Hello all and welcome to the second chapter! I hope you enjoyed the last one and I hope you also enjoy this one. I only updated so fast because I already had this chapter written, and at the moment I'm roughly a quarter of the way through the third chapter... so that one may also be up soon. Please leave a review and tell me your thoughts, it will be dearly appreciated~ Also, are Sam and Dean in character? I did my best, but I feel it's a little shady sometimes...

The next morning Blake finds herself in one of the beds, just like the boys had promised her she would. She must've been much more tired than she thought. She sits up slowly and stretches, trying not to pull her stitches too much.

Dean looks at her and smirks with smug satisfaction, "Sleep enough, princess?" He asks, probably happy over the fact that he was right about being able to move her to the bed after she fell asleep.

Blake laughs, "Why yes, I did."

"Good, we thought you were never going to wake up… you were asleep for over twelve hours."

"Wow, really? It didn't feel like that long at all!" Blake says, dumbfounded.

"You lost a lot of blood, so we weren't surprised," Sam says.

"Yeah, guess I've just never woken up naturally after an injury like this," Blake says, trailing off as a thought occurs to her. "Did Wess get let out? He's usually the reason I can't wake up naturally."

Sam nods, "He woke me up at seven AM on the dot clawing at the door…"

Blake smiles apologetically, "Sorry… I'm not sure why he always goes out at that exact time."

"It's fine, you needed sleep much more than me. He was really well-behaved, too, I was almost surprised." Sam says, genuinely surprised the dog had been so obedient on their little 'excursion.'

Blake gives a small 'phew,' of relief, "I'm glad! I didn't know how well he'd listen to someone other than me while I wasn't around… It's good he didn't give you any trouble."

"None at all," Sam reassures.

"Oh, by the way," Dean cuts in, "you smell like roses, sweetheart. Don't know why you're so worried," he says, his tone gently teasing.

Blake rolls her eyes, almost forgetting that one of them had to move her to get her onto the bed. "Sure, let's go with roses," she agrees playfully, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and grabbing her jeans to change back into them in the bathroom.

Once she comes out she hands the boxers back to Dean and thanks him. Dean grins, "My pleasure."

"Thank you so much for letting me stay here last night, I don't know whether or not I would've been able to make it back on my own last night," Blake says once she has all of her things ready. "I'll wash your shirt and give it back to you the next time I see you, okay, Sam?"

"Nah, you should keep it, I was planning on throwing it out, but hadn't gotten around to it. It's too small for me, anyway," Sam says, waving her concern.

"Okay, thanks!" Blake grins, happy to have a new shirt. It may have been too small for Sam, but on Blake it was comfortably loose and allowed plenty of room.

"What do you plan on doing now?" Sam asks.

"Well, I'll probably stick around here for a month to make sure there are no more werewolves running around. I could really use the downtime anyway," Blake says, disdainfully poking her abdomen as she refers to the stitches holding her guts in. Okay, not really.

Sam nods, "That's what Dean and I were thinking about doing."

Blake claps her hands together, "Awesome, maybe I'll see you around town or something then. Oh! Here, we should probably exchange numbers in case one of us comes across something," she says as she snags a complimentary pen and notepad off the motel table and jots her number down. Sam and Dean do the same after she's done and she tears the paper in half and pockets the side with their numbers on it.

"Alright, thanks again. I guess I'll see you around sometime?" Blake asks, opening the door to the motel room.

"Of course. Bye, Blake."

"See ya, sweetheart."

Blake waves one last time before climbing into her car with Wess and driving off, leaving Sam and Dean to themselves.

"I can't shake the feeling that there's more to her than we see… " Sam mutters, watching her black car get smaller as it gets further away.

Dean nods, "I know! What was that, she didn't even drool when I gave her my 'special' smile!" Dean exclaims, using his hands to gesture the absurdity of the situation.

Sam tries to sigh, but it comes out as more of a snicker, "Some girls have more self-respect than the bar sluts you're so fond of… But seriously, you had to have noticed, right?"

Dean shrugs, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he shuts the door to the motel, "She had a lot of scars."

Sam snorts shaking his head at Dean, "Of course the only thing you noticed was physical."

