Hello all, let me introduce you to Rabbit, My Claws are Down. This little fic here has been my baby for the last month or so, and just so happens to be my premier fic here at this site. The title is inspired, and is actually a lyric, from a song called, "I Know I'm a Wolf," by Young Heretics and is a beautiful, beautiful song. The song goes very well with the whole fic and I hope you'll give it a listen.

Just to set one little thing straight here, I will never blackmail you into reviewing by withholding chapters. But I can assure you, the more you review, the more I will feel the need to update. It will and does definitely make a difference because I do want to make you guys happy and if I know that updating makes you happy, you can be sure it will happen more often. On the other side, if I feel like no one cares whether or not I update, which is understandable don't get me wrong, but I won't feel the need to write as often.

I know I might sound a little stern in the above paragraph, but I'm actually really friendly, so please don't be afraid to review. I already love you if you've read the whole thing, reviewing just makes me love you more.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any recognizable trademarks. The only thing I own are my OCs, Blake and Wesson.

Blake Matthews is a Hunter. She was born and raised on the hunt, and she's certain she'll die on the hunt. It's just the way it goes. Nobody ever gets out of hunting and Blake isn't an exception. She wouldn't dream of it anyway. Hunting is her way of life, and she wouldn't know what to do with herself without it. There would be no more purpose in life. It may be an unhealthy mindset for someone only 24 years old, but the mindset of the hunter is a thing of wonder.

Blake is a little taller than most girls, being around 5'6-5'7, and she's got much more strength and stamina than even your average male. She has gray-blue eyes and chocolate brown hair that is exceptionally long, trailing almost to her elbows. Her hair is almost always pulled into a high pony though, so that it doesn't get in her way.

At this moment in time, Blake is tailing a werewolf. She had followed it back to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town. It was almost sad, really. The poor thing was a frightened homeless woman outside of the full moon.

Blake is going to try to talk to her, explain what was going on, and then hopefully, the woman will understand what had to be done. If not, Blake's going to wait until she changes again and shoot her then. It's a heart breaking thing to do, even to Blake, who's been working this job since she could walk. Her job is, and always has been, protecting innocents. This woman's only crime is being bitten by a werewolf, and in Blake's mind, that makes her still completely innocent.

Blake watches the house for any sign of movement, almost casual in her observations, as if spying on a woman who could burst into a werewolf at any moment is normal. It is for Blake, anyhow. She reaches over and lazily scratches her working class German shepherd, Wess, short for Wesson, behind the ears as he lounges in the front seat of her car. He's her hunting dog, capable of tracking any supernatural being; she trained him using the same method as the police use for drug detecting dogs. The only difference is instead of using heroin or pot, she used things like vampire fangs and shapeshifter skin. He was really useful when it came to sniffing them out, and he could hold his own in a fight too.

Honestly, she wasn't sure why other hunters hadn't started doing the same thing. Especially for the ones who hunted solo, it paid to have him around because of his amazing sense of hearing and smell. Blake didn't like to admit it, but he kept her from being too lonely too.

Blake glances at the clock on her dashboard and sighs, it was about two hours before the moon would come out, 'Looks like it's show time,' she thinks, stretching and stepping out of her car. It's going to be nighttime soon, and if she wants to talk to the woman before she changes again, she has to get a move on it.

Blake gives a sharp, short whistle and Wess bounds over the console dividing the passenger and driver's seat and sits at her feet, ears perked for a command. She smiles and strokes his head lovingly, "Let's go." Wess's fluffy tail wags uncontrollably as he and Blake cross the distance to the little abandoned house.

Blake opens the door of the house slowly, "Hello? Is anyone here?" She calls loudly, hoping to lure any occupants out.

A chillingly animalistic scream echoes through the small house and Blake's body tenses as she draws her gun, knowing that the woman's transformation started, "Wess, go to the car!" Blake snaps, not bothering to look if he obeyed or not.

Blake silently creeps through the house, waiting for the werewolf to make its appearance. She slowly crosses the living room and enters what used to be a kitchen, complete with a busted table and chairs.

The floorboards behind her give a loud ominous creak and Blake whirls around just in time to get slashed across her stomach with a clawed hand, sending her flying into the wall on the opposite side of the room. She recovers in time to squeeze off one silver round into the werewolf's chest, and it slumps over, dead.

Blake sighs loudly and clambers to her feet, sadly staring at the body of the woman. The woman was a lot younger than Blake originally thought, seeming to be around 19 or 20. She was definitely homeless.

