A/N
Hi guys and welcome to the third chapter of Rabbit, I hope you enjoy! The song in there is "Paint it Black," by the Rolling Stones, and it was just a random song I picked, it doesn't mean anything. Please tell me if there was anything that contradicted itself or if I got Sam or Dean out of character. I've also decided that I'm going to try and update this once every week, but please forgive me if I can't keep it up.
Thanks so much for reading and be sure to drop a line~
OH! Also, thanks so much for the reviews, watches, and favorites! They really encouraged me. *heart*
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any recognizable trademarks, but I do own Blake and Wess.
Blake lies on the lumpy, stained mattress of her motel room, staring blankly at the ceiling as her mind slogs through her thoughts. The process is slow and unforthcoming in results, as her thoughts moved like chilled molasses, that is to say, barely at all. Sam and Dean had terrified her in a way that no supernatural entities could.
They worried for her.
It's a lot for Blake to handle, especially since she's not used to people worrying for her. Her parents didn't care to show that they were worried. But Sam and Dean, two brothers that had accidentally stumbled across her on a hunt, did. So they said, anyway. She liked to give them the benefit of the doubt though, as what did they have to gain from lying about caring for her? It's not like she had anything to give them. There were much more willing participants at bars if they were looking for a screw. She didn't have anything apart from the money she hustled and Wess. She helped anyone who asked, too. Surely they must've known that. They knew she took dangerous jobs, they must've known that if they wanted help, they only had to ask.
What did they want from her?
Her mind chases itself in circles, coming to the same unreliable answer-
Nothing. They didn't want anything from her.
That might've been what terrified her the most.
Blake bites back a growl and yanks her jacket on, storming out of her motel room and slamming the door with unnecessary force. Right now, all she needed was some good company.
She and Jack Daniels went way back.
Loud, slightly static-y music begins to play in the stifling quietness of Blake's motel, "I see a red door and I want it painted black, no colors any more I want them to turn black…"
Blake groans, her head pounding as she pushes herself up on her elbows and gropes around blindly for her phone. Her hand meets cools plastic and she brings it up to her ear, cursing as she remembers she has to press a button to take the call. Who was calling at such an ungodly hour? It was... well, it was six in the afternoon, but she was sleeping!
"Hello?" She snaps irritably, finally managing to answer the call.
"Blake? Hey, it's Sam."
Blake's whole body tenses, and she stiffly pushes herself into a sitting position. "Oh, uh, hi… Sam. Um, did you… need anything?" She asks awkwardly, running a hand through her hair and trying to comb it out of her face.
"Huh? Oh, no, I just wanted to apologize for last night, I didn't mean to upset you," Sam apologizes.
Blake is taken off-guard, she didn't expect him to apologize. She panics and blurts the first thing that comes to mind and seems like it will help the situation, "I was just scared. I didn't know what to think. So I did what I always do when things get scary… I ran."
Sam is obviously shocked at her easy admittance to being scared, "Why, um, why would you be scared, Blake? We just want to help you."
"Because when people care, I have to take responsibility for my actions," Blake says, still answering his questions with the first thing that comes to mind. "I thought it over last night, and that's why… That's why I decided to leave the rest of this case to you and Dean. I, um, already have a new job lined up and I'm going to be headed there first thing in the morning."
"So… you're leaving?" Sam asks, almost skeptically.
"Running is what I do best," Blake replies, too serious to be sarcastic. "Thanks for everything, though. Bye Sam." Satisfied with having the last word, Blake pulls her phone from her ear and ends the call.
Blake sighs and massages her temples, trying to wish away her headache. Wess puts his head on her knee and stares at her sadly.
Blake scratches his ears absently, "We should get ready to go, Wess."
Wess whines and crawls onto the bed, laying across her lap in a silent protest, causing Blake to giggle, "You're a brat, you know that?"
Wess's tail wags and he barks happily, twisting around to lick Blake's cheek. "Aww, Wess! Yuck, you know how I feel about the licking!" Blake weakly reprimands, but it only makes Wess's tail wag faster.