"She had more scars than you and I combined, Sam. Either she's a shit hunter, or she's reckless. It's the same either way," Dean retorts, sounding slightly defensive.

"You're right… Shit! I can't believe I didn't think about it…" Sam says, cursing.

"Think about what?"

"After I stitched her up, she told me that the only thing that she lived for was Wess… Dean, if that dog ever dies… So does Blake." Sam says, frowning. "It's not that she's a bad hunter… It's that she doesn't care."

"What? What do you mean Wess is the only thing she lives for?" Dean asks giving Sam an incredulous look, only slightly surprised.

"Her parents are dead and she doesn't have any siblings… She's all alone except for Wess." Sam explains.

"Damn it… What do we do?" Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head sadly, "I don't know."

"So what did Bobby say?" Dean asks as Sam hangs up.

"It's not good… Bobby said that she has a reputation for taking only the most dangerous cases, that anyone who has any dirty jobs knows to go to her, and she'll do it." Sam says, frowning at his phone as he rolled it around in his palm.

"Does he want us to do anything?" Dean asks, leaning back in his chair.

"He didn't say anything about what he wanted us to do…" Sam says.

"Do YOU think we should do anything?" Dean asks, giving his brother a knowing look.

Sam shrugs, "I don't know. She's a hunter, but she still doesn't deserve to die… which is what's going to happen eventually. Maybe we should watch her, try to get closer to her."

"Then what will we do? We can't watch her forever, Sam."

"I don't know… We're going to hang out here for a month anyway, we might as well get to know her," Sam reasons.

"How do we do that?" Dean asks skeptically.

"It's a small town, so we have to run into her sometime… If worse comes to worst, we can scout out all of the motels in town, we already know what her car looks like." Sam says, trying to use logic to get his brother in on it.

Dean grabs his jacket off the back of his chair and throws it on, "Well, I dunno about you, Sammy, but I say we start with the bars," he says, grinning as he pulls the keys to the Impala out of his jacket and heads for the door.

Sam rolls his eyes and grudgingly follows, "Why would she be in a bar, Dean? It's-" he pauses to check his phone, "it's barely 9:30."

Dean smiles, "What wouldn't she be doing in a bar, Sammy? She's a hunter! Bars are a hunter's lifeblood!" Dean exclaims opening the driver's side door, though the look in his eye clearly tells Sam that he less than wholesome intentions.

Sam sighs, but goes along with it, slamming the Impala's door just as Dean peals out of the parking lot.

Blake smiles nervously as she pretends to wipe the sweat off of her palms, approaching the rowdy group sitting at the table. "Um, excuse me?"

One of the guys turns to face her, his eyes scouring Blake's curves as a smug smirk curls his lips. "Ya want somethin', sugar?"

Blake nods, gulping anxiously as she wrings her hands, "I-I couldn't help but notice that you all seemed to be very experienced with alcohol… I was wondering if you could show me the ropes of alcohol drinking? I was too embarrassed to drink in front of my friends on my birthday because everyone says I'll be a lightweight… I just wanted to see if it's true," she explains in a small, mousy voice, beginning to twirl her hand into her hair and glancing away from his face.

The man, who she can tell is only a couple years older than her, around 27 or so, smiles a positively lecherous grin as he gestures to an empty seat at the table, "Have a seat and we'll fix you right up, sugar."

Blake smiles and sighs in relief, "Oh, thank you so much!" She exclaims, allowing herself a small giggle of happiness. Blake takes a seat and folds her hands neatly on the table, brimming with eagerness.

The man smiles what must be his 'charming' smile, though all it succeeds in doing is making Blake want to wretch, "No problem, now, what do you want to do? Start with the little league stuff or go straight to the majors?"

Blake bites her lip and ponders the question, placing an innocent finger on her lip, "Let's go for the big shots," she decides, nodding with the finality of her decision.

The man nods, "Good choice," he smirks, calling a waiter to the table.

The waiter leaves and soon returns with a couple shot glasses full of clear liquid and places them on the table.

Blake purses her lips, "But they're so small… How much can they do?"