Blake leans down to turn the woman onto her back but stops when a shooting pain comes from her stomach. It's from when the werewolf sneaked up on her earlier. She moans lowly in pain and lifts her shirt, revealing three ragged lacerations trailing across her stomach, bleeding heavily. They'll have to be stitched. Blake's shoulders droop as she dreads having to stitch it later, but all she can do now is tear her ruined undershirt into a bandage and hope she doesn't bleed too much before she can finish her task.

When she arrives at her car, she finds Wess sitting obediently next to it. "Good boy, Wesson," she coos, painfully kneeling to pet him. When he doesn't immediately melt into a puddle of happiness, and only continues to give her this sad, doe-eyed look, she sighs. "Yeah… I'll be okay, Wess. This one was a sad one, wasn't it?" Wess's tail thumps the ground as he wags it and gives a single pleased bark. Blake smiles, "You were such a good boy though! Weren't you, Wesson? Huh?" She asks in a cutesy voice only reserved for him. This time Wess shows none of the earlier restraint as he bounds around Blake in a large circle.

Blake laughs and retrieves a colorful knotted rope from her glove box and throws it as far as she can, Wess takes off after it like a shot. She smiles before remembering what she had to do, and her smile is soon replaced by a pensive frown. She walks around to the back of her car and pops the trunk, grabbing her shovel and heading back to the house to bury the poor woman.

Blake winces and painfully climbs her way out of the deep grave she dug, wobbling slightly as she heads into the house to retrieve the body. It's hard, and Blake nearly falls unconscious several times, but the woman is finally buried and it's time for Blake to leave. She still has to drive back to her motel and stitch herself up. The tasks seem impossible to Blake at the moment as all she wants to do is fall asleep and never get up. The blood loss has really started to affect her, and she isn't sure how much longer she's going to last.

Blake sits down on a battered chair in the wrecked kitchen, taking deep breaths and trying to rest. It's only been a few minutes before Blake is jerked out of her peaceful state when Wess leaps to his feet and growls, barking frantically in the direction of the door.

Blake narrows her eyes and silences Wess with a gesture, rising from her chair, gun drawn and cocked. She silently takes the alternate route out of the kitchen and circles back around to get to the living room, ending up behind her two intruders. They happen to be two normal looking guys. She relaxes a little and holsters her gun.

"What are you two doing here?" She asks, trying to look as harmless as possible. Hopefully they wouldn't notice all of the blood and call the cops on her.

They turn around slowly, the tall one frowns and begins stumbling over an excuse, "I—We, you see… Well…"

The shorter guy scowls and elbows him, "She's a werewolf, Sam! There's no need to explain, we just have to wait until she wolfs out and shoot her."

"Dean!" The taller one, Sam, says sounding irritated and scowling back at 'Dean.' "We were going to talk to her, not condemn her!"

Blake raises an eyebrow at their bickering, "Werewolf? You guys think… I'm a werewolf?" She asks, her voice flat and toneless in annoyance. Of course something like this would happen to her.

"I—well, yes. We do. Um, have you been acting weird lately? Going to sleep and waking up in a weird place… or with things you hadn't had before? You know… anything like that?" Sam asks, stumbling over his words slightly.

Blake shakes her head, "I can't believe this," she moans.

Sam winces sympathetically, "I know… It's a lot to take in, but… you're hurting people, killing them."

Blake barks a short laugh, "No. Not that, I can't believe I look awful enough to be mistaken for homeless," she retorts, trying to brush away some of the dirt on her pants.

"This isn't a time for jokes, sweetheart. You got a serious case of the rabies." Dean says, watching her suspiciously, as if she was going to freak out and attack them. Oh, wait, they thought she was a werewolf, of course he thought she was going to freak out on him.

"I'm not a werewolf. I just killed one though, you boys are a little late to the party," Blake tells him, resisting the urge to scoff.

"Wait, so you're saying that…"

"I'm a hunter?" Blake finishes the sentence for Sam, smiling haughtily, "Sure am. You can check out back, I just got finished burying it."

Sam and Dean exchange weary glances, "I'll go check, keep watch on her," Dean says, glaring at Blake and heading out the back door.

Blake sighs, her adrenaline wearing off as she steadies herself on the door frame with a shaking hand. Sam notices and frowns, "Hey, are you alright? You don't look so good."

Blake scowls, "Yeah, I will be. Werewolf caught me off guard and got me pretty good."

Sam shifts uneasily, "You… didn't get bitten, did you?" He asks, hesitantly.

"No. If I had, I'd already have put a bullet through my brain," Blake says, though she doubts he's comforted any. "It's just a scratch…. Here, do you have a silver knife?" She asks.

Sam gives her an odd look, "Don't you have one?"