Blake huffs, faking irritation, "You really are a brat, but you have to get up, you're on my stitches," she grumbles, coaxing Wess off of her lap.
Wess gives her his best puppy eyes, but she's immune and he's shooed off her lap in spite of his attempts.
"All right!" Blake says, clapping her hands together, "Let's get packed!"
Roughly ten minutes later, Blake is completely packed and ready to go. She told Sam she was leaving tomorrow, but she lied. She didn't really know how likely it was that they would come after her, but she didn't want to take the chance. They scared the piss out of her with their worrying and all that whatnot.
All she needs is a good ol' fashioned hunt and Wess, anything more than that gets too complicated.
Blake smiles and lovingly strokes Wess's head, scratching beneath his chin. "You're the only one I need, right?"
Wess barks happily, his tail wagging as he barks in response to her question. He may not understand what she was saying, but he did understand that she was talking to him.
"I'm gonna take a bath, okay? Be good," Blake commands, grabbing her bag of toiletries and a change of clothes. She wanted to leave as soon as possible, but she also wanted to take a shower before she left. She had been able to sponge herself off and make herself presentable yesterday, but now what she really needed was a good shower. It had been long enough since she got stitches that she could get them a little wet, and it's not like Sam and Dean were going to hunt her down anyway. She could have an hour or so to herself. She would leave after she got out of the shower.
Blake nods to herself, content with her reasoning, and turns the faucets in the bathroom on to hot.
Blake's shower is over all too soon, and before she knows it, she's lounging on her bed and toweling her hair off, already dressed and packed to leave. She sighs and tosses the towel into the bathroom, the maids would get it. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't really want to leave. She just had this funny feeling in her gut that told her to stay. She didn't often ignore her feelings, call it a hunter's intuition, but listening to that little niggling in the back of her mind had served her well.
Perhaps she'd wait an hour before leaving.
Pleased with her current plan of action, Blake reclines on her bed and watches Dr. Sexy M. D., Wess's head in her lap as he dozes.
Blake giggles quietly, watching Dr. Sexy M. D. with rapt attention. It was a guilty pleasure, she'd never willingly admit to liking the show to anyone. It's just that when you're holed up in a motel room all day, cable TV becomes your savior. Dr. Sexy was extremely good looking too. That was always a plus.
Dr. Sexy had just diagnosed someone with a rare disease when a loud pounding at the motel room's door draws Blake's attention. She quirks an eyebrow at it, confused as to who would be at her door, and turns the TV off.
She creeps slowly up to the door, grabbing a gun and tucking a flask of holy water into her pocket as she goes, the pounding persists.
Cursing the lack of peep hole, Blake pulls the door open slowly, ready for anything as her eyes fall upon her visitor.
Of course it would be a Winchester. Blake sighs and opens the door wider, using her free hand to grab the flask out of her pocket, "Thirsty?" She asks sarcastically, instinctively knowing Dean would understand it was full of holy water.
Dean rolls his eyes at her and tugs the flask out of her hands, "Not really," he says before taking a swig and dramatically swishing it back and forth in his cheeks for show.
Blake shrugs and sets her gun down on the table next to the door, "I like to be sure. Because only demons and stalkers track people down, and that just crossed off demon so…" She says, intentionally trailing off as she leans against the door.
Dean snorts, "Nice, but you forgot that 'professional stalking' is basically written into the hunter job description." He retorts, pushing the flask back into her hand.
Blake tries to hide a laugh as she smiles, "You have quite the tongue on you, don't you?" She asks teasingly, amused at the double meaning.
"I'm sure you'd like to see what else my tongue could do, but that's not why I tracked you down," Dean says, his tone becoming more serious towards the end.
"Oh, now I'm interested," Blake replies, sweeping her arm out towards her room in exaggerated welcoming gesture.
Dean doesn't hesitate as he saunters right in, "Let's get down to business. You aren't leaving. Not when Sam is so worried over you, because when he worries, I worry. And we can't have that, you follow me?"
