Hey guys! I know it's been awhile, but I had a really hard time writing this chapter for some reason. So if it feels a little off, I sincerely apologize. Just wanted to say thank you for sticking with me though! Special thanks to mcgonagiggles! She's one of the reasons this update didn't take nearly eight months like the last one did... I mean, it did take awhile, but not eight months. Progress is still progress! Hopefully next time will take an even shorter amount of time! She also looked over it for me, so thanks again!
Also, I'm in the process of writing another fic. This one's for The Walking Dead and I'm hoping to get it out within a week or two, so if you're a fan of Daryl I'd be super honored if you would take a look at it once it's posted. It's going to be called, 'Rotten Sunshine.' Thanks so much!
As always, I hope you enjoy and have a happy read!
It's been nearly a month since the wendigo incident and Blake's injuries are nothing but scars now. She and the Winchesters have fallen into an odd dynamic that revolves around bickering and finding any possible way to weasel out of weapon cleaning duty. For the most part, Blake has managed not to have any more melt downs and at the same time preserve the majority of her dignity. It's a challenge, with a particular 'quirk,' she has, though.
Freshly showered and clothed, Blake stands in front of the foggy mirror, lazily brushing her teeth. The door to the motel opens and closes, sending a chilly draft into the bathroom and causing the already open door to swing open a little wider. She casts a sideways glance to the entrance, watching Dean come in with a bag of food. Dean meets her eyes and arches an eyebrow at her.
"Did you just shower?" he asks, setting the bag on the motel room table along with his keys.
Blake nods, her toothbrush hanging precariously on her lip, and then sarcastically motions to the towel piled on top of her head like a turban.
"With the door open?" Dean asks slowly, giving her and Sam a weird look.
"No," Sam answers distractedly, typing something on his laptop. "It blew open when you opened the door."
Dean rolls his eyes, "Why do you shower with the door open anyway? If you were in the middle of changing that hobo in the parking lot would have gotten an eye full."
"It's not just showering, she does everything with the door cracked," Sam adds, still messing with his laptop.
Blake shrugs, feeling rather ganged up on. She spits the frothy toothpaste in the sink, "Oh, sorry, I didn't know trusting the two of you not to peek on me was a bad thing. I'll definitely try to stop that," she says drily. "Besides, what would it matter to you if the hobo got a look?"
"You give a dog a bone and they want some belly rubs!" Dean exclaims, causing Wess's ears to perk up immediately. Sensing the chance to get attention, he circles the room, nudging everyone's hands until Sam takes pity on him and scratches his ears briefly.
"Nice analogy," Blake snorts. "What, are you scared of some horny hobo?"
Dean shoots her a dirty look and begins digging though the food bag, drawing out a burger. "Whatever, don't come crying to me when hobos start following you like a bunch of alley cats."
"Ohhh, sorry, but that's not going to happen. Wess hates dirty old men just as much as he hates cats, isn't that right, baby?" Blake replies, crouching down and calling Wess over so she can scratch his ears and chin. Wess's tail thumps the floor loudly, his eyes closing in contentment.
Dean gives a sharp whistle and Wess's eyes open as he instinctively turns his head. In Dean's hand sits a small chunk of hamburger. It doesn't take a second for Wess to bound across the room and take the chunk of hamburger from Dean. Dean smirks and gives Blake a smug look, over exaggeratedly reaching down to scratch Wess's ears.
Blake scowls and turns back to the mirror. "Oh, well maybe he does like dirty old men."
Dean's about to say something in retaliation, when Sam speaks up loudly, "So the first attack happened two weeks ago on a woman named Lindsey Mick. Her friends say she went home with a man at the bar and was later found in an empty hotel room."
Dean looks a little reluctant to let the verbal battle go, but eventually sighs, "So she's dead?" he asks.
"No, she's in a coma. She was found weak and barely breathing, already in a coma like state," Sam clarifies. "There have been multiple other cases exactly like this, girl leaves with man at the bar and is found the next day, either in a coma, or in a couple cases, dead."