Blake nods, "Yes, but you're still going to be suspicious of me unless I use one you know for sure is silver, aren't you?"

Sam smiles guiltily, "Good point," he says offering her a knife.

Instead of taking the knife from him, Blake sticks her arm out and gives him an expectant look.

Sam arches an eyebrow at her, "You… want me to do it?" He asks skeptically.

"Yep, do what you have to," Blake replies, still holding her arm out to him.

Sam frowns and wraps a large hand around her relatively smaller wrist, using the gleaming silver blade to make a small shallow cut on her arm. Blood bubbles to the surface of the wound and begins to trail lazily down her wrist.

"See? The scratch isn't sizzling and I'm not howling in pain. I told you the werewolf didn't bite me," says Blake, using her best 'know it all,' voice.

Sam shrugs with a sheepish chuckle, "Sorry, but I feel a lot better now I can be certain."

Blake laughs, "I guess it pays to be safe, which is why I'm going to run a couple tests of my own." She pauses to give a shrill whistle and Wess trots up next to her, curiously staring at her. "Search, Wess," she instructs, pointing at Sam. Wess approaches Sam and presses his nose to Sam's pants leg, inhaling deeply. Wess circles Sam several times, extensively checking over the numerous scents on Sam. Finally satisfied with what he's found, Wess pads back to Blake.

"Good boy, Wess!" Blake coos, bending to lavish attention upon Wess.

Sam coughs awkwardly, "So, uh, am I alright?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. You're clean. If he smelled anything on you he would've let me know," Blake replied, scratching Wess behind the ears.

"That's impressive, did you train him yourself?" Sam asks.

Blake grins, happy to talk about Wess to someone who actually seems interested. "Yes, I got him when he was little and we started training right away. He's been going on hunts with me ever since."

"How long have you had him?"

"Hmm… I'd say about six years, probably more," Blake replies, sluggishly crossing the room to grab a chair from the kitchen and plopping unceremoniously into it. She smiles, unable to bite back the sigh of relief from the relieved pressure on her abdomen.

Sam shifts from side to side uneasily, "Hey, are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I think so… I'm not feelin' too hot right now though." She admits.

"You did say you got hurt, didn't you? D'you want me to take a look?" Sam asks, shifting his weight awkwardly.

Blake looks away uncomfortably, not quite sure what to make of his concern. It's been a long time since someone was concerned for her other than Wess, and it's not like Wess could really say or do anything about it. "Uh, sure, but I already know it's going to need stitches…"

Sam frowns, "I thought you said it was a scratch earlier, scratches don't require stitches…"

Blake shrugs and shucks her button down shirt, leaving her in her bra and makeshift bandages made of her ruined undershirt. She carefully begins to unwrap the torn strips of the shirt, wincing as it tugs at the ragged flesh beneath. Finally all she has left is a pile of ruined cloth and oozing wounds.

"That's definitely more than a scratch, and you're right… It will have to be stitched," Sam observes.

Blake gives a frustrated huff, "I hate stitching myself up," she nearly whines, standing to go get her first aid kit from her car.

Sam's eyes widen and he guides her back to the chair, "Hey, you shouldn't be moving, wait here, I'm going to go get the first aid kit from the Impala," he says, walking out the door just as Dean returns from the backyard, looking much more annoyed than before and a good deal dirtier.

Dean cocks an eyebrow at his retreating form, "Where's he goin'? And sheezus, what happened to you?"

"He said he was going to get the first aid kit from the Impala," Blake replies, her head almost beginning to dip in exhaustion.

"So that answers the first question. What about you, the werewolf get'cha?" Dean asks.

Blake nods, "It sneaked up on me."

Dean narrows his eyes at her suspiciously, reaching for his handgun, "Did it bite you?"

Blake groans, "Me an' Sam have already been through this," she complains, waving at Wess who had started growling when Dean reached for his gun.

Dean chuckles slightly at her frustrated reply, "Okay, sorry, princess."

Blake glares weakly at him, "I'm not a princess."

Dean laughs, "Sorry, sorry."

"'Where's Sam?" Blake asks, gently prodding the ragged flesh on her abdomen as her eyes droop.

Dean scowls and lightly bats her hands away from her wounds, "Don't do that, you're gonna make it worse. I don't know where Sam is, you said he was just running to the Impala."

Blake nods, her eyes closing as she tries to find a comfortable position on the chair.

"Hey, hey, don't fall asleep. We still need to get you cleaned up," Dean scolds, gently shaking her knee.