Blake barks a harsh sarcastic laugh, immediately going on the defensive, "That's sweet. But you really have no reason to worry over me," she growls back, deadly serious. To be honest, it was all just bravado and more of a wounded animal reaction than actual anger. He scared her, she'd do anything to make him leave at this point, and if she had to howl and spit and threaten… she'd do it. It was all in the interest of self-preservation, in Blake's mind.
"Oh, really? Well, that changes things! Let me just get out of your hair!" Dean yells back sarcastically, causing Wess's ears to flatten against his skull in displeasure. Wess definitely didn't like Dean's aggressive posture and tone of voice while addressing Blake. Rumbling snarls pour from Wess's throat as he slinks off the bed and plants himself firmly between Blake and Dean.
"If you could just do that, we'd be great!" Blake spits in response, absently putting a comforting hand on Wess's head.
"Yeah? Well, sorry, I lied. I'm not leaving until you promise me something," Dean growls, if he noticed Wess snarling, he didn't show it. When you dealt with werewolves on a regular occasion, dogs weren't quite so scary.
Blake's eyes narrow dangerously and her fingers curl into Wess's fur, "I'm not promising you anything."
Dean's anger mirrors Blake's, "Then you won't be leaving here for a while. Because if you haul off and get your ass killed, Sam's going to blame himself for it!"
Blake's anger is put on the backburner to be replaced by confusion, "You think I'm going to get myself killed?"
"Of course we think you're going to get yourself killed! The few hunters who care to keep track of you cringe every time they hear your name because they're positive it's going to be someone talking about how you were ripped apart and eaten!" Dean yells, gesturing to accent his words.
Blake is stunned into silence, so Dean continues, "And you want to know what the saddest part is? It's not because you're bad at hunting, it's because you don't care! You don't care what happens to yourself, and that's the kind of selfish attitude that gets people killed!"
Blake visibly recoils, staring at him in blatant shock, "What are you saying?"
Dean pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, "I'm saying that if you don't learn how to value your life a little more, it's only a matter of time until you're dead, and no matter what you think about your life, people will be affected by your death."
Blake mind is once again overrun with confusion. She was so used to the thought that she flew miles under the radar of everyone, that it was weird to think that someone actually cared to keep tabs on her. Blake drags a hand across her face, her distress obvious. At the moment she sort of felt like a fire that someone had dumped water on, she can remember her anger, and it's still there, it's just not in any shape to return. "I don't care. I really don't care," Blake mumbles, shaking her head.
"You're lying," Dean bluntly remarks, staring Blake down.
"And what's it got to do with you?" Blake asks quietly. "I don't know why you think you can just jump into the picture and make decisions for me. I've only known you, what, two to three days tops? Why does it matter to you and Sam if I die? Yeah, so maybe it's going to happen one day. Hell! It'll be soon if I'm lucky. But I don't see how it involves you or Sam." Blake's voice is cold, polite, and flat, she's doing everything she think of to get rid of Dean.
"You just admitted that you hope you die soon and you wonder why people assume you're dead every time they hear about you? I mean, come on! You can't be that blind!" Dean exclaims, determined to get something through to her. He didn't know what it would be, but she was going to leave this room with something, SOMETHING she didn't have before. He'd make sure of it and hope like hell it was positive.
Blake rolls her shoulder to work some of the tension out of them, she hated conflicts with people. Why couldn't she just solve them the same way she dealt with vampires? It would make life so much easier. "You still haven't told me why you care."
"Because you need someone looking out for you. Sam and I have each other, we have our father, we have Bobby, and a whole mess of other hunters who would more than likely have our backs. Who do you have, huh? When you dig a hole you can't get out of on your own, what do you do?" Dean asks, seemingly calm and genuinely curious, though he definitely had a point in mind to prove.
Blake gives a harsh sarcastic laugh. "I keep digging."
