A/N: Sorry I disappeared for a while. I've got 3-4 more chapters planned for Season 1 and then plan to continue on with Season 2. As always, thanks so much for reading. Enjoy!
The good news was that Sam didn't seem to have a concussion. The bad news was that the cut at his hairline needed stitches, and Dean wasn't nearly as skilled in that area as Sam was. Sam contemplated asking Dean to drive him to a hospital to have an actual doctor sew up the wound. After all it was on his face and he didn't need a jagged, ugly scar on his forehead. But one look at Dean's face as he rummaged through the first aid kit told Sam that not only would arguing with Dean right now be a wasted effort, it would be downright dangerous. Oh well, he thought, most of it will be hidden under my hair.
Sam sat quietly on the bed, staying as still as he could while Dean worked the needle through his skin. He tried to think about something other than hideous disfigurement while Dean worked. He cast his eyes to the left, taking in MJ's sleeping form on the other bed. She had walked into the room ahead of him and made a beeline for the bed furthest from the door. She hadn't bothered undressing and was curled up on top of the covers, Dean's jacket wrapped tightly around her. She was lying on her side facing Sam, but her hair fell over her face, hiding it from view. Sam wondered how bad the bruising would be in the morning…
"I'm thinkin' one more." Dean muttered as he cut the thread, completing the fourth stitch.
Sam turned back toward Dean, watching him thread the needle once more. Dean glanced over at his sister while he worked.
"What's with the clothes? Why tear them apart?" Dean asked, taking hold of Sam's head and turning it toward the light.
Sam chuckled low in his throat. "MJ told me on the way back here. I guess that's something women do when they find out a guy is cheating on them. Take all their clothes and tear them up. Although she said it's usually tearing the crotch out of all of his pants." Sam said, opening his mouth just enough to get the words out to limit moving too much while Dean worked.
Dean shook his head. "I'm guessing that piece of work Anna had pulled that shit on James before he died." He shook his head, closing up the first aid kit. "I'll tell you one thing: If I never hear that God damn song again it'll be too soon." Sam grunted his agreement.
They were silent for a moment as Dean finished the last stitch. They both turned toward MJ when she whimpered in her sleep, and burrowed her face down into the collar of the jacket.
Dean limped to the small closet, pulled out a spare blanket and made his way painfully to MJ's bed, laying the blanket over her.
"Want me to look at that?" Sam asked, nodding toward Dean's leg.
"Nah. I'll clean it out, bandage it up. It'll be good as new." Dean said, pulling out his chirping cell phone. He opened it up and read the new message, his brow furrowing slightly before he snapped it closed and tossed it on the table. "Text from Jenna." He answered Sam's silent question. "MJ's therapy session got moved up to tomorrow morning."
Sam stood, making his way to the grimy mirror in the bathroom, inspecting his stitches. "Well," He said, coming back into the main room. "Hope she has lots of cover up. We're gonna need to hide that nasty bruise."
"Fuck." Dean spat, starting to pull off his jeans. "I didn't even think of that." He hissed in pain as the denim rubbed against his injured thigh.
"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked, taking one step toward his brother.
"I'm fine, Sam." Dean answered, sounding more annoyed than he had intended. He took a deep breath. "Why don't you go grab us some food while I clean this up?"
Sam hesitated for a moment, eyes on MJ, before grabbing his jacket and the keys from the table. "Yeah, okay." He agreed.
Dean made his way into the bathroom and dropped himself onto the ledge of the tub, setting to work cleaning his wound. He was tired. Exhausted, in fact, and his nerves were completely shot. He was glad they had decided to head to Bobby's for a rest. He couldn't handle another case. In fact, he didn't think he could go another minute on the road with his siblings without snapping. While he carefully cleaned out the wound on his thigh, he sorted through all the shit raging inside him, trying to identify exactly what had him so close to his breaking point. He came up empty handed, and he guessed this was because it wasn't really any one thing. It was everything. Sam's refusal to see things their father's way. MJ's visions. Wendy. This demon that might be after his sister. Jenna and these God damn therapy sessions. The demon. Case after case with no gratitude or reward. Dad and his disappearing acts. And why was his sister so fucking stubborn? Why couldn't she trust them? They were family after all. Hadn't he shown her he was committed to taking care of her? He would've preferred flat out rebellion to this…emotional detachment bullshit. Her blank stare and refusal to have a reaction to anything made him want to grab her and shake her until she cracked.
After taping a bandage into place over the puncture wound, Dean heaved a sigh and hoisted himself up, his leg still throbbing. He hobbled out of the bathroom, grabbing sweats and a t-shirt from his duffle bag and managed to change without further hurting his leg. He had just pulled the t-shirt over his head, when MJ suddenly bolted upright in bed, gasping for air.