Blake grabs Dean's arm and uses it to haul herself to her feet, "We can't do it 'ere. Need to… go to my room."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, I don't think you're going anywhere, sweetheart. You can barely stand, even with your claws digging into my arm." Dean points out, gesturing to her nails digging into his arm.

Blake let's his arm go, but without him anchoring her, she begins to sway slightly. Dean nearly rolls his eyes at her stubbornness as sweeps her off her feet, one arm nestled in the crease of her knees and the other supporting her shoulders.

"I can walk…" Blake protests weakly, pushing on Dean's chest in a feeble attempt to make him put her down.

Dean snorts in amusement, "Sure, and I can fly," he sarcastically retorts.

Blake's head rolls on her shoulders, thumping against Dean's chest. "S'okay, Wess," she says in reply to Wess's angry barking, and it's the last thing she says before she closes her eyes and lets the blood loss entice her into momentary unconsciousness.

The next time she opens her eyes, she's still in Dean's arms. Apparently the gentle motion of him walking was enough to rouse her. She feels a dull pang of guilt as she stares at his shirt, it's bloody everywhere it touched her, probably ruined. Her eyes slowly trail over the surrounding area, recognizing it as the outside of the abandoned house. She spots Sam digging through the trunk of a classic car, it must be the Impala, but it doesn't seem to be where Dean's taking her.

Blake blinks, "Where're we… going?" She asks with some difficulty, as her tongue won't quit sticking to the roof of her mouth.

Dean looks down at her, probably just now realizing she was conscious again. "Our motel room."

Blake's face twists in unguarded, bleary confusion, "Why… go there?"

"Because you need help, and Sam and I aren't going to leave you here," Dean replies bluntly.

"Okay," Blake mumbles, closing her eyes.

"Is that your car?" Dean asks, nodding the black Pontiac Grand Am.

Blake pries her eyes open and nods, "Yes."

"I'm going to set you in the passenger's seat and Sam's going to drive you to our motel to get you fixed up, okay?" Dean asks.

Blake furrows her eyebrows, "Wess?"

"The dog? He's right behind us, he'll go with you and Sam." Dean reassures her.

Blake nods in satisfaction, "Okay."

"Sam's got the bandages, we're gonna wrap you up real quick before we go," Dean says, just as she hears the crunching of what must be Sam's footsteps. "That means I'm going to put you down, do you think you'll be okay?"

Blake nods, "I'll be fine."

Dean crouches and sets her feet on the ground, letting her test her weight on them, when he's satisfied she's stable, he lets her go and takes a step back, carefully observing her. True to her word, Blake hardly even wobbles. Wess comes up next to her and stands close to her legs, letting her lean against him.

Sam kneels in front of her, "I'm going to need you to lift your arms for me, okay?"

Blake nods and lifts her arms above her head. "Where's… my shirt?" She asks, shivering at the lack of Dean's body heat and the combination of shirtless indecency and the chilly midnight air.

"It must be inside still," Sam answers, unrolling the bandages.

"Wess, where's my shirt, boy?" Blake asks, trying to coo at him in her bleary state.

Wess barks and bounds back into the house.

Dean arches an eyebrow, "Did… he really just leave to go get your shirt?"

Blake smiles, "I 'ope."

Dean almost laughs, grinning widely, "Man, that's cool!"

Wess soon comes trotting back, Blake's button down shirt in his mouth. Blake smiles and takes the shirt from him. "Good boy, Wess."

Dean actually laughs this time, "Your dog is awesome."

Sam smiles at Dean's amusement, "Yeah, you should've seen him go all drug detector dog on me earlier," he says, beginning to roll the bandages tightly around Blake's midsection.

"What? He can do that?" Dean asks.

Blake nods, her arms held above her head once again, "Yep, jus' watch… Wess, search," she commands, lazily pointing at Dean.

Wess immediately begins to circle Dean, pressing his nose to Dean's pants legs every once and a while. Finally convinced that there's nothing on Dean, Wess pads back over to stand next to Blake.

"You're clean," Blake informs him, closing her eyes and trying to relax.

"How do you know?" Dean asks.

"If there was something on you that Wess wanted me to know about… he would've showed me," Blake says, yawning and swaying gently.

"How would he do that?"

"He'd lie at my feet," Blake replies as Dean puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

"So was he actually looking for drugs, or what?" Dean asks.

"Naw, he's makin' sure you weren't anything shifty, like a vampire or a demon," Blake said, stifling another yawn.

"That's even better!" Dean exclaims, grinning as he crouches to scratch Wess behind the ears.

"Okay, I'm finished," Sam says, straightening from his kneeling position.

"Thanks," Blake mumbles.