Dean opens his mouth to reply when Blake shakes her head, "No. I think we're done here," she says, grabbing the bags next to the door and slinging them over her shoulder. She takes the gun off the table and clicks the safety on, placing it in her weapons' bag. "Is the room clear, Wess?"
Wess runs a quick check of the room, sticking his nose in random places to check for any of Blake's belongings. His search turns up nothing, so Blake pulls the door open.
"So that's it, huh? Just going to bail as soon as it looks like there might be a couple of people who give a shit about what happens to you?" Dean questions coldly.
Blake spares him a scathing over the shoulder glance, already beginning the trek to her car, "Yup. It was nice meeting the two of you, though. I hope next time we meet we're on better terms."
Dean scoffs, "We'll be lucky if the next time we meet, you aren't in a body bag. You can't keep on like this and you know it."
Blake shrugs, all pretenses dropped, "That implies you care enough to go pick up my body. I guess someone has to."
Dean growls softly in irritation, did nothing he just said make it through to her? He was trying to make it obvious he and Sam DID care, maybe he wasn't the best at so-called 'chick flick moments,' and admittedly this was more of a yelling match, but what else could he have said?
He should've made Sam come with him.
Blake crawls into the front seat of her car, groaning and rubbing her eyes. That might have just been one of the most awful nights of sleep she's ever had. She didn't even sleep, not really. It was like she spent the whole night in a constant state of hovering between the fuzzy line of sleep and awake. She's start to actually fall asleep when she would remember what happened the day before. She would then be dragged into a more conscious state, metaphorically climbing onto the same merry-go-round of events all over again. Let's just say it wasn't fun.
Blake grumbles and tries to rub the cricks out of her neck, rolling and flexing her shoulders as she climbs out from the backseat and into the drier's seat. She had drove for a long time last night before finally deciding that she was far enough away from the two brothers that had cost her so much emotional drama. It was sort of ridiculous, and the more she thought on it, the more she felt immature for her behavior. Did she regret it? Nope. Would she do the same exact things if she had the chance? Yup. But that didn't mean it was acceptable, nor that it was mature.
Yawning once more, Blake pops her car door open to go rummage around in the trunk. She grabs three things, a jug of water she keeps in her car at all times, a toothbrush and toothpaste. Just because she's on the road doesn't mean her hygiene has to suffer… she just hasn't yet mastered the art of roadside showers. That's a problem to be approached at a later date.
Blake takes a gulp from the jug, swishing it between her teeth before spitting it out and squeezing a glob of toothpaste onto her toothbrush. She hops onto the hood of her car, lazily brushing her teeth as she watches the scenery. All of the little forest animals ignore her as they go about their business, birds tend to young and squirrels scurry from place to place, their manner erratic and their twitching nearly spastic.
Blake watches the animals, content and happy with the small things in life, such as brushing your teeth on the side of the road while tiny furred creatures entertain you. Yup, it's always the small things. She was just glad she got a little down time, she didn't actually have any hunts lined up, it was just something she said to Sam for an excuse to leave. A hunt would find her eventually, they always did.
Blake sighs and leans back against the windshield, toothbrush dangling haphazardly from her lips as the moist air of the forest trailed its fingers over her. The place smelled wonderfully clean and fresh.
Blake crawls sluggishly off of the car, spitting out the toothpaste foam and gargling soon after. It was about time for her to get going anyway.
Blake opens the passenger side door and shakes the snoozing hound awake, "Wess, do you have to go potty, bud?"
Wess shakes himself off and tumbles sleepily out of the car, trotting off to take care of business. Blake laughs at his drowsy form and closes the car door before hopping back onto the hood of the car. She closes her eyes and dozes lightly for a couple minutes, on the verge of full on passing out when she notices something very strange… the forest animals had left. She quirks an eyebrow and surveys the surrounding area with the critical eye of a hunter.
Finding nothing from her search, she whistles for Wess. Wess barrels out of the foliage and is at her side in moments, watching her curiously. Blake observes Wess closely, analyzing the movements and flickering of his ears. He seems to hear something.