"No! You can't do this! You can't!" She cried. Dean could see that her eyes were barely open and, despite the volume and intended force of her words, all Dean could hear was horror and fear. She was clearly petrified. Dean jumped up off the edge of the other bed, ignoring the stabbing pains this caused in his leg and grabbed hold of MJ by the upper arms. She turned toward him, still whimpering, but Dean saw no spark of recognition or coherence in her face.
"Hey!" He yelled, giving her a shake. "MJ! Wake up!"
She was shaking her head forcefully, her hair whipping around her face. "No! Get the fuck off me you creep!" Her hands lashed out furiously, in a desperate attempt to ward off her phantom attacker.
"Mary Jane!" Dean shouted, inches from her face. "You're dreaming! No one's gonna hurt you!" Slowly, recognition began to dawn on MJ's face, and she ceased her struggling. Dean held fast to her wrists, even after her arms went limp, as he searched her face for answers.
"Dean." She managed, as if she were just realizing he were there. Dean caught the fleeting look of relief on her face before it vanished, replaced once again by what looked like all-consuming panic. "I-" She choked out. "I didn't-" She tried again. She took a ragged breath, looking down, away from her brother's searching eyes. "Sorry." She muttered, pulling out of his hold and sliding off the bed. "Shower." She said quickly, still not looking directly at Dean, as she grabbed her bag and headed toward the bathroom.
And that was that.
Dean felt something click in his brain, and the flood gates bursting, threatening to give way. He stood, some small part of him realizing that if he started this, things would change for good. He took a ragged breath, warring for control of his emotions. He felt his control slipping away and there was a split second, when MJ walked by him, that he could feel his arm reaching out to take hold of her. What he would do once he had her…he hadn't worked that out yet. Then before his brain could fully make the decision to follow through and force her to stay in the room and face this shit, the bathroom door had clicked shut and she was no longer with him.
Dean turned abruptly and strode to the front door, letting himself out, without ever making the conscious decision to leave.
MJ emerged from the shower, preparing for the onslaught of questions from Dean that would certainly start as soon as she opened the door. She had anticipated the interrogation and prepped herself for how she would respond. Damage control. She couldn't tell him anything. Why couldn't he see that? She ran a few scenarios through her head, for how this could play out, and not in one of them did she see herself giving in and telling Dean what it was he wanted to know. Not in this lifetime. She could never…and he would have to accept that.
She felt the familiar panic begin to bubble up inside of her as she ran a comb through her hair. He wasn't ever going to stop. He would pry and pry until…well, until she went nuts trying to fend him off. Same with the therapist. She had gotten dangerously close to the truth during their last session and if MJ's experience with counselors had taught her anything, she knew that tomorrow night, the therapist would pick up exactly where she had left off. Then when MJ refused to divulge her past, she would report back to Jenna…who would report to the Judge.
MJ gripped the edges of the sink, her knuckles going white from the effort. When she found herself staring at her own reflection and actually contemplating leaving to avoid Dean's inevitable demand for her confession, she nearly screamed. Leave. She could barely even process what that meant.
But she could almost feel the walls closing in around her if she stayed. The pressure from every direction forcing her to collapse in on herself. She could barely breathe just thinking about it. It was like choosing between a slow and quick death, both equally painful. If she stayed, it would feel like prolonged suffocation. She'd eventually be forced to leave, but at least she'd be with her family for a little longer. If she left…it would be like ripping her own heart out. It would be quicker, but the pain would linger, probably forever…but she'd be able to function. Not well, but she'd be breathing. She'd survive, but it would mean leaving Sam and Dean now.
She gritted her teeth, hating her weakness. Hating that in order to survive and spare herself the shame and despair of being found out she was willing to consider taking off. And a moment ago she had thought she couldn't hate herself more than she already did…
How the hell had it come to this?
She blew out a long breath and hastily began to dress, refusing to think about it anymore. It was too much. She needed something else to occupy her thoughts. A distraction. She needed to get out of this room and away from Dean for a while.
MJ cracked the bathroom door, listening intently for a moment. She was met with silence. She opened the door further, scanning the room and finding it empty. She breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed.
"Hey. Are you home? I need to talk to you."
MJ's fist pounded on the door, making her sense of urgency obvious. She scanned the hallway as she waited, running her fingers nervously through her hair. Seconds felt like hours as she stood there, waiting, her thoughts carefully controlled, her brain shying away from anything too deep, too complicated.