"Do we have a description of the dude?" Dean questions.
"Uh, well, yes and no. Witnesses only have one thing in common, it wears a suit. But the features given are all different, some say it has brown hair, others say blonde. Same thing with the eyes, blue, green, brown, you name it. It even changes race, the witness from the first attack said it was a Caucasian, but the next witness said it was African American."
"Like a shape shifter," Dean states.
"Yeah, but shape shifters don't leave girls in comas," Sam retorts.
"So what do you think we're dealing with?" Blake asks, patting her mouth dry with a towel.
"I think it's an incubus," Sam says, clicking a couple keys on the laptop. "All of the signs are the same. Incubi feed on the life force or essence of whoever they're with, which doesn't always cause the victim to die. Lore says that incubi steal the victim's life while in any acts of intimacy, hugging, kissing, sex, et cetera."
"So we're gonna hit up the bars tonight?" Blake asks, tugging a comb through her thick brown hair.
"It hunts there, so it's our best bet," Sam agrees.
Blake bounces on her toes, "Finally, some action!" She cheers.
Dean shoots her a skeptical look, his eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean some action? Aren't you still injured?"
Blake shakes her head, "Nope, we're all good. D'you wanna see?" She asks, bunching up her shirt before he can even answer. "Look!" She commands, tracing the old werewolf wounds on her abdomen with her finger. It's still a light baby pink from being newly closed, but it's certainly healed. "The rest are healed too," she points out, rolling her pants leg up to show him her calf. "Now you don't have any more excuses to keep me from hunting," she says smugly.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever…" Dean grumbles, dropping into one of the chairs next to the table before taking a huge bite of his hamburger.
Blake beams triumphantly, unrolling her pants leg and cheerfully striding over to the table.
Blake slides delicately into the booth, she tilts her head and gives the man a wicked smirk as her tousled chocolate locks slide off her shoulder to hang temptingly around her bust. "I presume this seat was empty?" she asks, her voice lowered into a more sensual lilt than normal.
The man is all green eyes and full lips, and when he smirks back, Blake can't help but appreciate the visage a little more than she'd like. "Actually, no, it wasn't. But if you can convince me as to why you should stay, I'll make an exception," he taunts, confidence exuding from the air around him.
The smirk returns full force to Blake's face as she beckons him forward with a slim finger. He leans towards her and she wraps her fingers around his tie to tug him the rest of the way. "There's only one thing I want from you," she breathes, her lips a hairsbreadth away from grazing his ear.
His answering grin is like that of a wolf to a rabbit. He pulls back just enough so that he's looking straight into Blake's eyes, "Shall we?" His cinnamon-scented breath ghosts over Blake's face.
"Let's go back to my room," Blake purrs, sliding out of the booth and taking his hand in hers. He follows obediently behind her, long fingers wrapped tightly around hers as they traverse the dance floor with only slight difficulty. Blake catches a couple stares, but nothing compared to the attention that the man behind her gets. It seems as if every woman in the place has her eye on him.
"Hey, going somewhere?" a girl asks, grasping the man's upper arm.
Blake smiles condescendingly and tightens her grip on the man, "I'm sorry, but there's been a change of plans. I'd appreciate it if you let go, we have somewhere to be."
The girl blinks and lets go, bewildered as Blake whisks the man away.
"Very nice," the man leans forward and whispers in Blake's ear.
Blake grins, "Thanks," she replies as she pushes the doors to the club open, causing a gust of fresh cold air to swirl around her. The cool air on her warm skin feels nice. "Come on," she says, leading him down an alley, "my hotel room is just a couple blocks away."
In a snap, the man has Blake pushed solidly against the frigid brick wall, the ridges of the bricks pressing uncomfortably into her bare shoulders. "I just love a woman who can take charge," he whispers, his lips grazing her neck, nearly causing her to shiver.
This time, it's Blake's turn to don the predatory grin. "Then I'm your kind of woman," she whispers back, her fingers reaching up to slide along the arm he's using to pin her to the wall. She encases his wrist in an iron grip before jerking it away from herself and swinging her body around so that she's behind him, effectively pinning his wrist behind his back. She firmly plants her other forearm across his shoulders and neck, shoving him into the brick wall.