"What is it, Wess?" Blake asks, concerned as to what Wess was hearing.
Wess looks at her and faces the forest, taking a few steps toward it before checking to see if Blake was following him. Getting the idea, Blake trails closely after him, curious to see what he had heard.
"Help! Help me! Please, somebody!" A small, feminine voice shrieks.
Blake tenses and draws her gun from her waistband, "Hold on! I'll be right there, where are you?"
"Please hurry! I need help!" The voice continues.
"Okay, I'm coming to get you, just keep talking to me!" Blake hollers back, sprinting through the forest to find the girl. "Go back to the car and stay, Wess," Blake commands, satisfied when she hears Wess turn tail and bound back the way they came.
"Please help me, somebody!" The voice screams, extremely close to where Blake is.
Blake bursts into a small clearing, branches clawing at her clothes, and expects to see someone in it.
"Help! Help me! Please, somebody!" the feminine voice yells from behind Blake.
Blake's stomach drops into her toes as she whirls around and fires off a couple shots in the direction of the voice. How could she have not noticed? How could she fall into such an obvious trap?
There's an inhuman shriek of anger and an almost imperceptible whisper of leaves as the creature circles Blake faster than even Blake's highly trained senses can detect.
The voice she once thought to be small and fragile inherits a clearly malicious and mocking tone, "Please hurry! I need help! Please help me, somebody!" the wendigo shrieks, its stolen voice echoing from all around Blake as it closes in on her. She prepares to pull the trigger again when her gun is ripped out of her hands by the wendigo. Her gun lands a couple yards away, there was no hope of recovering it because the wendigo had such a speed advantage.
The gust that the wendigo is kicking up swirls around Blake, picking up her hair and playing with it, Blake tenses. It was getting closer.
Taking the initiative, Blake slowly crouches down, reaching for the knife hidden in her boot when the wendigo's clawed hand whips across her face, spending Blake sprawling and blood splattering. Blake presses a hand to the three shallow cuts on her jawbone, a bolt of fear shooting down her spine. It was playing with her. Those cuts were kitten scratches compared to the damage it should've done.
Blake's hand shoots towards the knife in her boot, determined to get the knife and try to defend herself against the wendigo.
This time the blow from the wendigo knocks her out cold.
A couple hours later, Blake rouses. She's tied up and hanging from the ceiling, she obviously must've been in the wendigo's lair. Awesome. The only bright side was that, from the looks of things, Blake was its first victim of the season. There was a huge downside to that though, too. It meant that it was hungry, and she would have much less time to escape before it started making a snack out of her.
Blake's head throbs painfully and she remembers the scratches on her face, they seem to have quit bleeding. That didn't mean that they hadn't already coated her neck and chest in blood though. She must've smelled delicious to the wendigo. In fact, she honestly didn't even know why the bastard had waited so long to eat her.
Perhaps this was the end.
Blake only entertains the thought for a brief second before barking a laugh at the irony as she remembers her words from only less than 24 hours ago.
"Hell! It'll be soon if I'm lucky."
Boy, did she know how to jinx herself.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad though. Wess was waiting by her car, someone would have to come across him eventually, and hopefully alert the police. He wasn't ever aggressive towards any one, he would let them get close enough to catch him. He was microchipped so they would know he was hers, and when they found her abandoned car, they would take him to the pound. He was such a well-behaved, gorgeous dog that Blake had no doubts he would be adopted fast.
Blake smiles tiredly, lulled into a sense of contentment with her situation. This wasn't so bad, maybe it was the escape she'd sought after. Maybe things would finally change.
Just as her eyes slide closed, heavy with the belief that they would never open again, Dean's voice rings clearly through her head.
"…if you haul off and get your ass killed, Sam's going to blame himself for it!"
Blake scowls, "It's not my fault. I never asked him to care."
"…no matter what you think about your life, people will be affected by your death."
Blake nearly snarls, "I don't care! It's my life! I can die if I damn well feel like it!"