When he opened the door, she barely registered his handsome, albeit confused face, before she pounced on him, enveloping him with her arms, her lips pressed firmly to his. She used his surprise to her advantage, pushing him backward into the apartment so she could kick the door shut with her right foot, never breaking the kiss.
Patrick's shock gave way very quickly to interest and pleasure, and MJ could sense his own need taking over, pushing his reservations and lingering questions way down where they couldn't interrupt them. His hands went to her face, holding her there, breathing her in.
When she finally broke away, pulling back a few inches, she was careful not to look him directly in the eye. She ran her fingers through his curly, dark hair, something she had thought about doing since she laid eyes on him.
"Wow. Uh, Maureen, right?" He asked awkwardly. "You said on the phone that you needed to talk to me…" A booming bark made her jump and turn to her right, taking in the massive dog who was eyeing her suspiciously, tail wagging like mad.
"Tyson, hush." Patrick scolded him before turning back to MJ. She still wasn't looking him in the eye, but was staring determinedly down at her hands, resting on his chest. He opened his mouth to ask her something and she quickly leaned up, covering his mouth once again with hers, effectively silencing him. This time she didn't relent, kicking off her shoes, and tearing at his t-shirt, her tongue forcing its way into his mouth. She continued to push him backward blindly; her only thought to continue kissing him. She felt relief sweep through her when he pulled her t-shirt up over her head and pulled her to toward the bedroom.
Where the hell could she have gone?" Dean shouted, pacing back and forth in the motel room. His limp becoming more pronounced with each step he took.
Sam bit back the urge to tell Dean to sit down before he did permanent damage to his leg.
"I mean I was literally feet from the door! How did she get by me?"
Sam held up his hands. "Dean, you gotta calm down, man. This isn't helping anything."
Dean just glared at Sam and continued his pacing.
Sam looked around the room, searching for some sign of where MJ could have gone. He spotted her duffle bag in the corner, near an arm chair. "Look." He said, crossing the room and picking up the bag. He pulled her purse from the duffle and her wallet from within the purse. "She wouldn't have gone far without this stuff." He pulled open the wallet, showing Sam the contents. "$200 and her fake ID's. If she was leaving for any length of time she would have taken these. She plans on coming back." Sam reassured his brother.
Much to Sam's relief, Dean finally lowered himself down on one of the beds, stretching his injured leg out in front of him. He pulled out his cell phone, hurriedly typing a text. "I'm gonna kick her ass when we find her." He threatened, before flipping the phone closed and shoving it back in his pocket.
Sam cautiously approached his brother. "Look, Dean," he began, his voice purposefully calm. "You screaming at her and threatening her, that's not gonna help. When we track her down you're gonna have to keep your cool."
Dean struggled to his feet, facing his brother, his eyes hard and jaw set. "I tried it your way, Sammy, and look where it got us. No more. When we find her I'm laying it all on the line. And she's coming clean. If I have to beat it out of her she's coming clean." Dean's voice was quiet, but there was no questioning that he meant business.
Sam shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous, Dean-"
"I mean it, Sam. I'm done playing games. You said give her space, don't confront her. I did that and now she's gone!"
Sam bristled. "I'm not the one who let her sneak out from right under my nose." Sam threw back.
"She wouldn't have had to sneak out if you were with her; you probably would've just let her walk right by you!"
Sam just shook his head, taking a moment to get his anger under control. "Look, let's just focus on finding her."
Dean just stared at Sam for a moment before lowering himself back down onto the bed.
"Where in Lincoln would she go if she just wanted to get away from us for a little while?"
Dean just looked up at Sam, frustrated. This was going to take a while.
As far as distractions went, Patrick was outstanding, MJ thought, as she lay in his bed, wrapped in his arms. She felt his breath tickling the back of her neck, as he drifted off to sleep behind her. She didn't know exactly what time it was, but she was sure it qualified as the middle of the night. She was content enough in that moment to prolong her distraction. To pretend for a couple short hours that this was her life. That she belonged here, lying comfortably in this beautiful man's arms, her biggest worry what she was going to wear the next morning. She yawned, turning over, and snuggling into Patrick's chest. She was already in a world of shit with Dean. What was two more hours?
Patrick's arms tightened around her as she drifted into a dreamless sleep.
MJ woke just as day was breaking. Patrick was still sound asleep beside her as she stretched and wiggled her way out of his grasp. He grunted sleepily.
"Where ya goin'? Come back to bed." He whined.
MJ smiled down at him as she gathered up her clothes off the floor and headed toward the bathroom.
"I'm just going to grab a quick shower and then I have to go. Go back to sleep." She said, forcing a smile.
