Jemma Winchester One Shots

She's Just Growing Up

Hello all.

I'm not sure if I'll be able to update this story or Losing May next week. I'm on vacation right now and yesterday one of my best friend's mother passed away.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1495

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DEAN

I groan and roll out of bed, but wake up more when I smell bacon. Who's making bacon? Mom? Sam? I pull a t-shirt over my head and walk to the kitchen to investigate.

It's not Mom or Sam making bacon, but Jemma. That's odd. She always waits for someone else to make breakfast before getting out of bed.

"Hey, Dad," Jemma greets as she looks over her shoulder at me.

"Hey, Sunshine. Whatcha doing?"

"Scuba diving. What's it look like?"

"Well someone's sassy this morning. I meant, why are you making breakfast when you usually let me make it?"

Jemma shrugs. "I was hungry and didn't want to wait."

"You could've woken me up."

"Dad, you would've thrown a fit. Besides, I can do it myself."

"Why don't you let me do it?"

"I got it, Dad," Jemma insists, her voice growing more annoyed.

"I don't want you to burn yourself."

"I am perfectly capable of making bacon without burning myself, thank you very much."

I accept defeat and sit down at the table. Did something happen? Did I do something? I don't know. What I do know is my daughter is acting weird, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it.

~

JEMMA

Dad's been acting weird today. He keeps getting all freaked out when I do something I don't normally do.

We're in the Impala now, on our way to the grocery store.

"Are you okay?" Dad asks

I give him a puzzled look. "Yeah, why?"

"You're just not very chatty today."

I shrug. "I don't have much to say."

Dad sighs. "Okay."

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out. It's a text from Raine.

Raine:
Saw two little girls give each other friendship bracelets. Reminded me of us. Miss you❤️

I smile.

Me:
That's so cute. Miss you a lot too❤️

"Who are you texting?" Dad asks.

"Raine," I reply.

"What did she say?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Not a word?"

"Well, she said something."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing, Dad." I'm getting annoyed now. It's none of his business.

"Come on, Jemma, just tell me."

"She said she missed me, okay? Are you satisfied now?" I snap.

Dad shifts his jaw back and forth, which he does when he's mad. But the look he gives me isn't one of anger, but of sadness. "Yes," he answers.