(~~{ 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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By the next morning, Blake had gotten acquainted with her uncle. While her father got out for gas, Sam sat half out the car going through a box of tapes, a box of tapes she wasn't aloud to touch.
"Hey, want breakfast?" Her dad called out as he came back, he went over to the window and handed Blake a granola bar and a bag of chips, along with a water. She took them gratefully and opened the granola bar first.
Her uncle denied. "So how'd you pay for that stuff? You and Dad still running credit card scams?"
"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro ball career. Besides, all we do is apply, it's not our fault they send us the cards."
"Yeah? And what names did you write on the application this time?" Sam asked as Dean got back into the car. He turned to check on Blake and he smiled in content as she sat there munching on her chips.
"Uh, Burt Aframian and his son Hector. Scored two cards out of the deal." Dean said and shut his door.
"Sounds about right. I swear, man. You gotta update your cassette tape collection."
"Why?"
"Ah..." Blake said from the back, both Sam and Dean turned to face her, but then conversation. If Blake knew her father, and she'd like to think she knew him pretty well, even if she was only six, she knew that he didn't like anyone questioning his music taste. She made that mistake once and only once.
"Well, for one, they're cassette tapes." Sam said anyway, "and two, Black Sabbath, Motörhead, Metallica. It's the greatest hits of the mullet rock."
"Blake loves Metallica." Dean said and placed the cassette in the player.
Sam turned to face her, the girl shook her head, "no, I don't." She said
"Whatever. House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole."
The car started up and the music began to play; Blake sighed and moved to rest her head against the window.
"You know, "Sammy" is a chubby 12-year-old. It's Sam, okay?"
"Sorry, I can't hear you. The musics's too loud." Dean said and turned it up louder. Blake rolled her eyes and moved so that she could whisper in Sam's ear, "He does that when he doesn't want to talk anymore." She said, knowing from experience.
Sam smiled and turned to face her, "I'll keep that in mind." He told her.
🧸
"All right, so there's no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue. So that's something, I guess." Blake's Uncle Sam said.
Blake sat in the back, she had a book open on her lap and a granola bar in her hand. She was wrapped up in a small blanket and her stuffed dog sat beside her. The very stuffed do her father had gotten her the day she was born. She's never gone anywhere without it; if she did, all hell broke loose.
