Here it is (finally)! Thanks for sticking with this series! I hope you all enjoy:)

Chapter 1

"Wendy?" Dean wasn't surprised at the stunned look on his father's face as he stood in the hospital room doorway, seemingly unable to take another step, looking between Wendy and Dean. What did surprise Dean was the immediate change in Wendy the moment John uttered her name. A calm came over Wendy the instant John spoke. She stopped fidgeting, her eyes finally stilled, focusing on Dean for the first time since she'd arrived in his room. She took a deep, steady breath and Dean swore her lips were very nearly smiling as she slowly turned to face John.

"John." She said simply, and even her voice was steadier, more sure. She took one step toward him. "I-"

John put his hand up, palm toward her and she stopped dead in her tracks, almost as if he were controlling her. "I need to speak to Dean. It's urgent. Wait outside."

Dean couldn't believe how easily Wendy obeyed, bowing her head and walking past John, into the hallway without another word. Hadn't she just been frantically begging Dean to help her, nothing short of panicked?

Dean had no idea what to make of this drastic change in Wendy's behavior, but had no time to dwell on it as John swiftly closed the door behind her and turned to Dean.

"I need you to listen carefully, Dean. There's very little time, but it's absolutely vital that you hear this now."

Dean recalled the fear he had seen in his father's eyes, that night outside the motel when he told Dean about the demon that was after MJ. The look on his father's face now was a million times worse than that. Dean's heart sank as he feared the worst.

"Dad, is she-"

John spoke over Dean, his hands on his son's shoulders, pushing him onto the bed. "Dean, you boys were right about MJ being part demon. It's true and this demon that has her now, she's connected to him."

Dean gave a stiff nod, acknowledging that he understood, that he knew he had to give in to the truth. The confirmation from his father that MJ was not his sister was like a knife to the gut. He swallowed, "He's her father." He muttered, eyes on the floor.

"No!" John practically shouted, causing Dean's head to snap up. "No, Dean. She's mine." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket, smoothing it out on his thigh before handing it to Dean. Dean looked at the slip, a lab report, trying to make sense of it. John pointed to the part that said the two samples were a 99.9% match. "She's a Winchester." He said unmistakable pride in his voice.

Dean felt overwhelming relief for a brief moment before shaking his head in confusion. "Then how-"

John interrupted again, practically tripping over his words. "I don't know for sure, but I have a theory. I think I was possessed when she was conceived. And that even though she's biologically my daughter, that his presence in me at the time…makes him her father, too. Or something like a father."

Dean was shaking his head, even as John answered. "Dad, you would've known if you were possessed."

"Dean, I met Wendy in a bar and I was three sheets to the wind. I remember leaving with her and I remember waking up in her apartment. That's it." He pointed at the paternity test results. "And until I got that, I figured that Wendy was with someone else-the demon- and that he was MJ's biological father."

Dean's head was swimming. He tried to make sense of everything John was saying, but he was speaking so quickly – urgently, and it was so much to take in. He opened his mouth to voice one of the many questions he now had, but John gripped his shoulder tightly, his eyes wide and determined as they bored into his eldest child's.

"Dean, there's no time to discuss this, I'm sorry. You have to listen to everything I'm about to tell you. If you remember nothing else of what I've taught you, you must remember this."

Dean felt his unease grow more pronounced at the sheer desperation in John's words.

"MJ is fine, I've made certain of it. The demon won't be able to harm her anymore. She'll be safe with you very soon. Once she is, don't you ever let her out of your sight." John ground out, between clenched teeth, his grip on Dean's shoulder bordering on painful now. "The demon may not be a threat anymore, but I'm afraid there's other threats…maybe even that she could be a threat to herself." He continued quickly before Dean could interrupt. "There's a lot I don't know, Dean. And it's up to you to keep her safe no matter what happens." He held up a finger, shaking it at Dean, "And as for Wendy…I know she caused MJ a hell of a lot of grief…caused enough damage, but Dean, I think she's a victim in all of this, too. I know she's not fit to even see MJ right now, but son don't write her off. She'll always be MJ's mother." He took a breath, as if steeling himself. "And Dean, you gotta watch out for Sam."

This abrupt change in subject caught Dean completely off guard, making him choke on his argument against John defending Wendy.

"You gotta watch out for your brother, Dean." John repeated slowly. "There's something dark inside him, son. And it's not his fault, but…" John ran his hand over his face, taking a deep breath. "But if you can't save him from himself, Dean…then you have to kill him."

Dean bolted awake, gasping for breath, his sweat drenched t-shirt sticking to him. He turned, placing his bare feet on to the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was barely dawn, very little light filtering in through the bedroom window. He glanced at Sam, still sound asleep in the next bed and wondered at the irony. Six months ago he was the one slumbering peacefully while Sam slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares.

