Estelle is the daughter of Dean Winchester. Well, not really. Estelle is the daughter of Lisa, the adoptive daughter of Dean. Estelle's father was killed when she was seven and camping with him. Now, six years later, she lives with her mom and half...
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"But Uncle Sam, I don't want to go to bed," I whined, crossing my arms.
"No, but you need to. You're acting like a five-year-old," Sam laughed at me, standing up from his computer. "Do I need to call Dean?" I pouted, dropping my arms to my side.
"No," I sighed. "Can I stay up a little longer?"
"No, it's already eleven. Dean said you'd already be grumpy tomorrow because of how late it is. Now, get in bed. I'll tuck you in," Sam said and I obeyed.
"I'm not a child. I don't need you to tuck me in," I told him, pulling the covers over my body. He ignored me and tucked the sheets around my body.
"Get some sleep, sweetheart." Sam leaned down, kissing my forehead.
"Uncle Sam?"
"Yeah, Elle?"
"Can we have pancakes for breakfast? With extra syrup?" I asked hopefully.
"Sure, Elle," Sam chuckled.
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The next morning, I felt myself being shaken awake by my dad. I groaned, looking up at him with tired eyes. "Yes?'
"Come on, we've got to go. There's been another murder," Dean told me.
"Wha- but Uncle Sam said I could have pancakes for breakfast," I complained, throwing the sheet off of me.
"We'll pick some up after we check this out," Dean told me.
"Uhm, I'd rather not look at a dead body than eat," I said, grabbing a black sleek dress and black heels.
"Why don't you wear your skirt instead?" Dean asked, but it came out more as a suggestion.
"Why?" I asked, confused.
"Because that dress shows off a little too much of your, uh, body," Dean said, looking a little awkward. I rolled my eyes at him.
"My skirt is dirty," I explained, walking to the bathroom to change before Dean could get another word in.
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A few hours later we were inside an office, in the department of anthropology. I still had no pancakes, which upset me. Instead, I was running off a bag of chips and a protein bar.
"Fascinating. Truly," Professor Morrison said, looking at the symbols that we had printed out for him. "And actually, rather accomplished draftsmanship."
"Yeah, if you get past the fact that it was carved into a guy's body," Dean replied.
"Professor Morrison we were hoping you can tell us what the symbol means," Sam explained as Dean came over and stood next to the chair I was sitting in.
