A/N: HELLO! Have I told you recently that you are all lovely people and I appreciate you? Welllll, I do. Sorry for the wait, guys! I just graduated high school last week, so things were a bit crazy. This chapter will hopefully clear up a lot of things that Blake does for seemingly no reason. It's also a little dark, with some mentions of child neglect. As always, I sincerely hope you enjoy! Happy reading!

Blake is woken by the scent of smoke. It's heavy and cloying. Her eyelids flutter as they try to slide open, but only one eye will cooperate. The other is painfully sealed shut. For a couple seconds the world is only a smear of colors seen through her one working eye. Her vision slowly sharpens back into a passable level, and she's greeted by a rather unfamiliar sight and the reemergence of pain. Her head hurts, her mouth hurts, her eye hurts, her arm hurts, her neck hurts. She could write a never-ending list of the hurts she has at the moment. But she tries not to dwell on that too much. Pain only means she's still alive. Instead, she shifts her attention to her surroundings. She's in a hotel room. But judging by the plush cream carpet and dark wood furniture, it's an expensive one. What in the world had happened? Who would take her to a hotel room like this? Why anyone would take her to this place is also a good question.

Blake tries to move, but quickly finds her hands, feet, and knees are bound with clear packing tape. Her upper arms are bound to her chest as well, with several loops of the same tape. Damn, someone's pulling all the stops to keep her contained. She wonders why, but that's an exercise in futility because of her line of work. There could be any number of reasons for this kidnapping.

Blake scowls as she belatedly remembers the little blonde baseball bat wielding waif at the vending machines. She must've done this. She remembers being cracked across the head with that stupid bat. Either her eye's swelled shut or sealed with dry blood, she really can't tell right now.

Blake braces herself against the onslaught of pain as she tries to roll over. The door isn't in her sights right now, and that makes a creeping sense of panic settle into her gut. She'd feel better if she could see the door, even if she couldn't defend herself against whoever was coming in. When she finally gets rolled over, the door isn't the only thing that comes into her sight.

It's the blonde waif. She's rigidly sitting in an arm chair, her manicured fingers nearly digging holes into the arm rests. "You killed him," she grits lowly, Blake struggling to hear the words.

Blake swallows with some difficulty and runs her tongue across her front teeth, feeling for damage. Aside from being swollen and tender, everything seems to be intact. Her lips are split something awful, but that would heal in time. At least her teeth aren't chipped or falling out. "I've killed a lot of things," she says at last, her throat scratchy.

"He wasn't a thing!" the waif snarls, "He was the love of my life! And you took him from me!"

"And I'm really sorry," Blake says, her voice rasping slightly as she rolls her working eye. "But if you don't tell me when and where, we won't be able to work this misunderstanding out, got it?"

Blonde waif shoots out of her chair and crosses the distance between her and Blake in a couple strides, her eyes betraying her fury. She grasps Blake's collar and pulls hoists her up to eye level, "Nothing is going to be worked out," she says lowly, her eyes narrowed into one of the most hateful glares Blake has ever seen. That's certainly saying something. "You took something from me, and I'm going to do the same to you."

Blake laughs in her face. "You can't take anything from someone who has nothing," she states boldly.

The blonde waif sneers, "We'll see if you're still saying that once those two men and dog are dead."

The mocking smile drops from Blake's lips, anger flooding her face. "If you touch ANY of them, there will be nothing left of you but teeth when I'm done with you!" Blake hisses, throwing her head forward to smash the unsuspecting blonde in the nose and teeth. She stumbles backwards, hand clutched to her mouth where ruby rivulets have started flowing.

The blonde's entire face contorts in rage as she grabs the metal lamp off the nightstand and lunges forward. The cord snaps, and with a pop, the room is launched into darkness. Blake blindly rolls away from the blonde, not looking forward to being clocked with a lamp. In her haste, she accidentally rolls too far and drops off the side of the bed. She hits the ground with a gasp as her body shoots with pain. The lamp clatters to the ground and the bulb shatters.

