A/N

Hey guys! Long time no see, huh? I'm sorry! I really am, this last chapter has been really hard for me to write, for whatever reason. I know that's just an excuse, but I'm back! I hope you enjoy the chapter, it's got quite a bit of action in it. Of course, it's the second part to the incomplete chapter I put up back in... what, March? So it's not as long as I would like it to be. But I'm hoping that something's better than nothing! Oh! Go check out my profile for the link to some fanart of Blake! My friend did it, so send her some gratitude! She's what made me stop being lazy and write this chapter, haha.

Without further adieu, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Blake sighs and crosses her arms behind her head, staring blankly up at the roof of the Impala while remembering her earlier conversation with Dean. It was about whether or not she could go on the hunt for the chupacabra. Of course, she had been kidding and being antagonistic, but she got a response she wasn't quite expecting and didn't want to back out of it.

"What?" Blake gasped after Dean said no to letting her help on the case. She clutched at her heart dramatically, as if it was paining her. "I can't even wait in the car?!"

She was being sarcastic and didn't expect a reply, so imagined her surprise when Dean shrugged and said, "Sure, I don't see why not."

She didn't really want to wait in the car while Sam and Dean traipsed around in the forest trying to find a stupid goat sucker [1], but she didn't know how to back out and stay at the motel after the dramatics without hurting her pride. So she went with them.

Just to wait in the car.

It's been hours.

It's roughly two o'clock in the morning and she's waiting on the side of the road in the Impala. She's in her usual position for the backseat, Wess on the floorboards while she selfishly stretches out across what's supposed to be seating for three people. Wess doesn't seem to mind though, and instead chews diligently at a rawhide bone Blake gave him a couple hours ago.

Blake laughs deviously and plucks the rawhide bone right out of Wess's mouth before popping the car door open and crawling out, "Let's play, Wess!" She exclaims, waiting for her ever faithful canine companion to bound out of the car and play an invigorating round of fetch with her.

But no, instead he just looks heartbroken and confused at the loss of his bone.

"You little turd," Blake grumbles. "When you want to play fetch I humor you, why can't you so the same for me?" She asks playfully, waving the bone enticingly.

Wess's ears perk and he leaps out of the car, causing Blake to quirk an eyebrow, "What is it? Are the boys back?" She asks, alerted by his body language.

Wess's ears fold back to lay flat against his skull as rolling growls fall from his snarling lips. "Oh, well, maybe not," Blake mumbles, habitually reaching for the hidden gun she usually has on her, only to panic when she remembers that she left it at the hotel. Goose bumps erupt along her forearms, a cold feeling washing through her insides as she tries to calm down and clear her head. It's hard because she knows Wess doesn't react this way usually, and when he does, danger always follows it.

Blake opens the driver side door to the Impala, looking for a button to pop the trunk, but it's too dark and she can't see anything. Her hand flies up to the ignition, praying that Dean left the keys. She needs to get into the trunk, she needs a weapon. But of course, Dean took the keys. He definitely wouldn't trust Blake alone with the keys to the Impala. She fights back a frustrated hiss and crawls frantically across the front seat to root around in the glove compartment. She'd give a finger if it meant finding a machete, or even better, a gun, but a gun won't slice her finger off if she accidentally found with her hand instead of her eyes. Her fingers brush cool metal and a rush of excitement sweeps through her. It's a gun!

Blake climbs out of the car and slides the magazine of the gun open, finding it to be fully loaded. More confident than before, she laughs, a wide smile flitting across her lips. "Alright, come out, ugly!" She calls, Wess snarling in agreement. It only takes a few moments, but soon the harsh screeching of the chupacabra echoes through the forest. Blake spreads her feet apart and readies the gun; Wess stands obediently at her side, his entire body tensed in preparation.

The chupacabra charges forth from the protective shadows of the trees, and Blake is shocked at its size. It's nearly twice the size of normal chupacabras, it's no surprise that's it's been attacking humans, goats must not be satisfying it anymore. She levels her gun on it and shoots. A bullet lodges into its shoulder, but it barely flinches, continuing on its path straight for Blake. She curses and shoots again before throwing herself out of the way, rolling to absorb the impact and using her momentum to leap to her feet.