"How's this for taking charge?" Blake taunts.
The man begins to struggle, but Blake has too much leverage on him. "Let go!" He yelps.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…" Blake says, beginning the exorcism chant. The captured man's struggles intensify, but Blake keeps him in place, not even halting in the chant.
"No, stop! Let me go!" He shrieks, squirming pathetically.
"…te rogamus, audi nos." Blake finishes the chant, stepping back to observe her work.
The incubus's skin burns blindingly white for an intense couple of seconds, before it shatters like glass and crashes to the floor. In the wake of the exorcism is a shaking man, who's majorly disheveled and dirty. His head snaps back and a thick black steam of smoke shoots from his mouth and off into the sky. Without the support of the incubus possessing him, he falls to his knees. He looks scared and lost, and barely out of his teens.
Blake kneels in front of him, "Are you okay?" She asks softly, drawing his wide eyes to her.
"Y-You saved me," he stammers.
"The thing possessing you was an incubus. You're safe now," Blake says, trying to reassure him.
"Th-That thing would… would… then it would… and then the girls would…" the frazzled man's trying his hardest to explain what has been happening, but he's clearly a little too shaken up.
"Hey, hey, whoa, it's okay, the girls are safe now. I promise," Blake reassures, giving him a hand and hauling him to his feet.
The man takes her hand, "N-No, I saw… I saw him… he…" he's trying to explain something to Blake but he can't get it out.
"It's okay, you don't have to tell me, I already know," Blake says quietly, carefully leading him out of the alley in the opposite direction of the club.
"But-" the man gives one last attempt at explaining, but Blake won't let him.
"Let's just focus on getting you home, okay?" Blake asks.
The man is reluctant, still shell-shocked by the entire ordeal. "O-Okay."
"What's your name?" Blake asks, trying to calm the man down.
"J-Josh… Josh Pixler," Josh stutters, basically clinging to Blake. It's a little odd to Blake, she thought he wouldn't want to be so close to her seeing as he's basically been raped by so many different women.
"It's nice to meet you Josh. My name's Blake and we're about to meet up with some of my friends, is that okay? They're pretty big guys, but they just want to help. I know you've been through a lot, but it's over now," Blake reassures as they enter the parking lot of the motel.
"A-Alright, Blake," Josh agrees as Blake leads him across the parking lot.
Blake stops in front of a room with a faded twelve painted on it and knocks three times. Even though the exorcism went off without a hitch, it still didn't go as planned. She was supposed to have brought the incubus back to the motel room, where there was a devil trap waiting. But instead, the incubus pinned her to the wall in the alley, forcing her to do the exorcism on a dime. They had worked out a rough code beforehand. If she knocked, that meant that she didn't have the incubus. If she unlocked it and let herself in, that meant that the incubus was with her.
Sam opens the door slowly, his eyes falling on Josh and Blake simultaneously, causing a crinkle of confusion to appear on his brow.
"This is Josh," Blake says quietly. "He was possessed by the incubus."
"So… you exorcised it?" Sam asks haltingly.
Blake nods, "Yeah, I did."
Sam shakes his head and opens the door wider, "Dean's not going to be happy, you know…"
Blake huffs, "Yeah, I know."
"Dean's not going to be happy about what?" Dean calls from within the room.
Sam just gives Blake a look and shrugs, holding his hands up innocently and backing away from her, washing his hands of the chore of telling Dean. "It's up to you," he mouths, shaking his head.
Blake glares at him scrunching her nose and imitating his 'innocent look.' "You can't just leave me like this!" She spits quietly, failing at persuading him to tell Dean.
"Sorry," Sam whispers, grinning.
"Dean's not going to be happy about WHAT?" Dean asks loudly again, standing up from his position on one of the beds. The beds were located on the wrong side of the door, so instead of seeing out, like he would've if the beds were on the other side, he only sees Sam's back and the inside of the door. All of the talking has gotten him interested.
