Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: maybe Dean/OC
Rating: T (for alcohol consumption)
Warnings: none
Note: So this is a fic I've had saved for years, but I never wanted to publish because it was meant to be an actual fic, but it's a one-shot now. I'd love to hear what you all think. I may post random fics here and there, but I don't know when that will be.
The faint smell of whiskey was the first thing that filled his nostrils as he made his way down the steps and into the map room. The bunker was dark. Dust particles flying around here and there. It seemed as though no one had lived here for years. But he knew that wasn't true. They had been living there for over a year now. Without him, but still living there. It made no sense. The lights were always on, even when they were gone. You could always hear the soft sound of Sam's fingers hitting the keyboard on his laptop or Jenna's music playing somewhere in the bunker. No, not the bunker, their home. But not today. Something was wrong. Everything had been wrong since a year ago, but this was different.
He slowly made his way through the hallways, gun raised. No Sam. No Jenna. Nowhere in sight. He went into every room possible, but nothing. That was until he heard the faint sounds of soft singing. And crying? He followed it to a door at the very back of the bunker, the spare room they had kept Sam in when he was going— he didn't want to relive that again. The closer he got, the easier it became to distinguish the sounds. It was someone crying, a woman. And the song playing in the background, country? Hey there mister Tin Man, I'm glad we talked this out….He knew that song all too well.
Jenna. He thought to himself.
"Jenna?" he called out softly as he slowly opened the door, gun still raised. He called her name again, this time tucking his gun back into his pants. What he saw broke his heart more than he cared to admit. It was Jenna in that room, only it didn't look much like Jenna. The person in that room was sickly thin and pale, lying face down on the floor with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and an old book in another, sobbing softly. As he took in the sight of the room he saw empty bottles of whiskey scattered on the floor, pages ripped out of books everywhere, maps and newspaper clippings on the walls, and angel and demon traps on every visible surface.
"Jenna, sweetheart." He said on the verge of tears
"Dean?" came her low and hoarse voice, as if she hadn't spoken in a long time. She hiccuped and got up, slowly, and faced the wall.
Her name escaped his lips once again, a mere whisper this time. She looked up expressionless.
"HA!" she suddenly exclaimed, "Nice one! Fucking hallucinating now Jenna!" She laughed out loud, dropping the book and bringing her hand to her head. "Fucking hell Jenna." She closed her eyes and started crying again, "you gotta…keep… it…together girl…you'll never… never bring him back this way," she whispered to herself between soft sobs.
Dean stepped further into the room, came up behind her and gently hugged her, "It's me, Jenna. I'm really here."
"No. No. This is just some Grey's Anatomy shit." she said more to herself than to Dean. "I'm fucking delusional!" she laughed out loud again, "fucking hell…"
He turned her around gently, cupping her face between his hand once he had done so.
"No Jen. It's me. I don't know how, but I'm here again." He hugged her tightly.
Jenna just stared at him, not knowing what to say or do, still trying to process what was happening. Her brain was still foggy from all the drinking, but deep down she knew this wasn't a hallucination. Dean really was back and holding her in his embrace. His name escaped her lips, almost like a soft prayer, wishing that this was all real and she wouldn't wake up to an empty bunker anymore. But it was too much. The alcohol, the crying, the lack of sleep, and now Dean. She pulled away to look at his face. She smiled at him, her eyes lost focus, and she went limp.