A couple seconds later, a different light flickers on, and Blake watches helplessly as the blonde slowly makes her way over. When she reaches Blake, she grabs her by the ankles and begins to drag her across the hotel floor. The blonde's face is void of any of her previous emotions. Like a dry-erase board, every twitch of facial expression is wiped clean.

Blake is so puzzled by the blonde's complete shut-down, that it takes her a couple moments to realize where she's being dragged. The carpet beneath her abruptly gives way to tile flooring, and panic explodes through Blake's chest like fire in a drought. "NO!" she screams, thrashing as violently as her binding will allow her. Disappointingly, she can't put up as much of a struggle as she wants and the blonde is still able to drag Blake into the bathroom without much of a problem.

The door shuts with a solid snap behind the blonde woman, leaving Blake alone in the pitch black bathroom. Blake's entire body is convulsing with fear as the bitter taste of bile floods her mouth. "NO!" she screeches, pulling her knees up to her chest before kicking straight at the door with them. The door doesn't budge in the slightest. It's solid. "No, no, no…" she chants, as she struggles to bring her taped wrists up to her mouth to gnaw them free.

It takes a while for her to get her hands up to her mouth, thanks to the tape around her chest and arms. The tape stings as it's ripped off. But Blake doesn't care, ripping the rest of the tape off in much the same manner. When she's finally free, she crawls over to the crack of light coming in from under the door, her hands desperately groping along the smooth surface for the doorknob.

She doesn't find one. Instead, she finds the base of a doorknob. The actual knob has been removed. Screaming, she beats desperately at the door, rattling it loudly. It doesn't show any signs of opening. Surrendering, she slides to the ground, feebly wrapping her arms around her knees. She's locked in. There's no way out. Tears fill her eyes and run down her cheeks, but she doesn't even have the will to wipe them away.

"Calm down, Dean," Sam says, watching his older brother pace relentlessly across their small motel room. "I'm sure she's fine. You know she can take care of herself."

Dean gives a bitingly sardonic laugh, "'She can take care of herself?'" he repeats Sam, an edge of hysteria forcing its way into his voice. "Yeah, like I'm supposed to believe that!" he barks, raking a hand through his hair. "You know EXACTLY what kind of trouble she gets into EVERY time she's alone!"

Sam arches an eyebrow at Dean's tone, clearly not quite as worried as the older Winchester. "Jeez, Dean, if I had known better, I'd assume you were in love with her or something," he grumbles, turning back to his laptop, a little irritated with his brother's attitude.

Dean doesn't hear him or he pretends not to.

Wess watches the entirety of the commotion from his place on the floor, his chin perched despondently on top of his crossed paws. Blake has been gone for nearly a day now, and in that time, Wess hasn't shown even an inkling of interest in the food they tried to give him. They even went so far as to offer the canine the bacon off of Dean's burger earlier. With an unimpressed flick of his tail, Wess turned his head and completely snubbed the bacon. Sam tried to comfort him, but Wess snubbed him in much the same way he had snubbed the bacon. After that, they allowed him to be left alone.

Sam can hear Dean grit his teeth from all the way across the room, "I've leaving," he grunts, sweeping his jacket and keys off of the table as he stalks towards to door. Wess rises from his place on the floor and follows him.

Still locked in the luxurious hotel bathroom, Blake's entire body radiates with fear. Her eyes are wide open, but on account of the lack of light, she sees nothing. Her arms are wrapped tightly around herself in almost a straitjacket-like fashion, her blunt finger nails are dug into her sides so deeply that they're on the brink of drawing blood. She turned the light on earlier, but all that did was make the room seem even smaller. After a couple seconds of watching the walls contort and contract, squeezing in around her, she shut the lights off and wedged herself in between the toilet and bath tub. She has no idea how long she's been in there.

"We'll be back soon, okay, Blake?" Blake's mother, a thin woman with mousy brown hair pulled back into a perfect bun, says as she sets a list of numbers on the table. "If we take more than a day, call one of these numbers and someone will come get you."