"You don't care what happens to yourself, and that's the kind of selfish attitude that gets people killed!"
"You're wrong!" Blake barks, vehemently denying the voice in her head.
"When you dig a hole you can't get out of on your own, what do you do?"
"I don't need anyone; I can get out of this myself!" Blake snaps, beginning the slow, chaffing process of kicking the ropes off her feet in order to prove Dean wrong and escape, all on her own. She's never needed any one before, and she didn't now.
An hour later, Blake's foot, boot and all, slips out of the ropes. Blake considers it a small victory, as she now had to get her foot up to her mouth so she could get the knife out of her boot without using her hands. It didn't sound like much fun.
Blake kicks her other foot free and swings her right foot up as close to her mouth as she can get it. Which it's not as close as she had hoped it was going to be. She uses her left thigh to brace her right foot, and brings her left knee closer to her chest. It works well enough that she can now use her teeth to grasp the leather of her boot. She adjusts the position of her left knee to keep her right foot in place, and uses her teeth to pull the knife free of her boot.
Finally! Blake would grin, but she's much to scared it will compromise the position of the knife in her mouth.
After carefully arranging the knife into a better position with her tongue, Blake uses her upper body strength to pull herself up to where she's eye level with the knot of rope holding her wrists together. Clenching her teeth down on the handle of the knife, she leans forward and begins to saw at the rope, wishing her knife was serrated.
It takes a couple minutes, and by the time she's on the verge to cutting through the rope, her head is killing her, her lips are cracked and bleeding, and her arms cramp so horrifically her whole body is shaking with the strain of keeping her weight up. But it finally snaps, dropping Blake to the floor with a heavy thump.
Blake smiles and spits the knife out, resting for just a moment on the hard floor of the cave. Finally breathing properly once again, Blake rolls onto her knees and slides the ropes off of her hands. She grabs the knife and makes a break for the exit, sprinting as fast as her battered and exhausted body will allow. It's nothing compared to her usual speed, as she keeps wobbling and stumbles over nothing, but it feels like it's enough to at least get her back to her car.
Blake is nearly a hundred feet from the road when she allows herself a small laugh of relief. It looks like she was actually going to make it!
The wendigo must've left to get more hostages, but it didn't matter, Blake was going to come back, and this time she'd be prepared. That wendigo wouldn't stand a chance once she got to her stash of weapons.
If she made it to her stash of weapons, that is.
The leaves rustle violently and branches snap loudly, signaling the arrival of the one thing Blake was dreading the most. The wendigo had caught up with her, and from the sounds it was making, it didn't care if she knew where it was. It didn't have a reason to care. She may have had a knife this time, but nothing would change, it still had superior speed and strength.
Even Blake knew she didn't stand a chance, but it didn't mean she was going to roll over and let the wendigo win. No, it was going to have to work for its meal.
The wendigo begins circling her again, and Blake slashes at it whenever it gets too close, nicking it a couple times, but otherwise doing no good. The wendigo stops and goes stock still a couple feet in front of her, waiting for her to make a move. Blake lunges, arm out stretched and knife out ready to sink into the belly of the wendigo, when it raises an arm and swats Blake's wrist, cracking the bones and forcing her to drop the knife.
Blake recoils sharply, biting her lip to stop the yelp of pain as she cradles her now broken wrist to her chest. Her world soon goes black as the wendigo lands a blow to her temple.
It seems like only seconds later when her eyes open again, it wasn't too far off though because the wendigo was still tying her ropes. She fades in and out of consciousness, able to feel the wendigo tightening the ropes around her wrists to the point where the bones in her broken wrist grind together painfully, but not yet cognitive enough to do anything about it.
Finally, it strings her up by the ceiling again, and as a last step, it gouges its claws into her calf, ripping several long lines of flesh open. Blake's head lolls backwards and gives a muffled scream of pain, her eyes nearly tearing up. She wasn't sure if it was punishment for trying to escape, or insurance that if she did escape again, she wouldn't get far. Her entire calf was now just a bloody mess of mangled flesh.
