From The Mind Of Jemma Winchester

The Things We Lost In the Fire Part 2

All right, part 2 (final part). Get ready for some feels.

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"Jemma, stay with us. Hey, keep your eyes open, Sunshine." Dean's voice sounds far away and muffled.

I can tell we're in an ambulance. A breathing mask is strapped to my face. I turn my head toward his voice and open my eyes slightly.

"That's it, Jem, just keep 'em open."

I try--believe me, I try--to keep my eyes open, but fatigue pulls them shut again.

"Hey, Jem, just hang on, okay? Uncle Sam's right behind us and Uncle Cas is coming, too."

He hasn't referred to Sam and Cas as Uncle Sam and Uncle Cas in a long time. That's how I know I'm dying.

His voice fades away, and I open my eyes again. I'm no longer in the ambulance, but at Bobby's house. Bobby sits at his desk, doing research. "What the hell? Dean? Is that you?" He asks, rising from his seat.

I turn around. Dean stands there, tears forming in his eyes. "It's me, Bobby."

From the corner of my eye, I see myself. My seven-year-old self. Dean must have seen me too, because he says to Bobby: "Bobby, why the hell is there a kid in this house? Hey, I can see you."

Little me gasps and runs into my old bedroom. I follow her as she crawls under the bed, her feet slightly showing. Dean clomps into the room, walking straight through me. He drags little me from underneath the bed by her feet and hauls her over his shoulder.

"Let go of me, you--you demon!" Little me yells and punches furiously on his back.

"What the hell is this?" Dean says, annoyed. "Ow! Kid, quit punching so hard."

"Dean, she's yours," Bobby says.

"What?"

The scene shifts. The dewy grass dampens my jeans. I jump at the sound of the Impala's door slamming. I can barely see it through the fog, so I get closer. A nine-year-old me sits on the hood of the Impala eating a bagel. I don't seem to be bothered by the fact that the hood is wet. Sam and Dean climb up beside me, and Cas leans against the frame.

"Happy birthday, Jemma," Dean says and leans down to kiss my cheek.

"How old are you, Jemma?" Cas asks.

"Nine," she and I say in unison.

"Jemma Winchester," a voice from behind says.

I whirl around. Death stands two feet in front of me. "It was a surprise when your name popped up on the list. I wanted to hear the story myself," he says calmly. The fog makes him look menacing.

"No, it's not my turn to go," I stumble backward.

"You're right, it's not, but also, it is."

I tilt my head and frown. "What?"

Death sighs and rolls his eyes. "You Winchesters can be so dense sometimes. I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. I mean, it's up to you whether you live or die. It's technically not your time yet, but you can still choose to go. While you contemplate your fate, your soul will be divided into two sides: the one that wants to live, and the one that wants to die. Choose wisely, Jemma Winchester." He disappears before my eyes.

I look back toward the Impala, but it's gone. "Jemma," a soft voice speaks.

My mother.

"Look how big you've gotten," she says. "You've done so much. Don't you think it's time to let go? You are a burden on your father and uncles, why not just let go and free them?"