The three of them woke at the ass-crack of dawn, none of them particularly happy about the necessity. Skye tried to hide under the duvet, pretending she didn't exist until Sam rudely pulled it down, "Morning, sunshine. Time to get up."

"No. I can't get up, I'm dead," groaning, she grabbed the edge of the scratchy blanket and tried to pull it back over her head before sitting up on her elbows and glaring at him when he pulled it completely off of her, tossing it in the corner, "I have a gun and I can shoot you, ya fuckin' Wookie."

"You do have a gun, and several knives, all of which you need a lot more practice with before you go making death threats," Chuckling, he looked down at her, already fully dressed and far too chipper for the few hours of sleep they'd gotten, "Come on, rise and shine. Dean's getting coffee and breakfast. Get dressed, full kit."

"Fine. I'll get up," grumbling, she got to her feet, "but I absolutely refuse to shine.

Making good on her threat, she cursed loudly and at length as she grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before walking into the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind her. Couldn't get any less shiny than that, right?

Re-emerging just as Dean returned with an armful of caffeine and sausage biscuits, she laid claim to a very large black coffee and a couple of biscuits, nodding a good morning before going to grab her holster. Full kit meant fully armed, gun and all. Yay.

Setting her coffee on the little side table by the bed Dean had claimed the night before, she turned her back on the boys and lifted her t-shirt, folding the top of her jeans down to wrap the conceal-carry holster around her waist. The boys tended not to wear holsters, just tucking their firearms into the waistbands of their jeans like heathens. She'd already taken steps to change that, though, mostly by not shutting up about it until they gave in. She was good at that.

She'd read too many news articles about people shooting themselves in the ass cheek and she wasn't going to be one of them, thank you very much, nor would she let it happen to the two idiots she rode with. Hers was stretchy and perfectly comfortable, she wouldn't even notice it once she got used to it. Buttoning her jeans back, she dropped her shirt and turned back to find Dean watching her, Sam rolling his eyes at his brother.

"What?" Like she didn't know.

Spinning a finger by his ear to imply Dean was crazy, Sam swallowed his mouthful of food and smirked, finding it hilarious that Dean had been caught staring. Rolling her own eyes, she turned to retrieve her gun before Dean could see the smile on her lips. He didn't need the encouragement.

Tucking her gun into the holster where it belonged, she couldn't help but think of Dean taking her out shooting. Good times. She'd only been twice but she'd done a 180 on her 'firm' anti-weapon stance of a week ago. It had taken exactly one round of shooting cans and empty bottles out on a backroad for her to change her mind. It had been fun, which was unexpected. She'd thought it would be scary and loud and just very..unfun. Wrong.

Well, except about the loud part. Doubtless, she'd end up with tinnitus before too long and likely the boys already suffered from it. It had actually felt, to her, a lot like it did when she was dancing. Or singing. Or just performing in general. That sense of being completely in the moment, no voices in her head, no memories surfacing at just the wrong moment, no doubt or self-consciousness. It was nice.

It didn't hurt that she was fairly decent, too, hitting her target more often than not. No doubt she'd get better with practice, but for now she was pretty confident she wouldn't accidentally shoot someone in the leg. Herself included.

Taking her hair out of its customary braid, she brushed it out before twisting it right back like it was, finishing off her outfit with a dark red long-sleeve button-up she'd stolen from Dean. It was too big for her, of course, and she had to roll up the sleeves but it covered the slight bulge at the small of her back when she wasn't wearing her jacket. Eventually, she'd get around to running to the thrift shop to buy her own shirts and become an official member of Club Flannel, she just hadn't gotten to it yet. Besides, it didn't seem like Dean minded too awful much.

"Dude, quit staring or she's going to notice," Sam smacked his brother's arm. Not like she hadn't already noticed, but he wasn't going to say that. It was too much fun teasing Dean about it. He'd mostly decided to stop trying to play matchmaker. Skye had a point last night, more or less, and he figured his interference wasn't really necessary anyway. The more he got to know the girl, the better suited he thought she and Dean were. He didn't really think it was going to end badly but, well, his last relationship had gone up in flames so what the hell did he know.

"I was not staring," Dean smacked him back. Sure he wasn't, "But seriously, is there anything hotter than an armed woman because I don't think there is."

Especially this woman in particular.

Double-checking his own preparations, he found everything to be in order. He'd already gone over everything this morning while Sam and Skye had still been asleep, used to functioning on much less sleep than either of them were at the moment. Four to six hours every couple of nights and he was mostly good to go. After a bit of adjustment, Skye would be able to do the same and Sam would fall back into it eventually. Wasn't the healthiest thing ever, of course, but sometimes it was necessary. Fuck, most times it was necessary.

"I was thinkin' last night when we left Shaw's." Clearing his throat, Dean got their attention as he finished dressing, "Spirits and demons, they don't need to unlock doors. They can go through walls."

Sam knew that, of course, but sometimes it was just easier to voice a little exposition for Skye's sake Rookie had to learn somehow.

"Which means it's got to be something else, something corporeal," Picking up the thread of Deans thoughts, Sam brought them to their natural conclusion, knowing full well it was for Skye's benefit.

" 'Corporeal'? Excuse me, Professor," Dean tossed a pillow at his brother, making fun of the college boy.

"Shut up," Rolling his eyes so hard they creaked, Sam shook his head, idly wondering what it would have been like if he was an only child, "So what do you two think?"

"The claws, the speed it moves. Could be a skinwalker or maybe a black dog," Sticking his hands in his jacket pockets, Dean shrugged, "Whatever we're talkin' about, we're talkin' about a creature and it's "corporeal", which means we can kill it."

"Okay, if you two want to stop voicin' bullshit aloud for my benefit, all I want are explanations for what a skinwalker and a black dog are. Everything else was yelled out loudly by Captain Obvious last night when he went flyin' through the room," Perching on the side of the bed, she watched the dumbasses with a look that clearly stated they were exactly that. Dumbasses. Crossing her legs, she laced her hands around her knee and smiled brightly at the morons as they mumbled rude things in her direction, "I'm a Rookie, not mentally challenged. Come on, spill the relevant info."

"You remember about bein' a pain in my ass? This is one of those times," Dean pointed a finger at her, a smile in his eyes, chuckling when she flipped him off, "Skinwalker lore is found in just about every culture. There's a lot but it boils down to someone that can turn into an animal. Similar to werewolves but not reliant on the phases of the moon. Vulnerable to silver."

"Which reminds me," he unzipped the duffle and rummaged through it, producing an extra magazine for Skye's Sig Sauer and tossing it to her, "Silver bullets. Just in case."

"And black dogs?" She caught the magazine and tucked it into a pocket, wondering exactly how they melted silver down into bullets.

Ah well, a question for another time.

"The lore on black dogs is a lot more vague," Thinking for a minute, Sam answered as best he could, "You ever read the Hound of the Baskervilles?"

"Got it. Big and nasty, unsure of origin," pulling on her boots, she got to her feet, "I'm a big Sherlock fan, books and movies, though my favorite is actually the Moriarty from Star Trek: Next Gen. Going by the lost look on Dean's face, I'm gonna guess he's never read the Hound of the Baskervilles."

Rubbing the tip of his nose, Dean spoke to no one in particular, "Man, I gotta learn to speak nerd."