Blake had to find a way to escape, and soon. The wendigo stalks off and Blake sets immediately to planning.
Blake tests her weight on her wrists, seeing how much strain she could put on them to figure out if she could try to pull herself up to the ropes again and gnaw them off. It was worth a try. Blake's body tenses and she cries out in agony as the pain flares up to a hundred times worse than it was before.
There was no way that was going to work again, it just hurt too much.
Blake closes her eyes and allows her head to droop, she tried. She tried really hard, and she got so, so close to being free. Now, she didn't quite feel so guilty. If she died now, she could honestly say that she fought as hard as she could. It was okay now. She was going to be okay. She exhales slowly, adopting a peaceful state of mind that takes her miles away from the pain she was feeling.
For the second time that day, Blake closes her eyes with the belief that they will never open again.
And for the second time that day, Dean Winchesters voice echoes through her mind.
"So that's it, huh? Just going to bail as soon as it looks like there might be a couple of people who give a shit about what happens to you?"
Blake moans lowly, brokenly in the back of her throat, 'Not you again. Look, I tried. I really, really tried. Now I have nothing left.'
Blake's eyes pop open in surprise, how could she forget? She still had her cell phone! It was in the pocket of her jeans, she hadn't thought of it before because honestly, who was going to care enough to come save her?
But… if what Sam and Dean were saying was true and not just a bunch of lies, then maybe they would care enough.
Blake wiggles her boot off, eternally grateful the wendigo left her feet untied, and swings her uninjured leg up to her front pocket, using her toes to carefully maneuver the phone out of her jeans. Keeping the phone pressed between her hip and her foot, she slowly begins to try and slide it up to her mouth.
But on the way up, her phone hits the bump of her belt and falls, making a soft thump on the ground.
If she wasn't so devastated, Blake would've laughed. 'Are you happy now, Dean? Now that I actually want to live… there's nothing I can do to save myself.'
Blake shakes her head sadly and looks forlornly at her phone perched on her discarded boot. It was so close. She sighs and allows all of the tension to leave her body, her toes skimming the ground with the extra inch or so this allotted her.
Wait, could she reach it?
Blake stretches her body to the fullest, and she can just barely grasp the edge of the boot with her toes to pull it, along with the phone towards her. It's painful, and her whole body aches, especially her calf and her wrist, not to mention the old werewolf wounds that seemed to have opened sometime during the struggles of the day. The stitches must've busted, maybe it was when she fell in her earlier escape attempt, and maybe it was when the wendigo was carrying her. Whatever it was, it doesn't matter, it just hurts.
Blake can just barely depress the buttons with her big toe, dialing Dean's number from memory. Her heart gives an excited lurch in her chest as the phone begins ringing, as one last afterthought, she presses the speakerphone button with her toe.
"Hello?"
Blake laughs softly in pure, undiluted relief. She might really make it.
"Dean? …It's Blake," Blake says, hoping the phone would pick the sound up.
"Blake? What do you want?" Dean asks, sounding kind of grumpy.
"Um," Blake swallows thickly, "when you said that I needed someone to look after me… who did you mean?"
"I meant me an' Sam, who else would I mean, the Easter Bunny?" Dean asks sarcastically.
Blake smiles, "Good… um, if you could… would you help me now?"
"Uh, yeah… why d'you ask?" Dean questions, his tone suspicious.
"Because I could really use a hand right now… I, um, got captured by a wendigo." Blake uneasily admits.
"You WHAT? Ah, you gotta be kiddin' me!" Dean exclaims, as a static-y rustling noise comes over the line. "Where are you?"
Blake tells him the name of the road her car was parked on, "My car is visible from the road, Wess should be waiting next to or around it, whistle for him and he should come. He can lead you to me."
"Alright, sit tight, don't get eaten, we're on our way."
Blake laughs in relief, her eyes tearing up with happiness. She almost couldn't believe that they were still willing to help her even though she had been so awful to them both.
"…and Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."