"Take a drink and find out, honey," one of the surrounding men jeers.

"Hold on, you all are doing me such a big favor, I want to repay you," Blake says, digging out a couple crisp hundred dollar bills from her purse. "How about we bet on how many I can drink?"

"Now we're talkin'," one of them snorts, "I could stand to make a couple hundred."

There's a general chorus of agreement as the men begin to pull their wallets out, each of them slapping various amounts of money on the table.

"I say she can't take more than two without puking."

"Nah, she'll make it to three."

"Are you kidding? This chick has never seen alcohol in her life, one is all she'll get down."

Blake shrugs, "You're right… So I think I'll guess something outrageous and go with… eight. So when I lose, whoever bet on the number I drank gets all the money, right?"

The men agree in various piggish and rude ways, and Blake picks up her first shot. She makes a show of sniffing it and curling her nose in disgust, before taking a tiny sip.

"It burns," Blake points out as she looks to the surrounding men for help, "Is it supposed to do that?" She asks, knocking back the rest of the small glass despite the alleged 'burn.'

There's a collective groan from the men who bet she couldn't keep her first shot down, and those who bet on two are looking a little hot under the collar.

Blake picks the second glass up and inspects it for a couple seconds before pouring it down her throat, this time coughing and spluttering dramatically. "That was worse than the first one… but not bad."

Soon, she's drank five shots. Blake smiles apologetically at the men, leaning heavily against the table, "I'm sorry… I guess I should've quit when one of you would've made money, but none of you bet I would make it past five. That would be dishonest anyway, and I like being honest. Don't you?" She asks her present company, giggling wildly.

"If I can keep drinking, should I?" She ponders, staring at them as she puts a finger to her bottom lip in mock contemplation.

The man sighs and runs a hand down his face, "Do whatever you want."

"Aye, aye, captain!" Blake yells, knocking back three more shots in quick succession. "Oh! That's eight! Did I win?" She asks, dissolving into wild giggles.

Most of the men had left in frustration by now, and the couple that were left scoffed at her, "Yes. You win. Now, take the money and go."

Blake grins and plucks the money off of the table, "This is a lot of money," she chirps, stumbling her way to the doors, "Bye, guys! Thank you so much for drinking with me! Maybe I'll come back some time!" She says, giggling hysterically, even as she trips dramatically over nothing.

Once the doors close behind her, Blake's whole demeanor changes, a genuine smile comes to her lips and that dazed look is gone. She has a reason to be happy, she just hustled somewhere in the neighborhood of two thousand dollars off of the bar scum back in there. Sure, she's a little buzzed, but after pulling that stunt more times than she can count, her tolerance is pretty high.

Blake straightens her posture, still slowly coming out of her giggly drunkard facade when she hears a familiar voice behind her.

"Nice hustling," Dean comments cooly, hands stuffed into his pockets and his posture lax.

To her credit, Blake doesn't flinch, instead she laughs. "Gotta pay for my sleazy motel room somehow," she retorts, facing the two men.

Dean snorts and elbows Sam, "Ain't that the truth?"

Sam ignores Dean, "Why don't you get a part-time job?" He asks, almost startling Blake with the earnestness in his voice.

Blake shrugs, "I do every once and a while when I'm in a place for longer than a month, but nothing turns money faster than hustling," she explains, grinning like a fool. "You've never hustled as a woman, have you? Well, we have definite advantages in the hustling department."

"What makes you say that?" Dean asks, ready to defend his amazing hustling skills.

"People, guys especially, more readily accept that a woman is bad at poker, or pool, or doing shots. It makes them feel more comfortable putting money on the line," Blake says.

Dean laughs, seeing the truth in her statement, "Damn, you must make out like a bandit."

Blake shrugs, "It's not like I forced them into anything," she says, smiling coyly. "Anyway, I'm headed back to the diner down the street, you two wanna tag along?"

Dean looks at Sam, and they come to a silent agreement, "Sure why not? We can take the Impala."

Blake nods, "That sounds better than walking," she agrees, following the boys to the Impala.