Blake nods dutifully, her eyes filling with tears. "Okay, mommy… but why can't you or daddy stay with me? I don't want to say here alone," she whispers, staring up at her mother hopefully.

Blake's father, who had been packing a duffel bag with equipment, turns his narrowed eyes on the small girl, "Blake," he barks, causing her to flinch, "I thought I told you to be a big girl and stop whining."

Blake drops her eyes, staring at her Minnie Mouse shoes instead. They used to light up when she walked, but they didn't anymore. "Yes daddy," she mumbles.

Her mother sighs and smoothes a reluctant hand over Blake's hair. "It's not going to take that long, dear, we'll be back before you know it."

"Stop coddling her, Abigail, she'll grow up without a backbone," her father grumbles, heaving the duffel bag over his shoulder.

Her mother cuts her eyes at her father, narrowing them into a stern glare, "Roy!" she hisses, taking a threatening step towards him, but before she can get any closer he stomps heavily down the stairs of the RV, going to put their bag in the car. Sighing, her mother turns back to Blake. She taps the list once with a perfectly manicured nail. "Remember the numbers, Blake. We'll be back soon."

"NO!" Blake shrieks, clutching at her head. "Stop it!" In her desperation, she throws her head back into the tiled wall, causing a burst of colors to bloom in the otherwise dark room. "I don't want to remember that," she sobs, remembering the pain and fear of abandonment. Why hadn't her mother stuck up for her? Why didn't her father care that they were abandoning her? "Stop, stop, stop!" Blake commands, punctuating each word by slamming her head into the wall. Each time she does, fireworks erupt in the pitch black room. Tears fill her eyes and flood down her cheeks, causing her to scream and claw at her eyes.

But nothing she does stops the progression of the memory.

Blake's tiny six year-old body is plagued by sobs. She's curled up into her parents' blanket, trying to comfort herself. The list her mother left is crumbled up in one of her hands, the other holds the wireless phone. Several times already she's fully dialed one of the numbers, only to remember her mother's words. She was only supposed to call if they were gone for a day. They had only been gone for an hour at this point. Her mother and father would be upset if she called before she was supposed to.

Snot dribbles freely from her nose, she sobs and wipes it on her mother's favorite quilted comforter. Her head hurts. She sobs again and starts coughing, gagging with the force of the cough. She stumbles out of the cocoon of blankets, tripping hard and barely managing to catch herself from bouncing her face off the floor. Covering her mouth she pushes herself to her feet, she gags again, and claws at the door to the bathroom with a new urgency. Finally managing to rip it open, she dry-heaves over the toilet, streams of saliva falling from her mouth and dribbling onto the seat of the toilet. Breathing deeply, she rubs her arms and tries to calm herself down. She had nearly caused herself to vomit from crying so hard.

Breathing raggedly, she hiccups and wipes her face on the towel hanging next to the sink. Finally feeling calm enough, she puts the towel down and turns to open the door to the bathroom. It had swung closed on its own thanks to the spring pulling it closed at the top of the door. Her resolve crumbled, she was going to get the phone and call one of those numbers. She didn't care anymore if her mother got mad.

She just didn't want to be alone anymore.

Her trembling fingers clasp the handle to the door, but it won't budge. She yanks on the handle, pulling with all of her might, but it doesn't give in the slightest. Screaming she begins to bang on the door, tears bursting from her eyes. "Let me out!" she screeches, beating on the door with her fists. Why won't it open?

She gives up on the door and climbs onto the toilet, her fingers grasping the thin metal of the windowsill. She pulls herself up to the window, her arms trembling under her weight as she struggles to support herself on the slick toilet seat, which has splotches of saliva on it from earlier. She reaches for the latch to the tiny window, wondering if she can fit through it. Before she can try, her worn tennis shoe slips off of the toilet seat. Her body jerks and she hits her chin hard on the windowsill, her tongue getting caught between her teeth. She falls, hitting her head on the wall as she does.