The chupacabra slides to a stop and Blake seizes this opportunity to fire off several more shots. She hits the chupacabra in the chest and ribs, but it's still not slowing down. The chupacabra gives a loud piercing scream, strings of saliva flying from its mouth, and lunges straight for Blake, claws extended.

Blake's eyes widen and she takes a step back, but the heel of her boot catches on a rock. She goes down, her back slamming into the rocky ground. The impact jars the gun out of her hands, but not before another shot goes off. At the last second, she throws her arms up to protect her face and chest, the chupacabra falling upon her.

Blake lies stunned for a couple seconds, the entire weight of the chupacabra braced on her arms. But it's not moving. Blood and saliva drips onto her face from its open maw, its glassy eyes staring blankly down at her. It's dead.

Blake angrily shoves the corpse off of her, trying desperately to regain her breath and figure out what caused the chupacabra to die mid-flight.

After a few moments, Wess comes sniffing along and by then Blake has regained most of her breath. He pokes his nose into her hand and she blindly pets him, not quite wanting to open her eyes. He must've bolted as soon as the chupacabra showed. "Good boy," she praises, gagging as some of the chupacabras blood falls into her mouth.

"Oh, that's awful!" she gasps, flipping onto her hands and knees to attempt to spit the taste out. It doesn't work well and she soon resorts to scrubbing her tongue on the inside of her shirt, enjoying the taste of sweaty fabric far more than that of chupacabra.

"Blake? What are you doing?"

Blake's head snaps around just in time to watch Sam and Dean trudge forth from the tree line. She frowns and pushes herself off the ground, "What does it look like I'm doing?! I'm looking at the damned rocks, I need more for my collection!" She snaps, wildly gesturing to the dead chupacabra as she stomps in the direction of the Impala. Too wildly. "Ow…" she murmurs, wincing as her wild gesturing painfully flexed her sore back.

"Did you… Did you just kill that chupacabra?" Sam asks hesitantly.

Blake shoots him a dirty look, though it lacked any real venom, "No, we had tea," she says bluntly, leaning her forehead against the cool metal of the Impala.

"Damn it!" Dean spits, kicking at the rocks.

"What, are you angry that the cripple got to your kill before you?" She asks tauntingly, waving the arm with the brace on it.

"No, I'm angry because we just killed a chupacabra ten minutes ago! Do you know what that means?" Dean asks, though he doesn't give her the chance to answer. "BABIES! There are probably mini chupacabras running around somewhere!"

Blake shrugs, "Well… you have fun with that. I'm going to take a nap," she says, pulling the backseat door open.

"Hey! Watch the chupacabra blood on my upholstery!" Dean yells just as she's getting ready to climb in.

Blake glowers at him before making a show of yanking her shirt off and wiping her face on it before chunking it at Dean. "I hope you're happy, now I'm going to stick to the leather," she complains.

"Blake, what happened to your back?" Sam asks, wincing in sympathy as he sees the beginnings of an angry purple bruise blossoming across her shoulders.

"The chupacabra threw me on my ass," she replies bluntly, crawling into the backseat.

"Wait… do you think Wess could track down the den?" Dean asks, staring at the canine in question.

Blake dramatically flops down on the seat, "I don't know, I haven't trained him for chupacabras. Besides, if there were two of them, their scents are probably all over the forest. There's no telling whether it'll lead to the den or in the opposite direction," she answers, folding her arms under her head to use as a pillow.

"Can we try it anyway?" Sam asks.

"Yeah, sure, just bring him back in the same condition he left in," she says nonchalantly, closing her eyes.

Sam and Dean share a look, each just as confused as the other on how to use Wess to track anything. "Uh, could you help us?" Sam asks.

"C'mon, get your lazy butt up and help us, sugar!" Dean yells tauntingly.

"But I'm shirtless!" Blake yells back.

"There are extras in the trunk if you're really that worried, but it's not anything we haven't already seen," Dean replies, snorting smugly.

"They'll probably just die on their own without their mother!" Blake shouts back, not even bothering to get offended at Dean's words.

"And if they don't die?" Dean asks, seeming to be antagonistic on purpose.

"…But I'm crippled!" She says as a last resort, throwing her arms into the air dramatically as if to prove her point.

"You just shot down a chupacabra, you won't die from a little walking," Dean mocks. "I can carry you, though, if you insist!" He adds as an eager after thought.