Sam and Dean climb in the front, leaving Blake the backseat. As she opens the door, she's greeted by the smell of warm leather and something distinctly masculine, like cologne, but not quite as processed. She decides it must be Sam and Dean, and that they smell like heaven. She runs a hand over the smooth leather seats, enjoying the feeling of it against her palms. There was something extremely homey and comforting about the car, and when they arrived at the diner, she almost didn't want to get out.

Eventually she does get out, though if only to keep Sam and Dean questioning her, and the three of them head into the small 24 hour diner. It's nearly deserted, but that's to be expected so late.

The diner is nothing special, but is cozy and well-kept. It has tons of memorabilia lining the walls, and an old jukebox in the corner.

The three of them take a seat, and begin browsing the menus. "It's nice here," Blake off-handedly comments, gazing at the décor.

Soon, a middle aged woman with a kind smile comes to take the trios orders, "What can I get you?"

Dean is the first to order, "Can I get a double cheeseburger with extra onions? Thanks, sugar," he says, giving her a charming smile as he hands her his menu.

"I'll take the Chef's Salad, thanks," Sam says, giving the waitress his menu.

Blake smiles sweetly, "Can I have a stack of pancakes and a side of sausage? Thank you."

The waitress nods and jots their orders, "Anything to drink?"

Blake and Dean each order black coffee, while Sam sticks with iced tea.

Blake folds her hands in her lap and looks curiously at Sam and Dean. "How long have the two of you been hunters?"

Dean shrugs, toying with packets of sugar, "Our whole lives pretty much."

"Me too…" Blake says, shifting to sit Indian-style on the slick leather of the diner booth.

The waitress returns briefly to place their drinks on the table. Blake wraps her hands around her mug of coffee, smiling, as she absentmindedly stirs the steaming liquid. It smells wonderful. "You're brothers, right?" She asks, already pretty sure of the answer.

"Yup," Dean confirms, elbowing Sam in the ribs, "raised this one since he was in diapers."

Blake smiles, slightly envious of the strong bond between the two of them; she didn't have anything like it. "How was that?" She asks, before clarifying, "Being on the road all the time with your little brother."

Dean shrugs, grabbing his own coffee, "It's all I ever knew, pretty much. I don't have anything to compare it to."

Sam nods, "It was normal for us. Traveling, sleazy motels, and gas station foods were staples of our childhood," he says, sounding slightly bitter.

Blake takes in all of the information like a sponge, remembering earlier when Sam told her their mother died when he was six months old. "Were the two of you alone a lot?" She asks, glancing away, too curious not to ask the question, but tactful enough to be embarrassed for asking.

"Are you kidding?" Dean asks rhetorically, "All the freakin' time."

Blake nods, quietly comparing their experiences of being raised to hers. "At least you had each other, right?" She asks hopefully.

"Yeah, I guess you can say that was a high point," Dean says noncommittally. "But it wasn't always unicorns and sunshine," he says almost sarcastically.

Sam cuts in the conversation, "Blake, you said you were a single-child, right? Well, how was that?"

Blake shrugs, casually leaning back, though both Sam and Dean could both tell she was coiled pretty tight with tension. "Lonely, I guess. My parents left me alone most of the time while they were on hunts."

"And?" Sam prods gently.

Blake laughs, "And it sucked, obviously… I hope you don't mind me saying, but I'm jealous of the two of you. I always wanted a sibling."

Dean and Sam shift awkwardly in their seats, not quite sure how to respond.

Blake pretends not to notice, "My parents were hunters long before I was born, when I came onto the scene, it was unexpected. Kind of threw a wrench into their plans. I don't think it changed much though."

Dean quirks an eyebrow at her, "What do you mean by that?"

Blake shakes her head, frowning lightly as she tries to find the right wording. "Hunting was their life, it was what they loved. When I was born, they couldn't hunt as much anymore because one of them would have to stay behind with me and it was generally a huge hassle. So as soon as they felt confident I could work a microwave and dial a phone, they would leave me in that stupid RV while they went and hunted all day. They never stopped hunting… hardly even slowed down."

"An RV?" Sam asks, giving her an odd look.

"Yup," Blake confirms, "it's just as weird and awful as it sounds. While you two had motels and gas station food, I guess I got the slightly more normal Fort Knox on wheels and microwave macaroni."

