Jemma Winchester One Shots

Everyone Needs Help Sometimes

Wooooo one more day of school then finals

So this chapter is told from Dean's POV and it's short but sweet

Warnings: mentions of child abuse and abusive parent

Word count: 1263

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DEAN

Something's up with Jemma. She's been... off the past few weeks. It all started when Sam and I got home from a hunt that took a lot longer than we thought it would; we ended up being gone for two weeks. She was by herself the whole time.

We left for another hunt two days after that, and were gone for a week and a half.

Jemma's been distant. She doesn't come out of her room very much, she doesn't talk to me or Sam, she barely gets out of bed... I know something's wrong.

I knock on her bedroom door softly. "Jemma? Can I come in?"

A hoarse "Yes" emits from the other side of the door, and I walk in. She's still lying in bed in her pajamas, even though it's well past noon. She doesn't look at me, just picks at a loose thread on her comforter as I sit down beside her.

"You gonna get out of bed today?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I don't know."

"Hey." Jemma doesn't react or look at me as I brush her hair away from her face. "Sunshine, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"Pumpkin, I know that's not true. I'm your dad, I know when something's up with you."

She doesn't respond.

"Jemma—"

"If you knew my mom was pregnant, would you have stayed with her?"

Her question catches me completely off-guard. "What? Where did that come from?"

She shrugs. "It's just a question."

"Questions like that don't just come out of nowhere."

"Well, would you have stayed if you knew?"

"Jemma, talk to me, baby girl. What's going on?"

She finally rolls over to face me, and her eyes are glassy with tears. She swallows thickly before speaking. "I just... I hate being away from you and Uncle Sam for so long." Tears roll down her cheeks. "It's just hard to be alone for that long and not think about... things like that."

Wordlessly, I pull my daughter against my chest and let her cry. "What do you mean by 'things like that'?" I ask.

"M-My mom," she says tearfully. "Why she, she..."

"Baby girl..." I run my hand through her hair, trying to get her to calm down, but she continues to cry into my shirt. "That was never your fault."

"You don't know, Dad. You don't know what she did to me." Jemma cries harder. "She used to—to throw things at me and humiliate me and leave me alone for weeks at a time."

My own tears form in my eyes. It's horrible to think about those things happening to my daughter. "Jemma, I know I can't understand what you've been through, but it's over. She's gone."

"I still get nightmares sometimes," she confesses. "About her. What she did to me."

A tear escapes my eye. "Sunshine, why don't you say anything?"