Jemma Winchester One Shots

Kidnapped

Y'all it has been one hell of a week so have some little Jemma. Also, happy LGBT+ pride month

Warnings: kidnapping, heights, mention of blood and injury

Word count: 2551

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August 24, 2009
10:51 am

Dean was sitting in the kitchen reading the newspaper. He glanced up every few minutes to check on his daughter, who sat in the living room, watching cartoons. He could only see her feet swishing through the air. He couldn't help but smile when she giggled.

Dean returned to his paper, grateful for the rare quiet in Bobby's house. Bobby was out working on a car, and Sam went grocery shopping.

The quiet morning was soon interrupted as Dean heard Jemma sniffle. He had been a father long enough to tell the difference between crying sniffles and runny nose sniffles, and these were crying sniffles. Before Dean could say anything, Jemma jumped off the couch and ran to Dean, bursting into tears.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?" Dean asked, lifting her into his lap.

"The, the, the—" Jemma broke off into a fit of tears. Dean rubbed her back as she cried into his chest. "The doggies!" She pointed to the TV.

Dean stood, Jemma still in his arms, and walked to the living room, not understanding why she was crying.

Oh. It was one of those commercials that showed abused dogs and cats and asked for donations. That would definitely make Jemma cry.

"Jemma, baby girl, it's just a commercial," Dean soothed. "All those cats and dogs are okay now. They're happy and healthy."

"B-But there's still more!" Jemma blubbered.

"I know, Sunshine. I know it's sad."

"I don't like it, Daddy."

"I know, baby girl. It's hard to watch. Hey, do you want to go see if Bobby needs any help?"

"Y-Yeah."

"Alright."

Dean carried Jemma outside to the car with its hood popped up. Bobby was leaned over it, inspecting something inside. He looked up as Dean and Jemma approached.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Bobby asked.

"We're here to help," Dean answered. "Right, Jemma?"

"Right!"

Bobby smiled. "Alright, you can help."

Dean set Jemma down on the ground; she immediately skipped over to Bobby and peered over the hood of the car, standing on her toes. "What can I do?" she asked.

"You can hand me that Phillips-head screwdriver."

Dean watched as Jemma kneeled down next to Bobby's toolbox. She examined the tools inside before producing two screwdrivers: one Phillips-head, one flathead. She stared between the both of them for a solid ten seconds before dropping the flathead screwdriver into the toolbox.

"This one," she announced proudly and handed the screwdriver to Bobby.

"Good job, sweetheart. Dean, you wanna help me over here?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

Jemma had become too preoccupied with exploring the junk yard to help Dean and Bobby.

"Jemma, stay close," Dean warned her.

"Okay."