Dean reached for the bottle of JD sitting on the nightstand and took a long pull. He peeled off the soaking shirt and tossed it on the floor, soundlessly getting to his feet and making his way through the bathroom and into MJ's room. He found her sound asleep, just as he did every night, sprawled across the bed, one foot dangling off. He shook his head as he returned to his room, thinking that when they left Bobby's and went back to sharing beds they were all in trouble as MJ had clearly become accustomed to spreading out. He lied back on his pillow, his left arm under his head, his hand automatically going to the hunting knife stashed under his pillow and grasping the cool bone handle tightly. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking he'd try to go back to sleep, knowing that wasn't going to happen and not really caring either way. He was used to getting by on a couple hours here and there, only really worried about getting enough sleep when they were on a hunt and he needed to be at his sharpest. Hell, in the four months they'd been staying at Bobby's he'd probably gotten more sleep than he had in the past 10 years. They hadn't stayed in one place for this long since…well ever. Even as kids they never stayed in one spot for longer than it took their father to finish a case. And he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay here. He'd only lasted this long because it was Bobby's. Anywhere else and he would've blown town by now, no doubt.

This had become his nightly routine for the past several weeks. The same dream- well, memory really- would wake him in a cold sweat and he'd take a drink to calm his nerves, slow his racing heart before he'd check in on MJ. Then it was back to bed to stare at the ceiling and try to think about anything but his father until morning.

When they had first gotten MJ back, it was clear to him and Sam that she had reached her limit. She had been beaten down and had her head screwed with for too long and it had all come crashing down on her. Just keeping her alive and functioning in those first few weeks after Dad's death consumed Dean and he had no time to even consider his last conversation with John much less figure out what in the hell it all meant. Strangely enough, as torn up as MJ was, Dean felt like that had been easier than this. At least he had a tangible task at hand: help MJ get better. He threw himself into it, getting them set up at Bobby's, bringing her to therapy and just being there to comfort her had kept his hands and his mind plenty busy, so that John's haunting speech never even had the chance to surface.

Slowly, as the weeks went by, he could see MJ coming around, getting stronger. She was talking to them, and not just yes and no answers, but really talking to them. The first time she looked at Dean and told him she was afraid of what was going to happen to them it was like music to his ears. This was what they had all been waiting for. Her therapist, Dr. Whitmore, had told them – and Dean begrudgingly knew he was right – that MJ couldn't get better until she started opening up to them. She needed to process all the things she'd kept bottled up inside all these years. Things that she'd repressed with alcohol and sex. This was the hardest thing for Dean to hear, until Sam pointed out that this should not have been shocking to him, given the situations with Patrick and that low life in the men's bathroom. Still, it's not like you get used to the idea of your fifteen year old sister using sex as a coping mechanism.

MJ still hadn't told them anything about what had happened when she was with the demon. Dr. Whitmore was told that MJ had been kidnapped by a psycho who thought he was MJ's father and had delusions that he and MJ had magical powers. Dean hadn't liked the idea of a story that would lead to so many questions, but Sam had convinced him that the therapist couldn't help MJ unless he knew the truth. Well, as much of the truth as they could risk telling him.

So they had fallen into a routine of therapy, school and training. Everyday MJ would get up and run with Sam, work on school work for three hours, go to therapy, come home and train with Dean. And over time they could all see the improvements in MJ, in all of them, really.

As thrilled and relieved as Dean was to see his sister getting better, this left his brain with too much free time and inevitably he found himself consumed with his father's instructions. During the day he would try to focus on training with MJ or helping Bobby out around the salvage yard. He found himself spending more and more time working on the Impala, which even he recognized as most likely being a lost cause. All of this only kept his hands busy and it was now to the point that he spent nearly every waking moment dissecting each of John's words.

Tonight, like he did every night, he tried to focus his thoughts on something else. He found himself thinking about Jenna, of all things. He shifted onto his side, watching the sky slowly lighten as morning approached. Jenna. Definitely not as horrifying to ponder as his father's dying orders, but still, not entirely pleasant. Dean had called her once they had said their goodbyes to John and were settled back at Bobby's. He knew he couldn't give her any real answers or be of any help to her, but he needed to know that she was okay. Her response had been a string of expletives that would've made a trucker blush before she hung up on him. Dean couldn't blame her. She had taken a chance on them, risked her career and reputation to keep MJ with them, and all Dean had done for her was turn her life upside down. He knew she hadn't returned to Chicago. He had called her roommate, who had at least told him that Jenna had taken an extended leave from work and was out of town indefinitely before cursing him out and slamming the phone down in his ear. Great.