"Alright, I think we're ready to leave now," Sam says.

Blake fishes in her jean's pocket for her keys before handing them to Sam. Sam takes them and unlocks the driver's door, clicking the button on the control panel to unlock the passenger door for Blake to get in.

Once Blake opens the door, she gestures for Wess to get in, "In the back seat, Wess." She reminds him as he sits in the passenger's seat, his usual spot. He cocks his head to the side in confusion before climbing over the console to get into the back seat, not understanding why Blake was in his seat.

"I'm going to clean up here a bit before I meet you two at the motel," Dean says.

"Alright, see you then," Sam agrees, sticking the key in the ignition and bringing the car to life.

Dean nods in acknowledgement as he shuts Blake's door after she's situated correctly inside the vehicle.

Blake leans her head against the cool glass of the window and dozes lightly until she and Sam arrive at the motel. She's awakened as Sam shuts the engine off, finding herself in the parking lot of the 'Rose Garden Motel.' Though, it certainly doesn't look anything like a rose garden, she decides.

It's late, but she'd rather not take the chance of anyone seeing her in just her bra. She already had to put up with Sam and Dean seeing, she didn't need some random sleaze ball getting an eyeful. These thoughts in mind, she carefully pulls on the shredded and bloody button down.

Sam looks at her ruined shirt and frowns, "Here," he says, shrugging out of his jacket, "you can use this."

Blake smiles tiredly, "Thanks," she says, taking the jacket from him and pulling it on. It's already warm and she can't help but notice it smells extremely nice, even though it basically swallows her. The bottom of the jacket goes to mid-thigh, and since it was made for people with shoulders much wider than hers, the sleeves are more than several inches too long. She just hopes she doesn't get any blood on it.

Blake climbs out of her car and Wess follows closely behind her. "Which one's yours?" She asks, using the car door to steady herself.

"It's over here," Sam replies, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to help her as he leads her into the motel room.

Once inside, Blake shrugs off Sam's jacket and tosses it onto one of the beds. Sam guides her to the bathroom, and she sits on the closed lid of the toilet, relaxing so much that she lets her head loll backwards.

She's only vaguely aware of when Sam starts flushing her wounds out with water, and soon after begins to pull the skin taut with stitches. She feels the pain of the needle piercing her flesh and tugging it together, but she's drifted so far that it's only a watered down version of the pain she should be feeling.

Blake closes her eyes and begins relinquishing the hold on her consciousness when she is shaken awake again by Sam, "Hey, I just wanted to make sure you were still with me. I finished your stitches, now I just need to wipe away the blood and… they'll probably scar."

Blake rubs her eyes and pries them open, taking a deep shaky breath when she realizes the bathroom door is closed. Fear starts to tickle her insides and cause her palms to itch, she scantly holds back the rough shudder, "O-Open the… door?" She asks in a slightly panicky voice, her chest beginning to squeeze off her air supply.

Sam gives her an odd look but doesn't question her as he opens the bathroom door as wide as the hinges allow. A cooling gust created by the motion swirls in and Blake sighs in obvious, palpable relief. "Thank you."

Sam nods, "Uh, no problem," he hesitantly replies.

Blake smiles weakly and sits up straighter, "It's, uh, it's okay about the scars… it's not like I expected any different… Hunters aren't usually… known for their flawless skin anyway. I'll just… count them among my collection," she says, shrugging off her freak out moments prior.

Sam notices her haste to drop the subject and doesn't push it as he gives her a sheepish smile. His eyes run over the numerous scars scattered across her skin. She wasn't kidding, she really did have quite a collection going. The ones on her stomach seem to be a little worse than the rest… but it's nothing that's not normal for her. The thought almost upsets Sam. He's seen men in their thirties and older hunt alone, he's seen Dean hunt alone… Why was she hunting alone and why did she have so many scars?

Sam decides to breach the topic with a seemingly harmless question, "How long have you been a hunter…?"

Blake shrugs with forced nonchalance, "Well… saying that it's all I've ever known isn't an… exaggeration. I… was raised as a hunter."

Sam's eyebrows knit together in confusion, "You… never wanted to get out, to… be normal?" He asks hesitantly, at least thankful that she seems more aware than she did before.

Blake quirks an eyebrow at him, "No, why would I? I love hunting. I live for it," she answers, becoming more and more articulate as she regains the advantages of being conscious.

Sam is nearly taken aback by the resolve he hears in her voice, and he can't help but prod a little bit more for answers. "You live for it? What do you mean by that?"

Blake averts her gaze, "I mean… without hunting, I would have nothing. No purpose." She admits.