Blake sighs, she might as well get it over with. "I had no choice but to exorcise the incubus on my own."
"You what?!" Dean snaps, stomping over to the door, "Do you have ANY idea how dangerous—Who is this dude?"
Blake rolls her eyes, "Dean, this is Josh, Josh, this is Dean. Josh was the one the incubus was possessing."
Dean's eyes narrow at Josh, "Nice to meet you, Josh," he grunts.
"Y-Yeah, you too," Josh stutters, clearly intimidated by Dean. This is the moment Wess decides to pad along next to Dean, drawing Josh's attention. "Is he, uh, friendly?" He asks, gesturing to Wess.
"No," Dean immediately snaps. "He's like Cujo on bath salts."
Josh recoils slightly, surprised at Dean's abrupt answer. "O-Oh," he mumbles, stepping a little closer to Blake.
Dean scowls, dissatisfied with the way Josh looks ready to bury his face in Blake's shoulder, "You," he states, pointing at Blake. "You and I need to have a talk."
Blake rolls her eyes, "It can wait, we need to get him back to his own home. He's been through enough already."
"I'll take him!" Sam hastily volunteers, his hand shooting into the air as if he were in a classroom and Dean was his teacher.
"Not in my car you aren't," Dean grumbles, quickly shooting down Sam's suggestion.
"Here, why don't you come in and sit down?" Blake says while pointedly ignoring Dean. She takes Josh gently by the arm and leads him to the small table. Once he takes a seat, she makes her way over to the ice chest, "What do you want, Josh? We have water, coke, and beer."
"U-Um, beer's fine," he mutters.
Blake grabs a beer and pads back over to Josh, setting it on the table next to him. "Dean was kidding about the Cujo on bath salts thing, Wess is actually a cuddler. He's seventy pounds and thinks he's a lap dog. Watch," she commands, kneeling and calling Wess over to her. He bounds right up to Blake and drags his long, rough pink tongue across her face before she can stop him. She sighs and stands up, wiping the slobber off her face.
"See? Totally friendly," Blake mumbles. She picks up a well-worn chew toy off the ground and places it on the table. "Toss that for him a few times and he'll love you," she says, walking back to the ice chest to grab a beer for herself. "Do either of y'all want anything?" She asks, resenting the fact that she feels compelled to include Dean in her question even though he's going to chew her out later for not following the plan.
"Water, please," Sam says, taking a seat on his bed.
"Get me a beer, will ya?" Dean asks rather rudely.
Blake grabs a bottle of water and hands it to Sam, who is sitting close enough so that she doesn't have to throw it. But Dean, on the other hand, is sitting on the other bed. She snorts quietly and moves the icy water around, looking for a special beer. She finds it sitting innocently on the bottom of the cooler. Repressing a smirk, her cold fingers wrap around it, "Here, Dean," she says, tossing it at his face with just a tiny bit more force than necessary.
"Thanks," Dean grumbles, giving her the stink-eye for throwing it at his face.
"No problem," Blake grins, watching intently for him to open it.
"What?" Dean asks, setting the beer on the night table.
Blake holds back a sigh of disappointment and wipes her freezing fingers on her jeans, shrugging. "I dunno," she says, taking a seat across the table from Josh. "Anyway, where do you live Josh?" she asks, watching Josh toy with his open beer.
"Vanderbilt, it's… it's about an hour down the road," Josh answers, playing with the tab of his beer.
"That's good, we're really close then. Do you remember how long you were possessed?" Blake asks gently.
"Um, just about a month now…" Josh mumbles, creasing his eyebrows as he timidly reaches down to scratch Wess's ears. Wess eagerly leans into Josh's hand, his tail thumping the ground.
"Okay, that's not too long, we can work with that," Blake comments. "Now we need to work on your story, because you can't tell people that you were possessed no matter how much you want to."
"W-Wait, so I can't tell people what actually happened?" Josh asks uneasily, his hand falling away from Wess's ears.
