Snapshots: "Daughter"
Written from John Winchester's point of view
Ok, so I let her put her feet up on the dash now and then. It's not really doing any harm. I mean she is a girl, after all – she gets dressed up on the occasional day off, she pulls all-nighters with Jo to blow off some steam, she paints her nails even if they just end up being chipped and covered in blood or car oil by the end of the day.
But Tori is a damn good hunter; she's got the natural talent her dad had. She's focused and she plays a hard game. We've come across plenty of hunters who don't think a girl can get the job done, and she leaves them all in the dust. She can be classy and soft-spoken, but don't get ahead of yourself and think that if you stand firm, she'll back down. She'll play that hand too and suddenly you'll realize that she got what she wanted anyway.
I guess she gets away with it because she reminds me of Mary. Although I admit that to myself as little as possible. She's like the daughter I didn't know I wanted. I let her scold me when we're alone: tell me to eat something decent, get some sleep, put that drink down; you need another drink like you need a hole in your head. It's nice to have someone around who snaps at me because she cares – like Mary would. She makes me smile when I think I've long forgotten how. For the most part, she lets me take the lead on hunts, unless she really thinks she's got the better plan and then she'll let me know, no bones about it. First time she did that in front of another hunter, I blew up at her…and under my plan, we barely made it out alive. We never really talked about it, but from there on in, I listened to her advice. The kid is uncanny – it's like she can read more into a hunt than even I can.
Don't know what I'll do when the boys catch up. I mean, I'm proud of Tori, she's like my daughter. But I've never let my boys tell me what's what. I guess I'll have to tell her the honeymoon is over and pack in the attitude. Right. Like that's going to work. Well, give her some credit, I'm pretty sure Ellen has told her what's coming; she may surprise me. Heaven knows she's done it before.
"Hey, old man. Pull over; my turn to drive," the back of her hand lightly hits my shoulder.
"I feel fine," I answer.
"Didn't ask if you feel fine. I said it's my turn to drive. I'm not going to let you go until you do get tired and wrap us both around a tree."
I just smiled to myself and pulled the truck over.