"Fort Knox on wheels?" Dean asks with an amused snort.

Blake laughs fondly, "That thing was crazy, I've never seen as many protection spells in one place since. It had salted iron reinforced walls and doors, and bars on the windows. It looked normal enough on the outside, but that's only because you couldn't see anything through the frosted windows."

"What happened to it?" Sam asks, stirring his tea.

Blake shrugs, "I don't really know. I sold it to some hunters a couple years back… I didn't want it. After my parents died, it just had too many memories," she says, shifting in her seat.

There's a heavy silence, and Sam looks about ready to break it when the waitress comes back with their food, "Here ya go," she says, setting a plate in front of Blake.

"Thank you."

The waitress smiles and places Sam and Dean's food on the table, "Alright, call me if you need anything," she says, retreating to the kitchen.

Blake grabs the bottle of syrup and douses her pancakes with it, making sure there's no part of the pancake left that isn't coated in syrup. She picks up her butter knife and cuts into the pancakes, steam escaping from the inside. She grins, jabbing a bite with her fork and swirling it in the run-off syrup pooled at the sides.

"You two look happy," Sam comments dryly.

Blake nearly giggles, instead she crams a bite of pancake into her mouth so as to not let the sound escape. She looks at Dean to find him in the same state of food-driven bliss. That must be what Sam meant.

Blake shrugs, chasing her pancake with a gulp of tepid coffee, "It's good," she says sheepishly in lieu of an actual explanation.

There isn't much conversation as the group eats, it's too be expected though, as Blake and Dean are too busy putting food in their mouths to talk and Sam can't hold a conversation on his own. The conversation picks up again as Blake's fork clinks against her plate for the last time and Dean's burger is nowhere to be seen.

"What's the worst injury you've ever got?" Dean asks out of the blue, staring at Blake curiously.

Blake is slightly confused by the abruptness of the question, but answers in a timely manner anyway, "It has to be the time I was hunting that rugaru… The bastard almost ate me alive. Since the human mouth is so filthy, I was in the hospital fighting the infection for weeks." She shifts the collar of her shirt out of the way and moves her hair, allowing Sam and Dean to see the large scar on the junction of her neck and shoulder.

Blake shakes her head in disbelief, "I still can't believe I lived, I thought I was a goner. Thankfully, though he couldn't bite down all the way because of my collar bone. He definitely scratched the hell outta it though. He only ended up with a mouthful of loose skin… He got a couple other bites in that were pretty bad, but the one on my neck was the worse. It makes you wonder when the next close call is going to be the last, huh?" She asks, smiling indulgently.

Dean nods, giving a small snort, "Definitely."

"Wow… So, uh, how'd you get away?" Sam asks uneasily.

Blake laughs, she would never dream of leaving something like that alive while she got away, "I didn't get away, I killed it and drug myself to the hospital. But it was a lucky break, for sure. The rugaru and I were grappling and he threw me onto the kitchen counter, this is where I got really lucky. There was an aerosol can of air freshener there. I grabbed it and used the lighter I had in my pocket to make a flamethrower. "

"Not a stranger to close calls, are you?" Dean asks, his disapproving tone making it clear the question was rhetorical.

Blake shrugs, "It comes with the job," she says, smiling absently.

"So do you know what happened to the djinn that killed your parents?" Sam asks.

Blake shakes her head, her face carefully void of emotion, "No. When I got there, it was already long gone, and my parents were dead."

Dean frowns, "I, uh, know it's not the same, but I saw my mother the night she died… I know a little of what you must've felt."

Blake smiles weakly, "It's okay… to be honest, my parents and I weren't ever very close. Sometimes they felt like strangers instead of parents." Blake pauses and uneasily inspects the speckled tile floors. "I feel bad for it… but I didn't even cry when they died." She takes a large gulp of her coffee, trying in vain to wish away the tense atmosphere. "How about you two? Where is your dad?"

"He's looking for the demon that killed our mother, we don't know where he is." Dean explains.

Blake's eyebrows furrow, "What's his name?"

"John Winchester."