Sam is once again taken aback. "What about Wess?" He asks, hoping he wasn't crossing any lines.

Blake smiles sadly, "Wess is why I don't take quite as many risks as I could. That werewolf hunt earlier was nothing… To be honest, he's the only reason I'm alive. So many times I've been on the edge of death, ready and willing to except it, when this little nagging voice in my ear asks, 'But who will take care of Wess?' and I'm sucked back down to Earth and I finish the hunt and drag myself back to where I left Wess. "

"He… he really means a lot to you, doesn't he?" Sam asks, shifting awkwardly.

Blake nods, "He's… like the only family I have left."

"Then… your parents?"

"Are dead, yes," Blake says, answering the question Sam left to the air. "I didn't have any siblings either."

"I'm so sorry… I don't remember her, but my mother died in my nursery when I was six months old," Sam says, glancing away uncomfortably, feeling less than satisfied after finding out why she hunted alone.

"My parents were killed by djinn… The alternate reality the djinn showed them was more appealing than the real world and they didn't wake up. Presumably they died happy," Blake nearly spits, her eyes betraying her disgust, but under her anger and her disgust is a festering wound riddled with old hurts and insecurities.

Sam nearly winces, overcome with a sudden thankfulness for his dad and Dean, at least he still had them. "I… I'm so sorry."

Blake glances away, seemingly ashamed at her earlier anger and struggles to smile, "I'm sorry to drop all of that on you all of a sudden. I… It's just nice to talk to someone who understands, you know?"

"No, it's fine… I understand. I, um, don't mind," Sam says, giving her a weak reassuring smile.

Blake sighs in relief, her guard coming back up and she's belatedly ashamed of all that she revealed to Sam while she was still a little loopy, "Good, because I really didn't mean to whine that much…"

Sam shook his head, "You didn't… um, this might hurt, but I'm going to clean the blood off of your stitches."

Blake nods and leans back to give Sam more access to her stitches as he begins to clean the skin surrounding them with a damp cloth.

"Okay," Sam says, standing, and beginning to rinse his hands in the sink, "they're clean."

"Whew, thanks. That was SO much easier than trying to do it myself, I hate stitches!" Blake complains, eying Sam's neat and orderly rows of stitches.

Sam gives her a halfhearted smile, feeling guilty for having Dean when she didn't have anyone. Being around her constantly reminds him of how lucky he is to have Dean. He looks away from her, changing the subject abruptly, "So what are you going to do now?"

She shrugs, "Go back to my hotel room and sleep for a year? That sounds about right."

Sam laughs, "You can stay here, if you want. I don't think you're in much of a condition to drive just yet if you feel like you can sleep for a year," he says, not wanting her to accidentally kill someone or herself if she were to fall asleep at the wheel.

"Nah, I'm okay. I'll grab some coffee and I'll be good." Blake says, trying to reassure him.

"Alright… if you're sure," Sam says, giving her a concerned look.

Blake laughs, "I am. Thank you so much for fixing me up… Oh, do you happen to have a shirt I could borrow before I go out there in just a bra?"

"Huh? Oh, sure, one sec," Sam says, digging around in his bag. "Ah, you're in luck, I kept the shirt that Dean accidentally shrank a couple days ago." He says, pulling a plain forest green shirt out of his suitcase.

Blake gives a small laugh of relief, "Thank you so much," she says, taking the shirt from him.

"Oh! I just realized I never got your name…" Sam mutters, trailing off at the end.

Blake laughs and pulls the shirt on. "My name is Blake Matthews," she says, presenting him her hand to shake.

"Blake, huh?" Sam asks rhetorically, "I'm Sam Winchester," he says, shaking her hand.

"It was really nice to meet you, Sam," Blake says as she walks to the door of the motel room. "C'mon Wess," she calls to the dozing canine. Wess clambers to his feet and trots after her, shaking himself awake along the way.

Blake pulls the door open to see Dean struggling to hold a large bag of food and three large drinks all while attempting to fish his keys out of his pocket.

"Nice timing! Here, take these," Dean says without giving her any indication of what to take.

Blake gives a small mental shrug and pulls two of the drinks out of his grasp, while Sam comes up next to her and takes the last drink and the bag of food. Blake sets the drink down on the small table the motel room offered as Sam does the same.

Dean plops into one of the chair and begins rooting through the bag of food, "I didn't know what to get you," he says, pulling out a plastic container of salad and setting it on the table, "so sorry if you don't like it."

"Oh… you didn't have to get me anything. But salad is fine, thanks," Blake says, surprised that he thought to get her food.