"Stop poking holes in my excuses!" Blake yells, crawling pathetically out of the Impala. Sighing, she straightens herself and circles the Impala to yank the trunk door open. She grabs the first snatch of cloth she sees and jerks it on over her head. It smells strongly of grease and dirt, it's riddled with small holes and it's much too big. For a moment, she almost thinks putting the shirt covered in chupacabra blood would be cleaner. But a shirt's a shirt and it doesn't matter when she's traipsing around a forest with two dudes who are also well acquainted with the smell of filth.

Newly clothed, Blake trudges over to the chupacabra corpse. "Wess!" She calls, pointing at the chupacabra. Wess trots over and sniffs the chupacabra, pressing his nose to it. Once he has the scent, he sit on his haunches and stares curiously at Blake. She exhales slowly and rubs a hand down her face, not exactly looking forward to chasing Wess all over the forest, "Track," she commands. Wess barks before following the path the chupacabra made through the clearing.

Blake follows closely after him, turning to look back at the Winchesters. "Well? Are you coming?" she asks.

Dean cocks an eyebrow and jogs to catch up, Sam close behind.

A couple hours later and they've followed Wess across the forest twice, still no sign of baby chupacabras. It's taken a real toll on Blake, whose leg aches powerfully with every step. The three gashes in her calf still aren't completely healed and she's technically still supposed to be on crutches. She almost wishes she had them with her. But there's no way she's going to complain about it. It's her fault anyway, and it's not like there's anything Sam or Dean could do. Well, except let her hitch a ride on one of them. But that's not going to happen, she still has her pride to think about.

Blake sighs and rubs her eyes, struggling to catch up with Wess. To Wess it didn't matter if there were low hanging branches, he didn't care that it wasn't quite as easy for Blake to crawl through the same bush he did. He just went where the scent took him. Blake hisses in pain, grabbing her shoulder where a particularly sharp branch just scratched her. Angrily, she grabs the thin branch and snaps it, leaving it to hang limply. It shouldn't have got in her way!

After pushing through yet another wall of foliage that Wess simply crawled under, Blake sees the thing she's been waiting all night for. Wess waits patiently next to a large rotted log, the gaping mouth of a den presiding under it.

"Finally," Blake grumbles, getting on her knees to see if she can look into the den. Using her arms, she lowers herself until her check is almost touching the ground, but she still can't see anything. "Did either of you two think to bring a flashlight?" she asks as Sam and Dean's footsteps came to a halt behind her.

"Here," Sam says as he presses the cold metal flashlight into Blake's fingers. She fumbles with it for a moment before clicking it on, the bright beam of light piercing straight into the den, illuminating what looks to be three little chupacabras.

"There's definitely chupacabras in there," Blake confirms, watching as the strong beam of light rouses them from their slumber. "Now what?" she asks, sitting up to look at Sam and Dean.

"Oh… I dunno, we kill them?" Dean asks sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Blake scoffs and stands up, brushing the dirt off her hands, "Yeah, so shoot 'em already."

"What? You were the one just looking at them, why don't YOU shoot them!" Dean grumbles.

Blake holds a hand out expectantly, giving Dean a pointed look.

"What?" Dean asks, backing up suspiciously, as if Blake's going to cause him some sort of physical harm.

"Your gun," Blake demands, glowering at him.

"What? No! I'm not giving you my gun," Dean exclaims defensively, looking at Blake like she'd just started vomiting rainbows.

Blake pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales slowly, a nasty headache coming on, "Sam, will you please shoot them or let me borrow your gun?" She asks, deciding to ignore Dean for the moment.

"Uh, I'll do it," Sam awkwardly volunteers, crouching down to peer into the den. Blake wordlessly passes him the flashlight. She's secretly glad Sam volunteered, she would've killed them without hesitation, but she's still saddened by the fact that they have to be killed so early in their life.

Groaning quietly, Blake takes a heavy seat on the ground and rubs her calf, flinching when her fingers brush over her still tender wounds.

"Aren't you supposed to be on crutches?" Dean asks suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Nope," Blake denies, outright lying. Of course she's still supposed to be on crutches.

"Does your leg hurt?" Dean asks, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

"Not at all," Blake denies immediately, her hands falling away from her calf.

