"I really hate having to send you out, considering ya just got back and all, but he seemed pretty adamant 'bout me sending someone to check things out," Jamie explains as he scratches at the greying hair atop his head, one arm slung across the back of the couch.

"How do you know this guy, anyway?" Laine asks from her spot on the recliner, legs outstretched.

They arrived back at the cabin four days ago, and since then, things have been fairly quiet. No news relating to the Cambions, no attempts on her life, and relative peace between her and Dean. In her mind, it's been a boring few days.

"Your Mama knew him. He worked for the police force at the time and tried to book her for murder when he caught her working a job. She explained, and showed, what she was dealing with. Since then, he's been passing off any information regarding demonic activity to either me or the Order." He shrugs and switches the channel on the flat screen that sits in the corner of the living room. "Long story short, he only gathers information and leaves the dirty work to people like us."

"Okay, makes sense, but why are you sending me with Dean instead of Zach? I haven't been on an actual hunt in years. Not including these past few days," she argues, which earns her a look from Jamie – one that says not to disagree with his decision.

"Exactly why I'm sending you. If we have any hope of taking out those sonsabitches, you need to be at the top of your game. He also requested you specifically – said he might know something to help with our little problem."

At his ending statement, she sends him a quizzical look pressing for more information, but he brushes her off with a shake of his head.

"He wouldn't discuss it over the phone. He said he'd talk to you when you get there."

"Can he be trusted?"

"I'd reckon so, but just to be safe, keep Dean at your side when you're there." When she gives her confirmation, Jamie nods and motions towards the stairs. "You're heading out as soon as the boys get back from the store, so you might wanna start packin'."

With a sigh, she pushes herself from the chair and makes her way upstairs to her room. Grabbing her travel duffle bag from under the bed, she starts pulling clothing out of the drawers and transferring them into the bag, quickly regretting having unpacked the moment they arrived.

It is about half an hour later when the boys return, multiple plastic bags in their hands along with cases of beer, pop, and water. She helps Dean unload the groceries and place them in their respective spots while Zach heads outside with Jamie to attend to something else.

Grabbing a bottle of whiskey out of a brown bag, she turns to Dean as she reads the label.

"Jamie's sending us out on a job," she states and sets the bottle in the cabinet above the stove where the rest of the hard liquor is. Dean stops in his attempt to find room in the fridge for the carton of eggs and glances over at her.

"What? When?" He finds a spot for them and moves on to putting a pint of ice-cream into the freezer, a look of disgust twisting his face when he spots the package of veggie burgers within. He shoves the pint inside and shakes his head, closing the door. "Those are not real burgers.

A small laugh leaves her at his reaction to the healthy variation of his favourite food before she remembers his previous question.

"Right after we're done this, I suppose."

Dean sighs as he places a handful of beers into the fridge, switching them out for two cold cans of pop. He offers her one and she takes it with a nod of thanks, cracking the top open with the tab. "You know where we're going?"

She follows after Dean to the back of the cabin where his and Zach's rooms are located, sipping at her pop. Leaning against the doorframe, she watches him shove clothing and other items haphazardly into a duffel bag.

"Aurora, Colorado," she replies with fake enthusiasm and takes another swig of the soft drink.

"I swear, Jamie's trying to kill us. We just drove nineteen hours and now he expects another fifteen," Dean huffs with a brief shake of his head and slings his bag over his shoulder, making his way towards the front door.

Setting her half-finished drink on the table, she grabs her bag off the floor and joins him. "Hey, it could be worse. You could be going with Zach instead of me."

All she gets in response is a short chuckle and another shake of his head before he exits the cabin. She follows him and closes the door behind her. Reaching into a side pocket on her bag, she pulls out a pair of sunglasses and places them over her eyes to shield them from the mid-morning sun.

Walking towards Dean's car, she catches sight of Zach and Jamie off to her left, the older man's torso obscured from sight underneath the body of a rusted black 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle. Zach is reclining in a lawn chair not too far from the vehicle, his feet propped up on an unused tire while he drinks a beer and talks away.

"We're heading out. See if we can make it there by midnight or so," Dean says, and moments later, Jamie rolls out from under the hood. He sits up as he wipes at his forehead, smearing a small patch of oil across his skin.

"All right, don't do anything stupid," Jamie instructs with a hard look aimed Dean's way. As he is about to slide back under the body, he looks towards Laine and holds up a hand as if he has just remembered and important detail. "His name's Brent Wesson. Said he'd be at the diner by the high school tomorrow morning, so you should find 'im there."

"Thanks. See ya." She smiles and follows after Dean, stopping for a moment to toss her bag into the back seat before she climbs into the front. With another nod of a goodbye in Zach's direction, Dean backs away from the cabin and pulls onto the gravel road.

Leaning her temple against the cool glass of the window, she relaxes and closes her eyes, not bothering to tell Dean off when he starts fiddling with the stereo in an attempt to find the song he wants. Instead, she sits there in silence and watches as the mass of trees and bushes fly by in a blur of greens and yellows.

**********

They roll to a stop outside of a cheap twenty-four-hour motel on the outskirts of Aurora around a quarter past midnight, both of them exhausted. They had nearly decided to sleep in the car, but the urge to stretch out and curl up beneath blankets was too appealing.

