THIS CHAPTER IS PURE FILLER. THERE WAS A POINT TO IT AT SOME TIME, BUT THAT POINT WILL HAVE TO BE PICKED UP LATER. THE NOTE BELOW EXPLAINS WHY.
Hey guys, I just want to say, I am SO, SO sorry. Other than just being late, this chapter is not even half the length of the shortest previous chapter. It's because I've been having a very... rough time this last month or so. I can't write at all lately. So on top of being late and short as hell, its probably very bad quality and poorly edited. I'm sorry to say, but this might be the last update for a long while. Until things get sorted out and I'm happy enough to continue writing, Rabbit might have to be put on a hiatus. I only write when I'm happy, and I haven't been happy for a long time. Recently, I've even thought of giving up on it completely. Not just giving up on Rabbit, but everything related to writing. This is a big deal for me, because for the longest time, all I've wanted is to become a professional writer.
I hope you understand when I say giving up is the last thing I want to do. But please be patient with me for now. I love you all and thank you so much for reading this! I sincerely hope you enjoy this short chapter of questionable quality.
Blake lounges in the back seat of the Impala, Wess lying next to her. She, Dean, and Sam had already dropped her car off at their friend, Bobby's. Bobby was… quite the character for sure. Blake definitely liked him.
"So where are we headed?" Blake asks, nudging Wess into the floorboards so she could stretch out to the fullest in the backseat.
"It's not much but Bobby had a job for us in Texas, he says it's a chupacabra,"Sam replies, flipping through a manila folder. "It seems to have moved onto humans recently, he wants us to track it down."
"…Oh, that sounds exciting," Blake says, leaning over the seat to glance over the files in Sam's lap.
"And you're still injured," Dean points out, eying her skeptically in the rearview mirror.
"Just barely…" Blake mutters defiantly, twirling her fingers into her hair. She had taken it down after the wendigo incident and hasn't been able to get it back into a pony because of her broken wrist.
"I don't think it would be a good idea for you to do any of the hunting," Dean says, giving her a sharp look through the rearview mirror.
Blake sighs and waves him off, "If you say so."
Dean quirks an eyebrow, surprised at her lack of resistance. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he shrugs and grins, happy to have won so easily.
Blake rolls her eyes at his obvious joy, "I'm not stupid. I know I'm in no condition to be hunting, if I went, you two would probably have to cover for me and because of that you'd be distracted. I know what happens to hunters who are distracted…" Blake says quietly, resisting the urge to avert her eyes as she fiddles with the straps to her brace.
Dean shoots Sam a questioning look. What was with her sudden doom and gloom?
Sam returns his glance with the tiniest of shrugs. He didn't know either, but he definitely noticed.
Dean's eyes flick up to the rearview mirror to look at Blake, oh good. She wasn't looking. Giving Sam a meaningful look, he jerks his head at Blake. "Talk to her!" He mouths at Sam.
Sam's eyes widen and he gives Dean a look that clearly suggested Dean was off his rocker. "No, you do it!" Sam mouths back, his eyebrows furrowed.
Blake rolls her eyes, for hunters, they weren't very subtle. But she found that it was strangely endearing. "I'm hungry," she announces, interrupting the brothers' 'silent' conversation.
Both Winchesters jump a little at her sudden outburst. "We'll stop at the next place we see," Dean says in a placating manner.
"Awesome," Blake says, stretching back out over the seats.
"We just had breakfast like two hours ago," Sam deadpans.
Dean grins, "Majority rules, Sammy," he says smugly, reaching over and flicking the radio on.
"Finally!" Blake cheers at the sight of the upcoming town, immediately grabbing one of her bags and digging through it. She pulls a special red harness out of the bag and pats the blanket on the seat next to her as a signal for Wess to climb on up. Once he does so she slides the harness over his head and buckles it around his chest.
"Good boy," she coos, scratching his chin.
Sam turns around in his seat, watching her curiously. "What is that?" He questions, referring to the harness.
"It's a service dog harness. With this, he gets entrance to basically anywhere and people usually don't even have the guts to question it," Blake explains, grinning.
Sam laughs, "So it's basically like a fake ID, only for dogs, right?" He asks, not sure whether to be amused or impressed.
"Yup! If anyone asks, I usually tell them he's my seizure detection dog," Blake says, grinning mischievously.