"No, no, you've got it all wrong, the point of the game is to tell as many people as possible and see which person sends you to the nut house first!" Dean grumpily interrupts.
Blake swipes a pen off of the table and chunks it at Dean, hitting him in the forehead, "What's your problem?! I know you're upset with me, but jeez! At least be snarky to just me instead of everyone!"
Dean vengefully rubs his forehead, giving Blake the dirty look of the century, but he wisely chooses to stay quiet even as Sam snickers at his misfortune.
Blake huffs and turns her attention back to Josh, "Though he didn't choose the best way to say it, Dean was right. If you tell people, they'll automatically assume something's wrong with you and send you to a doctor."
"Oh…" Josh mutters as Wess pokes his hand with his nose, encouraging Josh to continue petting him.
"I think he likes you," Blake remarks, smiling. "Animals have a way of sensing exactly what a person needs."
Josh lowers his eyes to look at Wess, who had placed his chin on Josh's knee. "So… I really can't tell anyone?"
Blake shifts in her seat, re-crossing her legs. "Well… there's nothing stopping you from telling people. If you want to tell someone, we can't stop you. But… it would be better for you if you didn't."
Josh reluctantly nods, his focus completely on the dog resting its head on his knee. He worries his lip with his front teeth, scratching Wess's ears before looking up at Blake again. "I want to go home, now," he whispers.
Blake gives him a small reassuring smile, "Okay, Dean will take you home… Wess can go with you too."
"Okay," Josh agrees, taking another gulp of his beer and scooting his chair out.
Dean grumbles under his breath and snatches his keys off the nightstand. "Let's go," he mutters sourly.
Blake walks over to Sam and leans close to him, "Will you go with them to make sure Dean isn't too harsh? I know he's angry with me, but I don't want him takin' it out on Josh," she asks in a whisper.
"Yeah, sure," Sam agrees easily, "but why aren't you going?"
"I need to scrub all the makeup off," Blake explains, touching the junction of her neck and shoulder where they had covered the rugaru scar with copious amounts of makeup. "It's driving me crazy!"
"Okay, I guess we'll be back in a couple hours then," Sam says, standing up from his seat on the bed.
"Thanks!" Blake beams, squeezing Sam in a quick hug.
"Uh, no problem," Sam says, hesitantly patting Blake on the back.
Blake pulls away from Sam and makes her way over to Josh, "Hey, I'm not going with you, but Wess and Sam are, is that okay?"
"Y-Yeah, that's fine," Josh says, scuffing his foot on the ground.
"Okay, it was nice meeting you, Josh, I just wish it was under different circumstances. Take care of yourself, alright?" Blake says, patting him on the shoulder.
"Thanks so much for saving me…" Josh mutters, giving Blake an uneasy smile.
"It's what I do," Blake answers. "Here, let me walk you to the car," she says, before turning to look at Wess, "Let's go, Wess!" Wess gets up from his position on the floor and bounds over to the two of them.
Dean flings the door open and all but stomps out, going to wait by the Impala.
"Dean… uh, doesn't like me very much… does he?" Josh asks uneasily.
"Oh, don't be offended by Dean, he's just pissy because I exorcized that incubus by myself," Blake says, patting Josh comfortingly on the shoulder.
Josh nods, "I guess… I would be pretty scared if my girlfriend did something as dangerous as exorcizing an incubus on her own… Sometimes fear manifests as anger," he says quietly, averting his eyes and quickly shuffling to the car, Wess following obediently behind.
Blake is too taken aback to correct his mistake in calling her Dean's girlfriend. Mouth slightly open in shock, she turns to Sam, almost as if to confirm Josh actually just said what she thought he said. Sam shrugs and tries to repress a smile as he pats Blake on the shoulder and strides out after Josh, closing the door behind him.