Crawling out of the vehicle, she grabs her bag and follows Dean into the front office at a sluggish pace, her feet dragging as sleep begins to overtake her body and mind. Dean doesn't look as tired as she, but from the way he keeps rubbing his eyes and the slight slump to his shoulders, she knows that if he could lay down and sleep right now, he would be out like a light.

He wastes no time in booking them a room, and soon enough, she is falling down onto a too soft bed and struggling to keep her eyes open.

"You wanna have a shower first?" Dean asks, his voice coming from somewhere to the right of her. Unable to bring herself to open her mouth and speak, she shakes her head and responds with a noise that sounds remarkably coherent despite her fatigued state. "You sure?"

When she lets out another sound, Dean mumbles something and heads into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him.

Rolling over, she stares at the closed door for a couple seconds before she musters enough energy to sit up. She decides to get a drink, her mouth feeling parched, and stands up, accidently pressing on her healing thigh as she does so.

A strangled shriek of pain flies out of her mouth at the pressure and she tumbles back onto the bed. Pushing through the sudden pang, and with careful movements, she manages to shimmy her pants down her legs, the idea to get a drink forgotten for the moment.

Grabbing the end of the gauze, she begins unwrapping the bandage and the closer she gets to her skin, the bloodier the white material is. When she reaches the end and pulls it away, the wound stares back at her in all of its hideous glory, the stitches ripped apart and the cut bleeding.

"Well, shit." She shakes her head and tosses the soiled gauze into the garbage can next to the bed. Once her hands are free, she reaches for her bag at the end of the bed and unzips the main compartment. She pulls out her medical kit and grabs the disinfectant, a needle, thread, and a roll of gauze, and sets them down next to her.

She sterilizes the needle first and lets it sit while she cleans the blood of her thigh, using a wet wipe to scrub away the blood. Then she gets to work on stitching herself back up, teeth digging into her bottom lip for the duration of the procedure.

The end of the thread has just been tied and she is cutting off the excess when Dean steps out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam billowing after him as he scrubs at his hair with a towel. His gaze darts between her face and her naked thigh, which she is currently wrapping with gauze.

"How was your shower?" she asks, not really paying much mind to his presence. Ripping a piece of tape off the roll with her teeth, she presses it down onto the end of the new bandage and runs her fingers over it to make sure it's secured.

"For a motel shower, it has amazing water pressure," he admits as he tosses the towel back into the bathroom before he settles down on his bed. Throwing his arms behind his head, he relaxes and closes his eyes.

"That's good," she mumbles as she stuffs her supplies back into her bag, using the wet wipe to clean the blood off her fingers before she tosses it into the garbage. Laying back on the bed, she rolls onto her side so she can look over at Dean.

A frown tugs at her lips as she examines him, the urge to say something swelling up inside of her, but she is unable to discern exactly what she wants to say. Her eyes close for a moment as she attempts to gather her thoughts, and when she reopens them, Dean is looking her way with an unidentifiable emotion on his face.

She may not know what she wants to say, not really, but she does know there is one question she has to learn the answer to.

"Hey, are we good?"

Her question is vague and could mean any number of things, but she hopes that he is able to pinpoint what she is eluding to.

After their conversation the other night, she has been unable to stop thinking about everything regarding the two of them. Although she may not be able to give him a straight answer as to where they stand in their relationship, she hopes that he may be able to tell her if they really have a relationship left at all.

Dean pauses for a moment and glances away before his gaze comes back, a soft grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Yeah, we're good."

Nodding, she sends him her own ghost of a smile and then flicks off the bedside lamp, cloaking the room in darkness as she slides under the covers. "Night, Dean."

"What, no goodnight kiss?" he pouts, but his tone is teasing. Grabbing a pillow from beside her, she lobs it over to where she assumes his head is. It turns out to be an accurate shot, for there is a soft thump followed by him cursing her.

"Goodnight, Dean," she repeats, this time closing her eyes as she tunes out the world for the night, and for the first time in a long while, her sleep is dreamless.

**********

When they walk into the quaint little diner on 22nd Street, the place is bustling with morning rush hour customers. The bell above the door signals their arrival, and barely a second later, a man who appears to be in his early fifties is waving them over to his booth. Nudging Dean with her elbow to grab his attention, they make their way over to join the man who must be Brent Wesson.

Dean slides into the booth first and as Laine is taking her seat next to him, she notices a little girl with brown pigtails sitting next to the man. She now realizes why he refuses to directly involve himself in hunting demons.

Once they are settled in the booth, the man looks between the both of them before a polite smile graces his clean-shaven face. He reaches a hand out to Dean and her in turn.

"It's nice to finally put faces to names. Jamie has told me nothing but high praise of you two," he explains and clasps his hands together on the tabletop. "And thanks again for coming to meet with me. Lord knows how much I appreciate it."

Laine is about to respond, but the little girl next to Brent tugs at his arm and pulls him down to whisper something for his ears only. He listens for a moment, then nods and straightens as he looks between his daughter and her with a small grin on his face.