But the stakes were high on this one. It wasn't just about Jenna's well-being. Dean knew that Jenna was one of the few people who might actually have some shred of a lead as to what his father's cryptic warning about MJ had been all about. Jenna had told him that the demon had "showed" her what he wanted to do to MJ. He needed to know everything she knew. Of course, Jenna had told him that right before he convinced her to leave Chicago until further notice and then hadn't bothered to call her for 3 weeks. He knew the chances of getting her to talk to him over the phone were slim. He'd have to find her and talk to her in person.

Dean rolled back over with a sigh. How was he going to get Sam to track Jenna's location without telling him why he needed to see her? And even if he could come up with a way to find her without telling Sam the truth, there was still MJ. He remembered his father's order and the look of fear and desperation on his face when he had told Dean not to let her out of his sight. He couldn't bring MJ along without her figuring out what was going on and regardless of how good she seemed to be doing now, learning that their father thought her to be a dangerous creature would definitely undo some of the progress she'd made these past few weeks. Dean let out a frustrated sigh. Maybe he would have to tell Sam about it. Of course he'd be pissed that he kept it from him this long, but if Sammy knew then he could get the information he needed and Sammy would be able to keep her safe while he went to see Jenna. Of course, he had no intentions of telling Sam anything about what John had said about him. That was so not happening. It was beyond disturbing and would only serve to freak Sammy out and make him completely obsessed and fucked up. And really, one brother in that state was plenty.

"Dean, you awake?" Sam asked, cutting into Dean's thoughts. Dean turned to face his brother, who was lying back, looking at Dean.

"Well I am now." Dean grumped, though judging by Sam's eye roll he knew Dean had already been awake. "What's up, Sammy?"

"How long you been up?"

Dean shrugged, sitting up in his bed. "Few minutes."

"Yeah, right." Sam let it go, getting up and fishing around his dresser drawer for clean socks. Dean watched him, wondering at how comfortable Sam seemed to be moving in here. "I should get MJ up." He sat back down, pulling on his socks. "You running with us?"

Dean sat on the edge of his bed. "Why don't you let her sleep for now? I need to talk to you."

Sam looked up curiously, but said nothing.

"You know how you asked me if…Dad said anything before…"

Sam sat stock still, waiting.

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, he did." Dean said exhaling loudly.

Sam threw his hands up. "Dean, why-"

"Listen, Sammy." Dean interrupted. "I'm sorry I lied before. I just- I didn't know how to tell you."

"Tell me what, Dean?" Sam demanded. "What did Dad say?"

"He said that MJ is our sister, but that she's connected to the demon somehow. He thought maybe that he was possessed when he was with Wendy and that somehow makes MJ part demon."

Sam was shaking his head before Dean had finished speaking. "He would've-"

"He was too drunk to remember it, Sam."

"Then how can he be sure-"

"That she's his?" Dean stood and crossed the room grabbing his jacket off the chair and digging the wrinkled piece of paper from the pocket. He handed it to Sam. "He gave me this. She's our sister, no doubt."

He gave Sam a moment to read the paternity test results and let the information sink in before he continued.

"He said uh- he said that he'd made sure she was safe and that the demon couldn't hurt her anymore." Dean's eyes roamed around the room as he spoke, his hands jammed in his pockets. After John collapsed, when the doctors were working on him, Dean had shared a knowing look with his brother. They hadn't spoken about it at all, but they both knew that the circumstances around MJ's return and their father's death were suspicious. The timing alone was enough for both brothers to assume that the two events were somehow connected. Dean knew his father had done something…made some kind of deal. And he would've known that even if his father hadn't hinted at it.

Sam finally looked up from the piece of paper in his hand, a blank look on his face, staring off into space as he thought about what Dean had just confirmed for him.

"He said the demon couldn't hurt her anymore, but that there might be other threats. "

Sam's eyes snapped into focus at that and he turned to face Dean. "What kind of threats?"

Dean shook his head as he started getting dressed. "He said there was a lot he didn't know, but that the demon wasn't the only thing we had to watch out for." Dean cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "He said she could even be a danger to herself."

Sam tensed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He nearly shouted.

"Shh!" Dean went to the door, quickly closing it. He turned back to Sam, buttoning his shirt. "I don't know what it means. I don't think Dad knew much for sure. But he knew enough to warn me not to let her out of my sight."

Sam stood, pacing the room. "We need to figure this out, Dean. We can't keep her safe if we don't know what we're fighting."

"I know that, Sam. I know. That's why I'm telling you all of this now."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, you shoulda told me weeks ago."

Dean chose to ignore that. "I need your help so we can get some answers."

Sam stopped in his tracks, looking silently at his brother.

Dean continued. "I need you to help me track down Jenna. She's gotta know something useful, the freaking thing was up in her for a day."