Blake blinks blearily, staring up at the ceiling and wondering how she got there. Her neck's wet. Her tongue hurts. She rolls over and coughs, blood splattering the ground beneath her. She screams, nearly inhaling a mouthful of blood. Her hands fly up to her mouth, where blood mixes with saliva and dribbles out of her mouth onto the floor. Even after she covers her mouth, blood oozes steadily out of a cut on her chin, where she busted it open on the windowsill. Blake convulses with horror, the sight of so much blood terrifying her. "MO-" she inhales some of the blood, choking on it.

Coughing, she tries to stand up, but the floor is so slick with blood that she can't. Somehow she's able to grab the towel she wiped her face on earlier. She holds it to her chin and mouth, terrified tears streaking down her bloodied face.

Blake swallows thickly, tears still making tracks down her face. She knows her fear is irrational, but she can't help but give in to the bone-deep terror. She'd rather be dead than stuck in this bathroom. Who was that blonde woman and why did she hate Blake so much? Why is she stuck in this bathroom?

Blake sniffles pathetically and digs her fingernails into her forearms, trying to calm herself down and prevent any further… 'episodes.' Before she left, that blonde woman threatened to kill Dean, Sam and Wess. Blake has faith in them. After all, that woman's just human. They've faced things much tougher than her without a problem.

But so had Blake, and she still got taken down… by a mere human woman. Shame and indignation join the mix of turbulent emotions, Blake's head thumps against the wall. Her eyes clench shut, worry burns a hole in her stomach.

Dean, Sam and Wess are she has left. She doesn't know what she'll do without them.

Dean trudges back to the Impala, grumbling under his breath. He didn't know what to do anymore. He had retraced Blake's steps at the bar and questioned all of the patrons about what they had seen, but not a single one had anything important to say. He had almost punched the snot out of one of the bartenders.

"Oh, her!" the smug little douche exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "Yeah, I saw her. What of it?"

"Have you seen her since then? She's missing," Dean growled, his fingers clenching into a fist.

"It's only been a day, dude. You should chill," the douche sniffed, "besides, she left with some asshole. She's clearly not interested in you."

Dean scowled, his nose wrinkling in disgust. "You don't know anything," he snapped, refraining from curling his fingers around the man's neck. He wasn't exactly sure what had gotten him upset, that little asshole telling him to calm down, or telling him about how Blake left with someone that wasn't him.

The bartender shrugged, a nasty smirk appearing on his face at Dean's obvious distress. "That asshole she left with had girls all over him ALL night. He coulda left with anyone of them, but she beat them all off. Clearly, she knows what she wants in a man. And it ain't you. They were even stopped on the way to the door by some fine little blonde bitch. But your girl didn't bat an eye, dismissing her like it was nothing."

Dean takes a deep breath, reminding himself that the only reason Blake was with that guy was because of the hunt. She didn't want to be there. She SAVED those girls by not letting the incubus leave with one of them. She didn't want to be around the incubus, she had to. It was killing people. She's a hunter, she saves people. There are people everywhere that owe her their lives. This little asshole had no right to assume things about her.

"Your girl's fine, too, no doubt about it. But that little blonde one was hotter by a mile! I'd still chose the brunette though, she's got that attitude makes me wonder what she'd be like in bed. Kinky, I'd bet," he says, grinning lecherously.

Dean's hand shoots out, his fingers curling into the material of the bartender's shirt, dragging him partially across the bar, "Listen here, ya little pimply-faced piece of shit, you say one more word about her and you'll need plastic surgery when I'm done with you," he spits, pushing the bartender back after he finishes issuing his threat.

Dean didn't have time for this. He needed to find her.

Wess's frantic barking breaks Dean out of his thoughts. His head snaps up towards the sound, finding a small blonde woman approaching the Impala, where Wess was waiting for him. Dean picks up his pace, crossing the small packing lot in a couple strides. "What are you doing?" he demands, his eyes narrowing at her. Wess doesn't usually react that way to anyone. The canine looked like it was going to break the windows to get at the woman.