Dean snorts in amusement, "The salad is for Sammy, I got you a cheeseburger. Sam might share if you're the salad-type, though," he says, smiling mischievously.

Blake laughs in relief, "Thank goodness, I thought you had got me the salad because I'm a girl. A cheeseburger would be awesome right now."

Dean shrugs, "I just figured you were a hunter, and most hunters like their meat red. Sam here just happens to be an oddball with his vegetable-eating and what have you, huh, Sammy?" Dean asks, grinning as he tries to get a rise out of Sam.

Sam rolls his eyes, but can't hold back the smile on his face as he sarcastically retorts, "So how's that heart attack on a bun?"

Dean gives him a smug grin, "Delicious," and with that, he takes an overly large bite out of his double bacon cheeseburger.

Blake giggles quietly at the bickering boys, picking up the burger Dean had sat on the table for her and taking a seat on the bed.

Dean cocks an eyebrow at her, "What're you laughing at, Giggles?"

Blake shakes her head and smiles, taking a large bite of her burger for an excuse not to answer. Wess pads over and looks up at her imploringly his huge chocolaty eyes. "Quit begging, Wess," Blake mumbles, averting her eyes so as to not fall prey to his pleading. He casts her one last mopey look before slowly making his way back to where he was sleeping earlier, stopping every once in a while to look back at her over his shoulder as if to ask, 'You sure you don't want to share that cheeseburger with me?'

Once Wess lies back down, Blake sighs and rips off a part of her cheeseburger, crouching down in front of Wess and giving it to him, "Good boy."

Sam laughs and shakes his head, "But you just told him to quit begging."

Blake sighs again, "I know, but he listened and deserved a treat," she explains, sitting on the bed again.

Dean begins snickering, "That dog's got you wrapped around his little claw."

Blake frowns at Dean, but smirks a couple seconds later as an idea comes to her, "Wess, I think Dean wants to share with you."

Wess's ears perk up and he stares at Dean for a couple seconds, as if analyzing the chances of Dean actually giving up the goods. Wess seems to like his odds as he clambers to his feet and trots over to Dean, resting his chin on Dean's knee and looking up at him sadly.

"Aw man," Dean whines, torn between his love of his cheeseburger and Wess's pleading looks. He finally sighs and begins to tear a piece off of his burger.

"If you don't want him to think he can just beg food off of you all the time, make him do a couple tricks," Blake instructs.

"Like what?"

"He knows all of the basics, sit, lay down, roll over, play dead, yada yada, plus a few like sing, intimidate, and speak." Blake explains.

"Okay, so what do I do?" Dean asks.

"You have to make it a command, so sound firm, but not angry, and say his name so he knows you're talking to him."

"Okay… Wess, sing," Dean says, using a firm tone like Blake said.

Wess sits back on his haunches and howls loudly, causing Dean to laugh, obviously pleased with Wess's obedience, "Okay, so that's singing… What's intimidate do?" Dean asks cautiously.

"It makes him growl and bark… You have to give him someone to intimidate though, you can do that by pointing." Blake tells him, finding his curiosity amusing.

"Wess, intimidate," Dean commands, pointing at Blake.

Wess stares at him blankly, not even moving to acknowledge his command.

Blake laughs, "Sorry, but you'll have to find someone else. Wess wouldn't growl at me, even if he was faking."

Dean shrugs and points at Sam this time, "Wess, intimidate."

Immediately, Wess hunkers into an aggressive position, his lips pulling away from his teeth as he growls and barks ferociously at Sam, his fur standing on end.

Sam puts his hands up innocently, obviously a little freaked out, "He won't bite, will he?" He asks, taking a step away from Wess.

"No, he'd never bite unless I told him to…"Blake says, reassuring Sam. "That's enough, Wess, be gentle," she commands, and Wess's entire demeanor switches, just at her word. Now he's wagging his tail and nudging Sam's hand with his nose.

Sam is still in shock at Wess's complete change in mood as he hesitantly scratches him behind the ear. Wess wiggles and bounces around in excitement before bounding back to Dean, who owes him some cheeseburger.

Dean chuckles, "Alright, you earned it." He says, feeding the bite of cheeseburger to Wess.

Blake laughs, "And you just earned yourself a friend for life," she comments, seeing how Wess laid down next to Dean's chair.

"What can I say? Animals love me," Dean says, shrugging haughtily.

Blake blinks, suddenly feeling as if every ounce of energy she had was gone and each time she blinks, it becomes harder and harder to open her eyes again.

Sam notices her silent fight against exhaustion, "Are you alright, Blake?" He asks, watching her in concern.

