² Deception - Dean Winchester

Forty-Six

Jenny stared at Madison's body, watching blood trickled between her lips. She lowered her gun, taking in a shaky breath.

She looked to the bedroom, Sam poking his head out and staring at Madison's body with streaks of tears gleaming his face. He flashed his eyes to Jenny, who looked away, her heart tugging itself as she did so.

Dean walked out of the room, trying not to look at the dead woman's body as he gently grabbed Jenny's arm. "Wake up."

Jenny shot up from her bed, breathing heavily. She turned to Dean, sleeping peacefully next to her. Sam was in the other bed, tossing himself onto his stomach.

Quietly, Jenny got out of the bed, til-toeing her way to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She looked down at her bare legs, one of them being wrapped in gauze, a small line of blood poking through.

She looked to the mirror, frowning and wiping away the tears that had dried on her face. She couldn't understand why she was crying over someone she had known for a few days, a woman she had hated for a majority of the time she spent around her. Maybe it was because Sam had quickly grown a liking to Madison, or maybe it was the guilt. Maybe it was the relief that she was able to get over her fear of werewolves.

No. She was still shaky around them. In their true form, at least.

Jenny opened the cabinet under the sink, which was completely empty, save for a single bottle of vodka in the corner. She popped the cap open, looking at herself in the mirror again before taking a few large gulps of the bitter drink.

She sat down in the lid of the toilet, staring at the wall ahead of her as she replayed the last few moments in Madison's apartment. She hated that she was the one that killed her. Madison easily could have done it herself instead of putting that kind of guilt on Jenny's conscience.

She didn't feel guilty for killing Madison. She felt guilty for the way she treated her. For how she treated Sam when he wanted to try and save Madison. Cold. Heartless, maybe.

Jenny looked down at the gauze, whimpering in pain as she ripped it off rather than being gentle like she usually was. She grabbed one of the washcloths, soaking it in vodka before sticking it to her wound. She shut her eyes tightly at the pain, pressing her lips together to stifle a loud noise that could wake Sam or Dean.

She kept pressing the cloth to the wound, sinking the pain in deeper as if it would get rid of the other emotions she was feeling.

After a moment the pain eventually went away, and Jenny took another large swig of the bottle, taking a fresh wrap from the sink's counter and wrapped her leg up. She kept drinking until the bottle was near empty, every moment now passing by in a blacked out blur.

Jenny attempted to stand up, only collapsing to the ground with a large thud. It had startled Dean awake, walking over to the bathroom and knocked softly.

"Jen? You alright?"

"I... am fine." She slurred out, attempting to stand up again, only to slid into the bathtub. Dean opened the door, a worried look in his face as he glanced around, spotting Jenny and the bottle of vodka in her hand.

"Jen..." He shut the door behind him, kneeling next to her as she pressed her back to the bathtub. He rubbed her arm, watching her glossy eyes as they stared at her knees.

"Why I... I just feel so bad? It's... It's not like-" Jenny's lips moved in an unnatural way, confusing her. She propped her arm on the toilet, resting her head on her shoulder. "It's not like... like it was a different kind of... kind of case."

Dean was quiet, taking the bottle from Jenny and set it aside, shuffling next to her as she then leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Sam ... hates me. I'd hate me." She mumbled. Dean tsked, shaking his head.