Blake stares at the door for a couple seconds, her brain working as if someone had poured molasses on the gears. Still somewhat stunned, she takes a seat on the bed. Outside, she can hear the sound of the Impala firing up and driving away. Mindlessly, she reaches for the unopened beer Dean had left on the night stand. She rolls the still cold can in her hand for a moment before opening it, releasing an explosive spray of foam and freezing beer that splatters on her face and chest. She yelps a curse, jogging to the bathroom as the foamy liquid continues to roll over the lip of the can, running down her fingers and arms.
Blake dumps the beer can in the bathroom sink and glares at her reflection, her reflection glaring back in all her beer soaked glory. "Well that back-fired," she grumbles. She doesn't bother to try and wipe the beer off, instead she just slings off her wet shirt and begins to prepare for a shower.
After her shower she gets dressed and reclines on one of the beds, idly flipping through the channels until she lands on a close up of a handsome man's face. "Oooh, Doctor Sexy," she grins, content to stop on this channel and watch the attractive doctor go to work. This episode was about a man who choked on some beef jerky.
Blake watches, completely enraptured, as Doctor Sexy begins to operate on the man with beef jerky lodged in his throat. The episode ends with beef jerky guy dying on the table and Doctor Sexy shacking up with one of his nurses. Blake rolls over onto her back and stretches, her back popping and causing her to sigh in relief. "Mmm, that's good," she mumbles, scratching her exposed stomach. She lies on the bed, stretched out like a content cat for a couple minutes before she's hit with an intense craving.
"I want some beef jerky…" she says to herself, tossing her legs over the side of the bed. She tosses her hair into a messy pony and jams her boots on her feet, not bothering to lace them. She grabs a couple bucks off the table, not sure whether they're actually hers or if they belong to one of the brothers. She doesn't really care though. After that, she tromps through the door, clad in pajama bottoms and a tank top.
Blake makes the short trek down to the vending machines sitting in front of the motel lobby, her untied shoelaces making faint clicking noises on the concrete. She browses through the items stocked in them for a short few moments before her eyes land on what she came here for—perched in the spot D4 on the vending machine is a red and white package with a clear front so that she can see through it to the meaty contents inside. It's beef jerky. Victorious smile firmly in place, she straightens out the bills clasped in her fingers to insert them into the slot and buy her treat.
Just as Blake reaches out to put the money in the machine, something cracks solidly against the side of her face and temple. "Ah, fuck!" she gasps, stumbling from the blow. She steps on her unlaced shoelaces and falls, her previously broken arm catching the brunt of her fall. She yelps and draws her arm up to her chest, curling on her side instinctively. It must have only been a few seconds later when a hard boot slams into her shoulder, forcefully rolling her on her back.
"Who the fuck are you?!" Blake spits, her eyes landing on a blonde haired woman, a wooden baseball bat clutched in her manicured fingers. She raises the bat again and Blake's eyes narrow dangerously, "You don't want to play with me, lady," she threatens, climbing to her feet while keeping a wary eye on the woman. She can feel blood trickling from where the woman hit her with the bat, dribbling down her face and neck.
The frail blonde woman swings the bat again, anticipating this Blake's hand shoots up to catch it against the flat of her palm, trying to wrap her fingers around it. The bat's too thick, so Blake can't the proper purchase to rip it out of the woman's hands as the woman jerks it backwards and out of Blake's fingers.
Blake tenses, waiting for the woman to swing again, but instead she shoves it straight forward as if it were a pool cue. The flat end of the bat smashes into Blake's mouth, causing her to gasp and stumble backwards, hands flying up to clutch her bleeding mouth. She steps on her shoelaces once again and goes down hard, her head cracking against the asphalt.
Before Blake can even dream about recovering, the woman falls upon her. Blake struggles, trying to throw the woman off even though her vision hasn't cleared from her fall. Blake gets one good punch in before the woman's knees pin her arms to the ground. The bat drops from the woman's grasp and Blake hears her rummaging around in her pockets. Blake can hear a bottle being opened, causing a renewed panic to shoot through her veins. Bucking wildly, Blake jerks her knee up, hitting the blonde in the back and causing her to lurch forward, spilling the contents of the bottle all over Blake's chest and neck. Blake gasps in surprise, the cold liquid stinging her skin.