"Dean." Sam took a step toward his brother. "We don't need to go anywhere or track anyone down to get answers." He pointed toward MJ's room. "She's got all the information we need. We just have to get it out of her." Sam continued, his eyes pleading with Dean to hear him out. "She was with that demon for more than a day. I think she knows why he wanted her so bad."

Dean shook his head. "Sam, she may not know anything. For all we know he just held her there and didn't tell her anything. Even if he did, since when are demons honest?"

"How do we know what she knows if we don't even ask her?" Sam challenged.

Dean tensed, closing the distance between himself and his brother. "Sam, we're not grilling her for information that she probably doesn't even have."

"Dean, if Dad thought this thing was a threat to her, that her connection to it puts her in danger, even after its dead, then the best place to start is at the source."

Dean turned away, shaking his head adamantly. "No. We find Jenna, we find out what she knows."

"I guarantee you that MJ knows its end game! She knows exactly what he wanted from her and she knows exactly what she's capable of! No one else can tell us that!" Sam shouted, getting frustrated. He had an idea of what Dean's reluctance was about, but this was too important to give in.

Dean turned back toward Sam, his eyes hard. "Lower your voice!" He ground out in a harsh whisper.

Sam stared at Dean for a moment. "She's gotta talk eventually, Dean. You can't shield her from this." He said evenly.

Dean stood, rigid, arms crossed over his chest, eyes boring into his brother's.

"Sam, have you been here the past four months?" He asked, his voice quiet, his anger barely contained. "Huh? Were you in that hospital room when Dad-" He swallowed. "Did you see her face? Did you see how broken she was?" He took a step closer. "She's finally getting better. I'm not messing with that."

Sam took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. It would do no good for both of them to lose their tempers.

"Dean, Dr. Whitmarsh said-"

Dean cut him off, poking a finger into his chest. "I don't give a fuck what the doctor said, we're not pushing this!" He turned away, clearly deciding this conversation was over.

Sam could feel the heat rising in his face. He knew he shouldn't push Dean just now, but knowing what they knew, what Dean had just told him…it would be downright dangerous to let this go. And the fact that Dean refused to see that really pissed Sam off. He took one step forward as Dean made his way toward the door.

"Dean, this is serious. If Dad thought she was in danger…I don't wanna upset her either, but it's bigger than that. We need this to keep her safe." Sam waited, but Dean didn't turn around. He stood facing the door, not moving a muscle. Sam continued, fueled by anger. "You know, I don't get you." He scoffed, taking one more step toward Dean. "I've watched you push and push and push her for information to the point that I've wanted to smash your face in! Now, when it really counts, when it could be life or death you're gonna let up!"

Dean turned back suddenly, taking one giant step, grabbing handfuls of Sam's t-shirt and shoving him back against the wall. Dean just stared at him, fury plain in his features, his breathing fast. When he finally spoke, his voice was shaky and Sam knew he was on the verge of exploding. "We're gonna track down Jenna and I'm gonna go talk to her. And you're gonna stay here and take care of MJ and you're not gonna say one God damn word to her about this." He held his index finger up in Sam's face for emphasis. "Not one word!" Dean released his grip on Sam, backing away, eyes still murderous. "This discussion is over." He said before storming out.

Dean slammed the door behind him and looked up to see MJ standing outside her bedroom door, hand on her doorknob. Dean could tell from the look on her face that she was thinking about ducking back inside her room.

"Hey." Dean said, walking toward her, trying to play it cool, while wondering how much she'd heard.

"What's going on?" She asked, eyes wide with concern. "It sounded like Fight Club in there."

Dean shrugged. "Nothing. We were just talkin'." He nodded toward her room. "You should go get dressed for your run."

MJ ignored him, crossing her arms over her chest and fixing him with a stern look. "If you were just talking then how come you're all red and…twitchy?"

"Twitchy? I'm not twitchy."

"You are so twitchy." She insisted.

"Never been twitchy a day in my life." Dean retorted.

"Liar." MJ accused, though he could see a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm- not- twitchy-" Dean said, purposefully giving exaggerated twitches of his face and shoulders with each word.

"Knock it off, Dean." MJ tried and failed to suppress a laugh as she smacked her brother in the arm before turning and heading back into her room to change.

Dean stood there a moment, a smile on his face. This was why he wouldn't push her. She never used to laugh. Hell, she had barely even smiled. But lately…these past few weeks he'd heard her laugh a lot and it never got old. He found himself doing things to draw it from her. He wasn't going to do anything to risk that. And neither was Sam. They'd figure this out some other way.

The anger he'd carefully reeled in when he realized MJ was up was now slowly ebbing away as he made his way downstairs. He'd make Sammy see reason. Somehow.