterious deaths over in Wisconsin. They had a long way to drive if they wanted to make it by morning.

Dean wasn't out in the parking lot as they got into their car, and Faith told herself she wanted it that way, too.

Toby took the first driving shift. They stopped at a Starbucks for coffee, and Faith was happily sipping on the liquid gold as they made their way towards the state line.

Toby was listening to some cheap sci-fi on tape, and Faith was half-heartedly listening along, the part of her not paying attention thinking distantly about Dean and trying to find a way to explain away the tension that cracked between them like electricity. Toby abruptly reached for the volume dial, muting down the narrator's voice as he got to a particularly good part about an exploding sun.

"Hey," Faith argued. "I was listening to that."

Toby didn't buy it for a second. "No, you weren't."

Faith just slouched in her seat and hid her face in her still-warm cup of coffee.

"Are you going to tell me what's on your mind?" he pressed, managing to sound both gentle and impatient. Faith scowled into the lip of her coffee cup. "Did something happen with Dean?"

She forced herself not to react obviously. "No," she said, and it wasn't even a lie. Toby's incredulous silence told her he wasn't convinced. "Didn't something seem … off to you?" she asked, hoping to distract him from those minutes she'd been out in the sunset with Dean. "Like they were hiding something?"

Toby surprised her by snorting loudly. "They were in Buffalo dealing with a cursed rabbit's foot," he explained, and she figured Sam must have spilled the beans while she and Dean had been outside. "Gives whoever holds it unshakeable good luck. Turns bad when they lose the thing, though, so they were waiting until moonrise to perform the ritual to break the curse."

Things suddenly made sense. "…And Dean was holding the rabbit's foot," she muttered. A stab of indignation stabbed across her chest. "That's why he was acting weird! And why I felt so-"

She stopped talking mid-sentence, and Toby looked across the shadows between them, one eyebrow arched. "So…?"

"Nothing," Faith mumbled, hoping he'd let it go.

To her surprise, Toby laughed. "Well, I'd guess that probably explains why you burst into their room naked," he said with a great, shit-eating grin. "I doubt you'd do that without some sort of supernatural interference…right?"

"Oh God," she groaned. Toby continued to chuckle, unreasonably pleased. "I wasn't naked."

"You were only wearing a towel."

"I thought they were in danger!"

"You shouted Dean's name!"

She groaned again, tossing her head back against the seat and praying God would smite her now and save her the teasing that was going to follow. But even despite her embarrassment, Toby's laughter buoyed her heart, and as they crossed into Pennsylvania she had to admit; it hadn't been the worst ending to a hunt she'd ever had. It might have even been a good one.

She had to wonder, though, all things considered – why would it have been Dean's lucky day for her to kiss him? And why, after all that, had he pulled away at the last second?

As usual, Dean Winchester made no sense at all. But damn if she didn't fall asleep that night dreaming of how he might have tasted.

A/N: The second half of this chapter is a personal favourite of mine, so far. Hope you enjoyed!

Next time: Faith and Toby go looking for aliens, but instead, Faith ends up meeting a distant relative and finding out the ugly truth.