She turns to face Dean and holds her hands up innocently, "Sorry, I was just wondering if that dog was okay. I didn't know if the windows were cracked or not."

"Well, he's fine. So you can leave," Dean says harshly, watching her for any suspicious movements. There's something not right about this woman. Maybe he shouldn't let her go. At his intensified glare, she holds her hands up higher, as if to prove she's innocent, but instead, Dean catches a flash of metal under her jacket. Before she can blink, Dean has his gun out and aimed at her. "What's a little girl like you doing packing heat?" he asks, taking a couple steps closer to her.

"I'm not a little girl!" she yells, stomping her foot.

"Only little girls throw tantrums," Dean retorts.

Dean hears her sigh heavily. "Okay, you're right. Just let me put my gun on the ground, and you do the same," she says, slowly reaching to grab her gun. Her fingers wrap around the gun and she slowly pulls it out of the holster. She crouches and makes to put it on the ground, but just before she does, she whips the gun up and fires. The shot goes wide by an inch, narrowly missing Dean's ear. Not allowing her to recover, Dean charges her and tackles her to the ground. His hands wrap around her much smaller ones as her wrests the gun out of her hand. It's one of the expensive kinds with a built-in suppressor. The gun shot hadn't been that loud, even a dozen feet away.

Breathing hard, he presses the muzzle of the gun against the back of her head while his knees pin her arms to the ground. "What the hell was that?!" he asks, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He's used to being in danger, yes, but not usually from guns. It's usually from claws and teeth and things of that sort.

"A bullet," she snaps, struggling to escape him, "I'd assumed you were well-acquainted with them!"

"Don't get smart with me, lady," Dean grunts. "I meant, why the hell'd you shoot at me?"

"I don't know, Dean, why don't you think about that for a while!" she says, thrashing.

Dean pauses, his paranoia spiking. "Why do you know my name?" he asks, his voice dropping dangerously. He's never seen her before, at least he doesn't think he has, and her appearance so close to Blake's disappearance is extremely suspicious. Why'd she try to shoot him? Why was she so interested in Wess earlier? "Blake," he breathes, "where is she? Do you know where she is?"

The woman under him is completely silent. Dean stands up slowly, keeping his gun aimed on the blonde. He rolls her onto her back and hoists her up by the front of her shirt as if she was as light as a kitten. "Where is she?" Dean asks threateningly. He doesn't believe in harming women, but the smug look that crosses her face nearly makes him question that belief.

"Why should I know?" she asks, her lips curling into a smile. "I'm just a little girl, remember?"

"Make one move and I swear to everything holy that I'll shoot a hole in you," Dean says, slowly lowering her back to the ground. Her feet touch the ground, and while her smile doesn't waver, she stays stock still as Dean pats her down, checking for any more weapons. She's clean, so he drags her over to the Impala and opens the trunk with one hand, the other clasped around her wrists. He grabs a length of rope and expertly ties it around her wrists, giving it a couple harsh yanks to make she wouldn't be wiggling out of it.

"Hey!" she protests, "you can't do this! This is kidnapping!"

"Oh, be quiet. You have something to do with Blake's disappearance, and I'm pretty damn sure that was kidnapping too," Dean replies.

Shutting the trunk, he walks the crazy woman around to the backseat of the Impala, where Wess is waiting. "Wait," she cries, trying to jerk away from Dean, "you're going to put me in there?! With that mutt?!"she shrieks.

"He's not a mutt," Dean snaps, opening the door. Wess begins growling, his lips pulling away from his gleaming white fangs in a vicious snarl. "Just get in and quit your bitching. I don't want to hear it," Dean says, pushing her head down so she doesn't hit it on the frame of the Impala. If Wess bites her, then it serves her right.