"You can ask her, sweetie." Brent places his arm on the back of the booth, encouraging the small child with a nod when she looks up at him with nervousness in her hazel eyes. She hesitates for a moment, teeth chewing on her bottom lip, but she musters enough courage to speak. When she opens her mouth, a cute little voice free of nerves spills out.

"My name's Jemma." She casts another glance up at her father as if to get reassurance once more before she looks towards Laine, a patient expression on her tan face as her hands twist in her lap.

The smile that grows on her lips as she looks at the girl is uncontrollable, something warm swelling inside of her. "Hi, Jemma. I'm Laine."

"That's a pretty name." The child returns the smile, dimples popping on her reddening cheeks. "Do you like animals?"

"I do. My favourite animal is a fox. What's yours?"

"I like horses."

"Horses are very pretty." Jemma's face lights up at her words, the toothy grin broadening, and Laine is unable to stop herself from grinning back. The child opens her mouth to say something, but Brent places a hand on her head to stop her.

"It's time for the grownups to talk now, Jem. You and Laine can talk later."

Jemma nods, disheartened by her father's statement, but she quickly brushes it off and picks up one of the crayons on the table, getting to work on doodling something on the paper available.

"So, what can you tell us about this case?" Dean's fingers brush against her shoulder as he speaks, his arm draped on the back of the booth's seat.

Instead of responding right away, Brent reaches into the briefcase next to him and pulls out a folder, sliding it across the table. He gives them a moment to sift through the papers and other information inside, and Laine takes extra precaution to shield the images. Jemma or any of the other diner patrons don't need to see the grotesque images of the crime scene and the mangled body of the woman who was murdered.

According to the file, a woman in her early thirties was murdered two nights previous in a park near the train tracks. Not much is said about the specifications of her death, besides the extensive blood loss and the severe lacerations along her body, but hopefully they will be able to figure out more along the way.

She rearranges the files neatly back into the file and closes it, placing her hands on top as she focuses back on Brent. "Were there any witnesses?"

"One. An elderly lady who was walking her dog that night. I could try and pull some strings to get you two access to her and possibly any future evidence," he says, eyes flicking between her and Dean. "I don't make any promises. It's been years since I've worked for the Department."

"We'll take all the help we can get."

"I know it's not a lot to go on, but it's worth checking out. If it is something you two deal with, then it needs to be put down... and as soon as possible." Brent glances down at his daughter whom is still colouring, and the fear resonating in his tone is a nearly tangible feeling.

If this monster truly is a demon and not just some sick bastard, then Dean and her need to figure out what type it is so they can deal with it. Average demons don't perform kills like this one, and until they figure out the exact species, they can't be sure who its next target will be.

"It's a start," she says as she glances over at Dean, noting that his eyes are drawn towards Jemma as she colours in a sun-shaped blob. A small grin tugs at her lips as she watches him, but she wipes it off just as quickly and turns her attention back to Brent. "About my issue – you said you may know something?"

"Ah, yes. That," the older man mutters, expression darkening. "I don't know much personally, but I do have the contact of a man who may be able to help you. He's one of the best at tracking certain strings of demons, and he's dealt with Cambions before. His name's Cameron Reaves."

"There's a lot of might's being tossed around." Dean looks up from Jemma's drawing and meets Brent's eyes, jaw tense.

"I wish I had more info to give you – believe me, I do – but there's not much more I can give besides his number and last known location. I'm sorry if that's not enough." As he finishes speaking, he slides a piece of folded paper towards Laine, a string of coordinates and a phone number scribbled on the parchment.

"Anything helps, and this is more than I've had in a while, so thank you." She nods in gratitude and swipes up the paper. Even if it is just the phone number of a man who may not be able to help her, she'll take all she can get right now. "We should probably head out and get to work. Hopefully, we can figure this out."

With that said, she slides out of the booth and stands to adjust her jacket while Dean follows suit, grabbing the folder on his way.

"I'll make some calls and see if I can get you access."

Nodding, she says her thanks again and then they head towards the door, but before they can exit the diner, her name is being called. When she turns around, Jemma is dashing towards her with a paper fluttering in her grasps and a toothy smile on her face.

"I made this for you," she says and hands the drawing over once Laine has crouched to her level.

Taking it in her hands, she inspects the drawing of a red fox and a black horse with a sun wearing sunglasses up in the corner, her name printed at the bottom with Jemma's below it, the 'N' and 'J' written backwards.

She sends the child her biggest, most genuine smile as she carefully folds up the paper and tucks it in the inner pocket of her jacket. "Thank you, Jemma. It's beautiful."

The young girl beams at the words of praise and before Laine can register it, tiny arms are wrapping around her neck and the life is being squeezed out of her. She returns the embrace without hesitation, but soon enough, the child is releasing her at the call of her name from her father.

"Bye!" She flashes one last brilliant smile and then she is darting back towards the booth, climbing up onto the pleather seats.

Pushing herself up off the floor, she shoves her hands into her pants pockets and turns to face Dean, a grin still on her lips. "Let's go, yeah?"

Dean doesn't say anything, simply shakes his head, and holds the door open for her, a grin of his own present on his face.