"There's such a thing?" Dean asks skeptically.
"Yeah, it's the only lie I figured I could get away with easily… Most people don't even really know about seizure detection dogs, it makes it easier." Blake says while trying to pull her sock on the foot of her injured leg. It was harder than it sounded, because when she leaned over, it made the wound on her ribs pulse in agony, along with the slightly healed but still tender werewolf wounds. On the flip side, if she just pulled her knee up to her chest, it would probably burst the stitches in her calf. Not to mention that one of her arms was in a brace and it hurt to move her fingers, and the other arm had a strip of skin missing from it.
Sam watches her struggle for a few moments, "You can ask for help, you know," he tells her, frowning.
Blake's cheeks burn in indignation, it hadn't even occurred to her that they could help her. She averts her eyes from Sam's, "I'm fine," she mutters.
"No. You're not fine, you can't even pull your socks on, just let Sam help you," Dean says, though it sounds more like a command, making Blake blush harder. She didn't know that both of them saw her struggling, they probably thought she was pathetic.
"Never mind, that foot doesn't need a sock, I have to use my crutches anyway…" Blake mutters, quickly pulling her sock onto her other foot and jamming it into her boot without unlacing it.
Dean sighs and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. How could one woman be so stubborn?
"Let's go there," Blake blurts, pointing at the upcoming truck stop and diner, desperate for a distraction.
Sam and Dean exchange glances, shrugging, "Sure why not?" Dean sighs, guiding the Impala into the parking lot.
Blake clicks a leash onto Wess's harness and pops the door open, gesturing for Wess to get out before her. Wess jumps out and Blake is climbing out after him when Sam sighs, drawing her eyes to him.
"Blake, let me help you," Sam says firmly.
Blake's head dips in embarrassment and her hair falls over her shoulders, shielding her crimson cheeks from view, "No! No… I'm okay, I can do it on my own," she mutters, grabbing her crutches off the floorboard.
With her hair obscuring her vision, Blake doesn't notice Dean walking around to the passenger side of the Impala.
"Grab the crutches, Sam."
Sam reaches over and gently tugs the crutches out of Blake's grasp, taking a couple steps back to stop her from trying to get them back from him.
Blake's head snaps up, and she begins to protest, "Hey, I need-" at this point, Dean leans in the car and scoops her up, stunning her into silence.
"Some people won't give permission to let you help them, but you do so anyway, right, Blake?" Dean asks as Sam helps him situate Blake on her crutches. He was trying to make a point and coerce Blake into being less difficult. It wasn't going to work.
"No," Blake grumbles, wiggling awkwardly on the crutches. "It's a violation of their rights. If they want to keep from being manhandled every time they have to get out of a car, well, I'd say more power to them!"
"I don't 'manhandle' you," Dean scoffs, sticking his hands into his pockets.
"Oh, yeah? Then what do you call it?" Blake asks dryly, smacking Dean in the shin with one of her crutches on 'accident' as she passes him to enter the diner, Wess trotting after her.
Dean shoots a dirty glare at her back and vengefully rubs his abused shin, "I call it helping those who don't know how to help themselves," he mutters. Blake pretends not to hear. Sam laughs and follows the two of them into the restaurant, smirking in amusement at Blake and Dean's bickering. He was just glad Dean now had someone to bicker with other than him.
Blake picks a booth off to the side and slides in with minimal difficulty, flashing Dean a smug, triumphant smile as she situates her crutches next to her.
Dean rolls his eyes and slides in the booth, grabbing a menu off the table and flicking it open with a flair for the dramatic.
About an hour later, Blake wiggles on the fake leather seats of the booth, scouring the inside of the restaurant with her eyes. They had just eaten and now she really needed to use the bathroom. Where were the bathrooms? Every restaurant had to have bathrooms, who in their right mind would make one without?
Getting impatient, Blake calls one of the waitresses over, "Excuse me ma'am, where are your bathrooms?"
The waitress smiles, or tries, Blake couldn't really tell through all the layers of makeup, "They're outside near where the trucks park, hold on one sec and I'll grab the key for ya, sweetie." The waitress says, leaving to get the key from behind the counter.
"Why would they put bathrooms on the outside?" Blake grumbles, yanking up her crutches and sliding out of the booth.