Six year old Blake sits huddled in the corner of the RV bathroom. Her tiny white shirt, which used to have the image of a kitten wearing bunny ears on it, is now completely ruined with bloodstains. The blood has since oxidized and turned a disgusting rusty-brown. It's been two days since her parents left, and nearly two days since she's been stuck in the bathroom. The only thing keeping her alive at this moment is the water from the sink. She isn't sure why, but she still can't get the door open. She accidentally broke the handle off the day before while trying to force it open. She dreads what her parents will say once they find out she broke the bathroom door. Just thinking about it made her break into sobs of panic.

"Blake? Honey, are you in here?"

Blake bolts to her feet, "Mom? MOMMY?" she screams, her voice cracking painfully.

"Blake?! Where are you?!"

"Mom," Blake sobs, beating weakly on the bathroom door. The door's ripped open, but it's not her mother like she expected. It's her Aunt Amber. All the same, Blake collapses into her, bawling her eyes out.

"Oh my god! Blake, what happened? There's blood everywhere! Are you okay?!" Aunt Amber yells, trying to get Blake to loosen her hold so she can look at her.

"I broke the bathroom door!" Blake wails, crying too hard say anything else.

After that, Aunt Amber took Blake to the doctor where she got her first stitches, four of them in a neat little line at the bottom of her chin. Blake didn't see her parents for a long time after that; Aunt Amber refused to let her go back until they apologized for leaving her alone.

They never did.

Blake eventually went back to them when she turned 10. Aunt Amber had died in a car wreck.

"Dean, you… you kidnapped a girl?!" Sam yells, raking his hands through his hair. "I can't believe you! Of all the stupid things to do and you KIDNAP SOMEONE?!"

"Please," the blonde woman cries, tears dripping down her face, "just let me go! I promise I don't know anything about that girl! I've never seen her before! I just want to go home!"

Dean glares at her, "You're laying it on a little thick there, blondie. I don't believe you for a second," he hisses, pointing at her threateningly.

"Dean!" Sam snaps, pulling Dean away from her. "That's enough! Why don't you just let her go, she obviously has no idea what's going on!"

"She almost SHOT me!" Dean accuses, gesturing to her wildly. Upon Sam's confused look, he realizes in the midst of their fighting, he never got a chance to tell Sam what happened. He breathes in deeply and tries to collect his thoughts, regaling to Sam the entire episode after he threatened the bartender.

"Okay…" Sam says, slowly absorbing Dean's story, "you think she's the blonde woman who tried to stop Blake from leaving with the incubus, is that right?" Dean nods at this. "And you say that she went up to the Impala to look at Wess and when you stopped her, she tried to shoot you, also correct?" Dean nods again. "And after that you restrained her and tossed her in the back of the Impala?"

"She knew my name, Sam! She was taunting me," Dean exclaims, not happy with Sam's lack of reaction.

Sam turns his gaze on the girl, "Is that true?" he asks.

She sniffles, wiggling pathetically, "I don't know what he's talking about, I just want to go home. I'm sorry about your friend, but I don't have anything to do with that. You have to believe me," she pleads, her eyes wet with tears.

Sam sighs, "Even if she does know where Blake is, there's no way to tell. She's not going to tell us anything and we can't hurt her."

Dean gives a strangled yell of frustration, stomping over to the door and flinging it open. He stops dead two steps out of the room as a thought occurs to him. "Josh," he mumbles, turning to look at Sam. "Josh will know."

"Why do you think that?" Sam asks warily.

"She was going to stop the incubus and Blake from leaving. There's a chance she knew the incubus before that… and if anyone would know, it's Josh," Dean says, coming back inside only to grab his keys. "We don't have his number, do we?" he asks. He already knows the answer, but it's good to check.

"No, we didn't get his number," Sam says, but Dean's already halfway to the Impala, ready to embark on a two hour drive just to ask a question.

Sam's phone rings nearly three hours after Dean had left. "Hello?"

"Sam," Dean's voice greets him. Sam can tell immediately that Dean didn't find what he was looking for. "He's not here."