"Liar," Dean accuses. "'No, of course I don't need crutches,'" he says in a high-pitched voice, imitating Blake. "'What? No, my leg doesn't hurt at all,'" he says in the same voice as before. "That's crap and you know it," he grunts, switching back to his usual husky voice.

Blake's face burns with embarrassment, and a healthy dose of anger, her lips twisting into a snarl. As she opens her mouth to reply, three shots crack through the air, interrupting whatever scathing remark she had planned.

"Can we leave now?" Sam asks abruptly, standing up and dusting debris from his pants.

Blake shoves herself off the ground, "To the car, Wess," she snaps, inadvertently taking her anger out on her poor companion. Wess's ears prick up before he barks and bounds off through the trees the same way they came, Blake stamping after him, and the Winchesters after her. She's pretty angry at Dean, but she isn't sure whether it's because he mocked her or because he saw through her lies so easily.

"Just who does that jerk think he is?" Blake complains quietly, kicking at a pile of dead leaves.

"I can hear you! You're like two feet in front of me!" Dean exclaims.

"Oh, sorry," Blake hisses, sending him dark look over her shoulder. "Just who does that jerk think he is?!" She hollers loudly, flinging her arms out to the sides. "If that asshole already knew, why would he even ask if I still needed my crutches?!" She nearly screams, hardly able to keep from smiling once she hears Dean's frustrated growl. "And how the hell would he know whether or not my leg still hurts?! I thought I was the judge of that!"

"Um… but you're limping, Blake," Sam points out uneasily.

Blake crosses her arms and gives Sam a pissy glare, "Your logic is not accepted here."

Sam holds his hands up innocently, retreating from the rather one sided argument. Dean snorts loudly and elbows Sam in the ribs, "Apparently no one's logic is accepted."

"I will have no smart ass remarks or I swear I WILL TURN THIS DOG AROUND AND YOU CAN FIND YOUR OWN WAY BACK!" Blake threatens, pointing sternly at Dean. She manages to keep a straight face only long enough to whirl back around and start laughing, ruining the entire effect.

Once the last of her giggles fade, Blake sighs and rubs her eyes. "I want to go to bed," she murmurs, nearly tripping over a tree root.

"Are you sure you should be walking on that leg?" Sam asks, turning the conversation away from her previous outburst.

"It's fine, we're probably almost to the car anyway," Blake mumbles, trying to shrug off Sam's concern.

"No we're not," Dean states. "We're probably nowhere near the car, you just don't want help. You want to do things the hard way."

Blake's hair stands on end and she tightens her fingers into a fist, whirling around to face Dean, "So what?! So what if I want to do things the hard way, HUH?! I'm sorry I don't fall apart every time something happens and run to you! I don't know what kind of women you've been around, but I don't need your protection 24/7! And I don't need to be carried every damned place we go!"

"Why are you so stubborn?! All Sam and I have ever done is try to help you!" Dean barks, his face inching closer to Blake and a lovely flush of anger appearing on his cheeks.

"I'm stubborn because I have to be! I can't afford to give up easily and I can't afford to get used to being helped all the time!" Blake yells, staring straight into Dean's eyes, making a mental note of the freckles she's never noticed before on the bridge of his nose.

"THAT'S what all the stubbornness is about?! You're being so stubborn because of that?! That's ridiculous!" Dean snaps, his breath washing over Blake's face.

"Oh, I understand! Just because I'm not at your feet begging to be helped, I'm being ridiculous," Blake says, shaking her head and snorting at the absurdity. "It's not ridiculous. Because you know what? No matter how hard you and Sam try to pretend otherwise, I'm just a head case you picked up off the street out of pity. You saw a poor little girl who was just a tiny bit sad, and you decided it was your God-given duty to protect me from myself. I don't need protecting, and I don't need your pity." Feeling as if she's procured the last word in the argument, she turns on her heel and casually strolls after Wess, who had noticed he no longer had a trail of people behind him and stopped.

"That's not true Blake," Sam mutters, deciding to put his own two cents into the argument.

Blake ignores him and instead picks up another point to her side of the fight, "And do you know where I'll eventually end up? Hunting, just like I did before you came. I'll be alone again, and then what good will staying with you for a month or two do for me?" Blake shakes her head and continues to follow Wess.

The rest of the walk to the Impala is silent.

END NOTE

[1] – 'Goat sucker' is the literal English translation of 'chupacabra.' Interesting, I know.