Blake smiles faintly, "Ya don't say? I worked with a John Winchester sometime a couple years ago."

Dean cocks an eyebrow suspiciously, "Really? Our dad never worked with anyone."

Blake's cheeks burn a little as she admits, "Well, I kind of twisted his arm to get him to work with me."

Dean smirks, "Do tell."

"We happened to be looking into the same den of vampires at the time and ran into each other somehow… He got sort of upset when I mentioned going in on my own and tried to convince me to drop the case and let him handle it. I told him that I wasn't going to drop it and that I was going in whether he was helping me or not. I guess he didn't want me going in half-cocked and scaring all of the vamps off." Blake explains, laughing almost fondly at her brief memories of John Winchester.

"That was you?" Dean asks, incredulously. "He talked about you briefly, said he had found some 19 year old girl crazy enough to try and take a whole den of vampires by herself. He was worried about you."

Blake's eyes widen, and she looks genuinely confused, almost lost. "Why would he be worried about me?" She mumbles.

Dean shrugs, "Couldn't say. Maybe he thought you were too young to be on your own, hunting."

Blake glances away, her head hurting as it muddles through the possibility of John Winchester actually worried for her. It creates a foreign feeling in her chest, and it almost hurts. She wishes she could go back to thinking that he was only concerned about her screwing up his hunt.

Unseen to Blake, Sam and Dean share a look, equally alarmed by her reaction.

"Why would you think that he was only worried about you scaring the vampires away?" Sam asks gently, genuine worry for her in his eyes.

Blake turns her large, confused eyes on him, "I… I just didn't think he would care about me. Most hunters I've ever worked with were more than happy to let me be the bait or to let me do the more dangerous parts of the job… I must've assumed he was the same and only cared about the job."

"You know…" Dean starts softly, "he wanted to help you. He didn't like the thought of you out there alone, hunting things that grown men are scared of," he says gruffly, trying to maintain some semblance of manliness.

If Blake was confused earlier, this is where her brain broke. She takes a deep breath and rubs at the persistent ache that had taken root at her temple, articulate replies escaping her like water through her fingers. She's so confused and lost it hurts; she doesn't know what to do. Blake pulls her gaze from her hands, looking at the brothers seated across from her, silently pleading for help.

Sam and Dean share a meaningful look, communicating silently. Dean frowns and looks Blake, her crestfallen gaze eliciting his protective side, the one that wanted to save everyone. But Sam was better at these things, he'd have to handle it.

"Blake…" Sam says softly, "we're worried about you too."

Blake's features twist in confusion, "Why?" She asks quietly.

"We talked to our friend, and he told us that while you're a good hunter, you take dangerous jobs without any back up. Even among the hunting community, you're known for being reckless. We just want to know you're okay… Let you know that you aren't alone," Sam explains gently.

Blake shakes her head and grabs her purse, "I'm okay," she whispers, her mouth dry as she places a twenty dollar bill on the table and tries to refrain from sprinting to the exit, instead she walks briskly. The bell above the door signals her escape from the diner, and the brothers don't try to follow her. It comforts her none.

Blake is terrified out of her wits.

Sam sighs, staring at the door as it closes behind Blake, shaking his head. "What now?"

Dean shrugs, "I don't know. She bailed on us faster than lifeboats from the Titanic. Maybe she doesn't want help."

"You can't honestly believe that," Sam says bluntly. "You saw how… scared she looked!"

"Well, then what do we do, Sam?" Dean asks gruffly. "She's just going to run every time. It's not going to change anything. I mean, sheezus, she bolted when you even implied trying to help her! She's not exactly open to the idea, Sam!"

"It's because she's not used to having any one care about her! You heard her, she's been used as bait by hunters before, probably more than we know. Hell, she thought dad was only worried about the job when it's obvious he was trying to get her to drop the case because he didn't want her hurt," Sam says, his voice firm. Blake needed someone to help her, and if Sam had anything to say about it, it would be him and Dean.

Dean shakes his head and stands up from the booth, "Let's go, we'll deal with it in the morning."

Sam frowns, but complies as he follows Dean out of the diner and into the Impala.