"I'm fine. I just got really… tired all of a sudden," Blake says, rubbing her eyes.

"Maybe you should lie down," Sam suggests.

"Yeah, I think you're right…" Blake agrees, "It was really nice meeting the both of you, but I guess I better head out now," she says, standing up to make her way to the door.

"I meant lie down here, you don't have to leave… You're not in any condition to be driving," Sam says, giving her a disapproving look.

Blake frowns thoughtfully, "But where would I sleep?"

Dean chuckles and gives her a suggestive wink, "With me, of course."

Sam rolls his eyes and sighs, "Dean, we're supposed to be giving her reasons to stay, not to leave."

"Hey! It's every girl's dream to sleep with me," Dean defends.

Sam sighs again, shaking his head, "You take too much joy in the double meaning of that."

Dean smirks widely, choosing not to say anything.

Blake gives the two an exasperated look, "I'll just sleep on the ground if it's that much trouble… Or, even better, I'll go to my own motel room."

"No, it's okay, you can take my bed, I'll sleep on the ground," Sam says as he gathers the top blanket, the one only used for decoration, off of both of the motel beds, and takes a pillow from each.

"Sorry Sam, I would offer to share a bed with you, but I smell like hell warmed over… Diggin' graves and bleeding like a stuck pig seems to do that to people. I can't even take a bath 'cause of these stitches, either…" Blake grumbles, taking the blankets and pillows out of Sam's hands and folding them into a pallet on the ground. She tosses the pillows at the head of the pallet and digs through the closet for the extra bedding the maids keep in there, triumphantly pulling the medium sized plastic bag from the top shelf in the closet and unzipping it to find another pillow and blanket.

Blake takes the blankets and layers all three of them on the ground, making the makeshift bed of blankets nice and thick. Finally, she takes the top sheet off of the beds and tosses them on to the pallet, frowning as she realizes she doesn't have any pajamas to sleep in.

"Do either of you have any shorts or pajama bottoms I could borrow?" Blake asks.

Dean nods and rummages around in his duffel bag for a while before handing her a pair of red plaid boxers, "Here ya go."

Blake grins at him and heads to the bathroom to put them on, "Thank you!"

As soon as the bathroom door closes behind Blake, Dean grins, "Seeing her in my boxers will be thanks enough, eh, Sammy?" He asks, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows at Sam.

Sam laughs in disbelief, "I just hope those were clean," he sarcastically retorts.

Dean shrugs in innocence, still grinning goofily. He glances at the bathroom door to find it cracked the tiniest bit from not being closed all the way. He can't see anything going on in the bathroom, but it's enough to make him quirk an eyebrow. Did she accidentally not shut it all the way? Or did she really trust the two random hunters enough to not shut the door? Either way, it was weird. If Sam notices the door's open, he doesn't show it.

Blake exits the bathroom a couple seconds later, the boxer shorts hanging low on her hips, meaning that the hem went far past mid-thigh and Dean didn't get anything near the eyeful he had hoped for. What he did see were scars, tons of them. Obviously as a hunter you're expected to pick up a bunch of scars, but even Dean didn't have nearly as many scars as Blake did. Now that he's thinking about it, she had a lot of scars on her upper body too. Dean frowns, his eyes flickering over to Sam to see if Sam was thinking the same thing as he was. Something wasn't adding up.

"G'night guys, thanks for letting me stay here… and borrow all your clothes," Blake says, stifling a yawn as she crawls onto the pallet she made earlier.

"Whoa, whoa, wait. I thought I was sleeping on the floor?" Sam asks, obviously confused.

"Nope," Blake blithely replies, popping the 'p,' sound.

Sam laughs under his breath, "You know I'm just going to move you once you fall asleep, right?"

Blake shrugs, "You can try, but I AM a hunter. I'm not going to sleep through that."

Dean decides to join the argument at this point, "Aw, c'mon, how hard can it be really? I used to move Sam all the time from the Impala to the motel room, course, this was when he was, ya know, normal-sized, but still, it's gotta count for something. Besides, I don't wanna step on you during a midnight pee run."

Blake smiles smugly, "I guess we'll just see what happens after I go to sleep… But really, I wouldn't advise picking me up. I wasn't kidding when I said I smelled like hell warmed over earlier."

Dean snorts, "It's cute you think that'll deter us. We're hunters too, sweetheart. You probably smell like heaven compared to some of the things we've come across."

Blake laughs, "This is true, but for now, I'm sleeping down here. Goodnight."

"Night," Sam and Dean reply in unison.

Blake closes her eyes, and the moment she does, all of her energy reserves run dry and she's fast asleep within seconds.