Sam sighs slowly, "The girl you kidnapped hasn't said anything else, either."

"I don't know what to do, Sam. Blake could be dead. She could be dying right now and there's nothing I can do about it."

Sam frowns, staring at the captive woman once more. She glares at him and turns her head stiffly to the side. "I don't know either, Dean. But I'm sure she's still alive. This is Blake we're talking about. Yeah, she gets into a ton of trouble, but she knows how to stick it out. She'll be okay."

Dean exhales heavily, as if the weight of the world's on his shoulders. "I hope you're right, Sam."

Sam hangs up and runs a hand through his hair. He's worried for Blake too, though he doesn't quite show it in the same way as Dean.

"She's going to starve to death before you two idiots find her," the blonde says primly, looking Sam right in the eye.

"What did you say?" Sam asks quietly, rising to his feet and making his way towards her.

Her eyes widen at Sam's approach and she throws her against the ropes to get away from him. "Nothing!" she yells, falling out of the chair and using her feet to slide herself along to ground. Sam's eyes narrow, catching a flash of yellow-gold plastic from one of her jeans pockets. He kneels in front of her and pulls the card from her pocket, despite her yelling for him to leave it alone.

It's a credit card.

Sam laughs, "Addison Belington, huh?" he says, reading the name on the credit card. "What else do you have in your pockets?" he asks, not expecting to get an answer. He pulls her to her feet and checks her front pockets, keeping a firm grip on her upper arm.

"This is molestation!" Addison screeches indignantly as Sam's hand slides into her back pocket.

"Sorry," Sam says drily, retrieving another card from her back pocket. This one's the key to a hotel.

Addison's face contorts in rage, "NO!" she shrieks, lunging at Sam, even though her hands are tied behind her back. "She has to suffer for what she's done to me! I wanted her to feel the same pain I felt as I watched her kill him!" she wails, dissolving into sobs.

"What are you talking about?!" Sam asks, trying to restrain the crying woman.

"He loved me!" she screams hysterically. "He loved me and I know it!" Her teeth sink into the muscle on Sam's forearm, breaking the skin.

"Augh!" Sam yelps, trying to get her to let go of him. "Stop biting me!" he yells. But she stubbornly holds on, even as Sam's blood begins to pour inside her mouth. Wincing, he slides his hand underneath her jaw and presses the pressure points on each side of her jaw with his pointer finger and thumb. This forces her to let go. "You're crazy!" he exclaims as her teeth click on empty air after trying to bite him again. All while avoiding her teeth, he throws her on the bed and un-tucks the covers, rolling her up in them burrito-style. Breathing heavily, Sam picks up his phone off the nightstand.

"Dean? I think I know where Blake is."

Blake's head dips tiredly, touching her knees briefly before she jerks awake and pulls her head back up. She's in the same place she's been nearly this whole time; wedged between the toilet and bathtub. That's where she feels the safest. She likes that she can feel the cool porcelain of the bathtub on one side, the curved bowl of the toilet on the other, and the tiled wall—smeared with her blood from her earlier panic attack—at her back. In the dark, she can pretend that the room is bigger than it actually is.

Blake's head jerks up at the sound of the door to the hotel room opening. She can hear people coming in, muttering amongst themselves. Ignoring the clawing sense of dread, she crawls out of her spot and uses the counter to pull herself to her feet. If they're here for her, they have another thing coming. Her fingers slide along the counter, feeling for anything solid. Eventually her fingers stumble upon a dish sitting in the corner. It has what feels like a wrapped bar of soap sitting on it. Dumping the soap out, she grasps the dish tightly and waits.

"She's in the bathroom," the blonde woman from earlier says. Blake hears a low grumble in return. "I don't know why the lights are off! Maybe she's sleeping," the woman yells angrily.

Blake places herself just in front of the door, holding her soap-dish high in the air. When the door opens, the person on the other side is going to get one hell of a surprise. The door handle turns slowly, and the door begins to creak open.