"Do you… need help?" Sam asks awkwardly, looking extremely uncomfortable.
Blake sighs, her head hanging in shame. "No."
To his credit, Sam doesn't show how relieved he feels. "If you're, uh, if you're sure."
"I'm sure," Blake says to reassure him, waiting impatiently for the waitress to return.
Dean is obviously less than confident with her ability to go to the bathroom by herself, "Just don't die," he says, teasing her.
Blake scowls heartily at him, "I'm going to the bathroom, not to war, sheezus," she mumbles, snatching the key out of the waitress's hand as soon as the woman returns. If she weren't on crutches, she'd be stomping as she left.
Blake returns ten minutes later, her clothes disheveled and her face red.
"Blake! What happened?" Sam asks, startled at her appearance.
"Nothing!" Blake yelps, her face glowing brighter in embarrassment as she accidentally steps on Wess's tail. Wess yelps and skitters away, leaving Blake to apologize profusely.
Dean arches an eyebrow and frowns skeptically, "Nothing happened? Nothing happened and that's why most of the buttons on your shirt are undone?"
Blake glares at him, somewhat recovering, "Yes! Exactly, I'm glad you understand!" she snaps, taking a seat at the booth once more.
"Blake… did something happen in the bathroom?" Sam asks calmly, his eyes shining with concern.
"Noooo," Blake moans, her head thumping onto the table. "If I tell you, you won't let me use the bathroom by myself anymore," she whines, extremely embarrassed.
"Oh, now I really wanna know," Dean says, watching Blake closely.
Blake begins mumbling near unintelligibly into the table, her chocolaty brown hair fanned out around her face.
"Wait, so a dirty truck driver followed you into the bathroom?" Sam exclaims, staring at Blake in unabashed shock.
Dean shoots Sam a look that clearly suggested he thought Sam was crazy, "Dude, how the hell'd you understand that?"
"Yessss," Blake whines pathetically.
"Did he… hurt you?" Sam asks hesitantly, using 'hurt' as a blanket term.
"No… just popped a few of the buttons on my shirt. He was going to do more until I bashed him upside the skull with my crutch… I think we should find somewhere else to eat," Blake suggests, her face still burning in shame. She absolutely loathed looking weak, and these crutches were basically a neon sign that said, "Hey! Look at me, I did something stupid and now I have to use crutches for my basic locomotion, I probably won't even be able to fight back if you try to kidnap me." Which is just what almost happened a couple minutes earlier, ironically.
"Did you… knock him out?" Sam asks.
"Yup, then I left his nasty perverted old man body on the ground... which is why we should probably leave," Blake says, wiggling out of the booth.
Dean shakes his head, laughing in combined disbelief and amusement at her situation, "You're right about one thing, you are never going to the bathroom alone again. Every time I let you out of my sight, you manage to get into some sort of trouble. Seriously, wendigos? Nasty old truck drivers? What is it about you that makes things want to kidnap you?"
Blake grumbles, shooting Dean the dirtiest look she could muster, "It must be my charming personality," she growls sarcastically, dismayed at the thought of not being able to go to the bathroom by herself again.
A few moments later as they arrive at the Impala, Blake realizes something. "I didn't even get to pee!" She whines sadly, wiggling awkwardly due to the pressure in her bladder.
Dean gets a hearty chuckle at her expense, coming around to her side of the Impala to help her into the car. By this time, Blake expects to swept off her feet and manhandled, so she hands off her crutches to Sam and reluctantly complies with Dean's choice method of getting her in and out of the car.
Dean situates her on the leather seats and shuts the door, going around to the other side of the Impala and opening the door for Wess to hop in. Blake scratches Wess behind his ears after he gets in, apologizing once more for stepping on his tail in the restaurant. Wess is not placated. He huffs and turns his head away from her, covering his nose with his tail.
Blake rolls her eyes playfully, "I said I was sorry."
Wess flicks his tail angrily, like an irritated cat. His intended meaning is loud and clear, 'Apology not accepted.'
"You'll get over it at dinner time when I'm the one feeding you," Blake says, and at the words, 'dinner time,' Wess's ears perk up and he crawls forward on his belly to lay his head on Blake's knee.
"That's what I thought," Blake snickers, laying a hand on Wess's head and stroking his ears.