(~~{ 1---3}~~)
Blake Winchester wasn't like her father or uncle. She wasn't strong, she wasn't one to go straight to violence.
She was soft, she was sweet, she was shy, she was, sometimes, clumsy.
Follow Blake as she learns that she had to be mor...
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"Okay, no, put your foot there...okay. Now put your hands on the wheel."
Blake sighed. Her hand gripped the leather wheel of the Impala tightly. At ten and two, like her father had told her. Her feet had barely reached the petal. So she was already having slight difficulty there.
It was early in the morning when her father had woke her up and dragged her out to the car. Barely awake and definitely confused, Blake had asked why they were there in the first place, and, much to her dismay, his reply was simply, "Humour me."
So, reluctantly, she did and when she was put in the front seat, she had an vague idea on what was going on.
"Good. Now press—"
Without letting him finish, Blake stepped on the gas, the car jerked forward, and came to a harsh stop once she removed her foot.
With a look, Dean turned to face her, "I was going to say, press lightly..." shifting in his seat, he nodded to her. "Try again." He said.
Blake turned to face her father, "Do I hav—"
"Come on." He said, gesturing to the wheel.
With a huff, she placed her hands back on the wheel. And as lightly as she could, her foot pushed the petal and to her own surprise, slowly but surly, they were moving in the empty parking lot.
"Hey, you got it." Dean boasted, watching proudly as he daughter drove a little zig-zaggy. Any other time, Blake would be filled with glee that she was getting it; but unfortunately, the feeling in her gut told her it it wasn't the time.
After a few more minutes, Blake took her foot off the gas and leaned back in her seat. A silence hung in the shared air and figuring that now was as good as time as ever, Dean took a small deep breath and looked over to Blake.
"You'll be fine." He says. His voice slightly low as he then turned his head and looked out the front window. Both of them each avoided each other's gaze.
"What—"
"Without me. You'll be fine."
Closing her eyes, she shook her head. "Dad—don't...please.."
The eight year old had heard this speech more than any eight year old should. More than any one should, really. But, with their line of work, and reputation, for the Winchester's, they seemed to come face to face with death more than most probably should.
And sadly, Blake had gotten used to it.
She didn't want to be fine without him. Her father. The person she's been with most of her life, he was one of the only people that understood her. That really got her.