"Blake?" Dean's voice entreats her. The soap-dish slips from her fingers and crashes to the floor, shattering on impact. "BLAKE!" The light snaps on and it blinds Blake for a second. All she can do is stumble forward into Dean, clinging to him for dear life and crying into his chest.

Dean stumbles backwards, shocked at her embrace as well as her appearance. She has claw-marks gouged into her face, her lips are busted and swollen, there's a huge knot on her temple that stretches to black one of her eyes, and her hair is matted with blood. He turns his eyes on Addison, hatred curling his features, "What did you do to her?" he seethes, fury rolling off of him in palpable waves.

Addison, to her credit, looks just as shocked as Dean did when he first saw her. "I didn't do that!" she yelps, backing away as far as she can, which isn't very far thanks to Sam's hold on her.

Dean wraps his arms protectively around Blake, "Don't lie to me!" he snarls, looking like he'd give anything to hurt Addison, but Blake anchors him in place.

Coming down from her hysterical tears, Blake pulls away just far enough to wipe her eyes. "Sh-She didn't," she confirms. But then she remembers having the bat smashed upside her head and then busted in the mouth with it. "W-Well, not everything," she mumbles, her tears stinging the scratches on her face.

Sam steps forward suddenly, "Claustrophobia," he blurts, looking like he just experienced an epiphany, "you suffer from claustrophobia. That's why you force us to keep the windows down while you're in the backseat of them Impala and… and why you never shut the bathroom door."

Blake's eyes dart away from Sam's, shame causing her cheeks to light on fire. Her refusal to look either of them in the eyes is answer enough.

"Why didn't you tell us, Blake..?" Sam asks softly.

Blake masterfully avoids his gaze and takes a step away from Dean. "Because it's… it's stupid and childish," she spits. "I shouldn't be afraid to sh-shut the damn door every time I piss!" More tears jump to her eyes, but she grinds them away with the heels of palms. She gives a shuttering breath, "It's—It's pathetic."

"It's not pathetic," Dean mumbles. "It's something that seriously bothers you, Sam and I would've understood." The way he's looking at her, so sincerely and… tenderly, makes her uncomfortable.

"Ju-Just drop it!" Blake mutters, backing away from him. She isn't sure what to think of this side of Dean, the one where he's still too concerned to start lecturing her. "I'm more worried about what we're going to do with her," she says, pointing at Addison to try and divert the attention away from herself.

Sam shrugs, frowning thoughtfully. "Nothing," he says simply.

"What?" Blake asks quietly, unable to stop the sting of betrayal that comes with his words. "Nothing? We aren't going to do anything to her?"

Sam sighs and shakes his head, "She did a really bad thing to you, Blake. I know, and I'm sorry… but she was being lied to. The incubus had her brainwashed into believing he loved her. He was using her money to lure in more victims. After we told her what he had been doing, she brought us to you."

At his words, Addison stiffened and turned away stubbornly, tears leaking down her face. "I still hate you," she hisses.

Blake sighs, leaning against the wall and sinking into a sitting position. "I don't care," she mutters, her head in her hands, "I just don't care. I want to go home. Where's Wess?"

"Wess is in the car," Sam says.

"Okay, then let's go to the car," Blake says, struggling to her feet. Now that all of her adrenaline's gone, it's harder to get her legs to work. She stumbles and lands heavily on her knees. Dean holds out a hand to help her, but her face burns in indignation and she ignores it, forcing herself to her feet without his help. She wants to ignore the fact that he still has tearstains on his jacket on account of her. She wants to ignore how badly she wants to collapse into his arms again. She wants to ignore the feeling of overwhelming helplessness and embarrassment.

But she can't. The longer she's around him, the less self-sufficient she becomes.

And when he leaves, when he gets tired of hauling her around with him and Sam… she'll have to re-learn how to do everything by herself. And she isn't sure if she can take that.

A/N: So I hope you enjoyed and I apologize once more for the delay! Please leave a review and tell me what you thought about the chapter! It makes me happier than you know. :)