With a growl, the blonde pulls a rag out of her pocket and mops up as much of the clear liquid as possible before pressing it firmly to Blake's bloody mouth. Blake's eyes go wide as sudden understanding washes over her. This woman was trying to chloroform her. Just as Blake resolves not to breathe, the blonde lifts up off Blake's abdomen, relieving it of pressure briefly before she drops back down, forcing Blake to gasp and deeply breathe in the vapors.
'This isn't going to be fun,' Blake grumbles mentally as her eyes slide shut from result of the chloroform.
Dean slams the door to the Impala, stalking up to the motel room door and swiftly unlocking it. He and Sam just dropped that Josh kid off and the whole time all he could think about was what could have gone wrong when Blake exorcized the incubus on her own. It could've overpowered her and taken her hostage. There could have more than one incubus on the scene. It could've had a concealed weapon on it. Someone could have seen her exorcizing it and called the cops. So many things could have gone wrong.
There's one last option in the back of his mind that makes his stomach clench and his palms itch to think about. The incubus could have forcefully taken what it wanted from her. She could've died.
"Blake!" Dean shouts as he throws the door to the room open. He doesn't get an answer, but that doesn't surprise him. He steps inside, his eyes combing over the seemingly empty room. He waits for her head to pop up from under the mass of covers on her bed or the bathroom door to swing open.
But it doesn't happen.
"Blake!" Dean shouts again, ripping the blankets off both of the beds. She's not there. He flings the bathroom door open, the warm damp air collecting on his face.
No sign of her.
"Where's Blake?" Sam asks, just now coming in the door with Wess in tow.
"Not here," Dean snaps, pacing angrily across the room. "She must've known that I was going to yell at her when I came back."
"You did make it kind of obvious," Sam unhelpfully points out.
Dean tosses him a dirty look, "She doesn't have a car. She couldn't have gotten far," he says, pulling his keys out of his jacket.
"Are you really going to hunt her down at," Sam pauses to pull his phone out of his pocket and check the time, "2:30 at night?"
"Yes," Dean snaps. "It's 2:30! I want to know where she is and why she isn't back yet!"
Sam shrugs, "Okay, I guess I'll wait here to see if she shows up."
"Good idea," Dean says, staring intensely at Wess. "Now, how did she make him work again? Search… hunt… sic 'em… find…"
"Track, I think," Sam says.
"Okay, uh, TRACK," Dean commands, still staring holes into Wess. Wess looks at him and huffs grumpily, turning anxious circles. "Track!" Dean reiterates, pointing at Wess this time. Wess sits heavily on the floor and issues a half bark half rolling grumble, clearly agitated.
"I think you need to tell him what to track, Dean," Sam helpfully supplies.
Dean snatches one of Blake's shirts off the floor and holds it to Wess's nose. "Track," he demands once again. This time it yields the desired effect as Wess pushes his nose to the ground and starts to sniff around. "Good boy," Dean says quietly, a small amount of tension releasing from his shoulders as Wess leads him out of the open motel door.
As soon as Wess leaves the room he takes an immediate right, following the concrete sidewalk that wraps around the motel. He walks, nose close to the ground until he gets to the vending machines in front of the motel lobby. Laying on the ground are a couple of wrinkled dollar bills that Wess takes a special interest in, nosing and pawing at them until Dean stoops to pick them up. After that Wess circles the area in front of the vending machines several times, whining and crying softly.
Wess finally lies down, whimpering at the dark stain near his feet.
Dean kneels down and rubs his fingers over the stain, a dark flaky substance sticking to them. "Blood," he mutters, accented by another cry from Wess. Dean stands up and puts his hands on his head, his breathing deep and ragged. He tries to contain whatever it is he's feeling; rage, fear, anxiety, anger, panic, he's not sure. But whatever it is hurts badly.
"Damn it!" He screams, whirling around on his heel and smashing his fist into the glass window of the vending machine. The glass shatters beneath his hand, slicing it open before tinkling to the concrete making a noise like a wind chime.
Blake's gone.