The Secret of Henley Winchester || Dean's Daughter (Supernatural)

Chapter 8: Invites and Confessions (Of Sorts)

Voices floated in and out of Henley's ear, as she began to come to her senses. Her eyes were still shut tight, but that didn't stop her from hearing the motel door slam, and feel her bed dip down. Her eyes fluttered open as she noticed Dean sitting on the edge of her bed. Henley tried to open her mouth, but nothing came out. She cleared her throat, and Dean startled, before looking over at her. He gave her a tight lipped smile, before getting up, and coming back with a glass of water. He helped her sit up, tilting the water slowly down her throat.

"Thanks," Henley whispered hoarsely, mouth still a little dry, nestling back into the sheets.

"Yeah, no problem." Dean stated, sparing her a quick glance, before his gaze fell upon the motel door.

"Where's Sam?" she questioned. She really hoped she didn't jeopardize his and Dean's relationship, because she was stupid enough not to tell them about her wound when they first regrouped.

"He went out to get some more bandages, and food. He'll be back soon." It was the simplest answer, yet their was so much weight behind it. He patted her leg awkwardly, before making it halfway across the room and turning around. A puzzled expression befell him, as he came back over to her bed. This time sitting a little closer. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" He asks, shooting her a sad smile. The tone in the room shifted drastically in that moment. Henley could practically feel genuine emotion rolling off Dean in waves.

"Sure." She leaned up against the headboard, and began braiding and unbraiding a strand of hair. Dean coughed, before resting his arms on his knees, and turning his head to look at her.

"I want to know how you got those three long scars on your stomach." Dean asked, his face gravely serious, yet also worried as if the answer might trouble him.

"How did you—"

"I had to stitch you up kid, and those scars run all the way diagonally across your stomach. You couldn't miss them even if you tried." Henley hung her head for a moment, gaining her composure.

"Well..." she felt as if her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth, and couldn't form words. She'd never told anyone about this before, and quite frankly she wish she'd never have to relive it in any way, shape or form. But this was her dad, and it would probably be healthy to talk about it with someone. "...it happened about four months ago. I was in New Orleans, Louisiana, hunting down something that ripped people to shreds, consuming their hearts. I had never seen a werewolf before, though I knew they were real, and figured it wouldn't be that hard to find the animal and kill it. Well, I was wrong. Oh, so very wrong." Henley paused, grabbing her water off the nightstand, and taking a big gulp, trying to compose her thoughts before continuing. "Right," she continued, "so, I began investigating, trying to find a connection with the victims to the places they were killed and the people they knew. After questioning the people the victims knew and a ton of research, I found out who the werewolf was and how to kill it." She leaned back against the headboard, glancing up at the ceiling, then looking back at Dean. His face displayed no emotion, as if he was just listening to static. "So, I went on a stake out, near the werewolf's house, and when he came out transformed, I ran straight for him, thinking it wouldn't be that big of a deal. So, to sum it up, he clawed the hell out of me, and I just barely managed to kill him, almost getting myself killed in the process. Then I went back to my motel, and stitched myself up. It hurt like Hell." She watched Dean try and wrap his head around her stupid actions, get up, and run a hand through his hair.

"You could of died. How could you be so stupid to think you could take on a werewolf by yourself? Twice!" Henley winced at his harsh tone, slinking down further into the bed.

"Sorry, I, it's that...you're just a kid." Dean sunk down on the bed, folding his hands, and bringing them up to his mouth, letting out a heavy breath. Henley rolled her eyes at his statement.