Patrick intended to drift back off for a few minutes, but the incessant buzzing had other ideas. Patrick rolled to the edge of the bed, scanning the floor for the source of the noise. He reached down, grabbing up the cell phone. He stood, planning on bringing the phone to Maureen when the new message on the screen caught his eye. It was from someone named Dean and it was all in caps. Apparently Dean was pissed.
"IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE IN THE NEXT THIRTY MINUTES YOU WON'T LIVE TO SEE 16."
Patrick stopped dead in his tracks, halfway to the bathroom. "Won't live to see 16." He muttered to himself, rereading the message. He looked up at the closed bathroom door as he heard the shower turn on. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."
Patrick walked back to the bed and sat down, dazed. He looked down at the phone, scrolling back to the main screen. Eleven missed calls. One new voicemail. He glanced back at the closed bathroom door before dialing. He put the phone to his ear, waiting for the message to play.
"Mary Jane Hansen, this is not okay. You hear me? Do you understand how dangerous it is for you to be off God knows where on your own? This is reckless and stupid and I expected more from you." There was a pause and a heavy sigh. "Please call me. Wherever you are, it doesn't matter; I just need to know you're safe."
Patrick felt sickened. Not only didn't he know who the hell this girl really was, but he was pretty sure she wasn't legal. And whoever this Dean was, he was worried sick about her, searching frantically for her.
Before he could think twice about it Patrick scrolled through the missed calls and dialed Dean's number. He picked up on the first ring.
"Mary Jane? Where are you?"
"Uh-" Was all Patrick could manage. He really should have thought this through.
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds before Dean responded.
"Who the hell is this?" Dean asked his voice deadly.
"Uh-" Patrick repeated, fear creeping up on him at Dean's words.
"Where the hell is my sister?" Dean demanded.
"She-she's here. She's safe." Patrick managed.
"Put her on the phone. Now."
"I, uh-she's not really available." He said lamely.
There was a tense silence for about ten seconds. "I don't know who I'm talking to but if you don't tell me where my sister is right this second I'm going to track you down, rip out your lungs, and feed them to you."
"Okay, just-relax. She's fine."
"Don't you fucking tell me to relax. Is this some kind of game? Who the fuck are you and what did you do to her?"
"Whoa." Patrick stood quickly, trying to figure out how exactly this conversation had gone so badly for him. "Your sister is fine. She just showed up here and-" He swallowed audibly. "She told me she was a college intern when I met her, ya know. She even showed up here with guys with badges. I didn't know she was fifteen, okay?" He defended.
Dean took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. "What is your name and where are you?" He managed.
Patrick paused for a few seconds, but saw no way around this one. "Patrick Kane." He admitted, rattling off the address. "I promise she's okay." He tried. "I swear I thought she was older."
"You'd better both be there when I get there." Dean said before disconnecting.
MJ emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, toweling her hair. She saw Patrick sitting on the edge of the bed, ram rod straight, her phone in his hand. He didn't look up when she came into the room.
"What's going on?" She asked, approaching him slowly.
He raised his head slowly, his expression somewhere between anger and disgust. He held up her phone. "I just talked to Dean. He says 'hi'." He said.
Oh, boy.
"College intern, huh, Maureen?" He asked, standing up.
"Look," MJ began, "I can explain."
Patrick took a step toward her, folding his arms across his chest. "You can explain why this guy is calling your phone freaking out and demanding to know where his fifteen year old sister is?" He demanded angrily.
MJ shook her head, at a loss. There was no point continuing to lie now. It was too late. She looked up at him, surrender in her eyes, but said nothing.
Patrick took another step toward her his face softening as his eyes ran over her face, taking in the ugly bruise that covered her left cheek. He let out a frustrated sigh. "Are you in some kind of trouble? Because if you are I can help you. I mean, if this Dean guy is-"
"No, no." MJ shook her head. "It's nothing like that." She cleared her throat. "Look, I'm sorry I lied to you." She held her hand out for her phone. "I'll just go. I won't be any more trouble to you."
Patrick held the phone at his side. "You can't leave. Your brother is on his way here."
MJ's eyes bugged out. "You told him I was here?" She asked, her voice going high with panic. "What else did you tell him?" She snatched up her shoes, quickly sliding them on and making her way to the window to peek outside.
"Nothing," Patrick answered, eyes on her. "Just that you were here and that you were safe."
MJ let the curtain fall back into place, rushing out of the bedroom. "I've gotta get out of here."
"No way." Patrick said, beating her to the front door. "I told him you'd be here, I'm not telling him you took off again." He stood in front of the door, blocking her exit.
"Patrick, let me by." MJ demanded, now panicking.
They were interrupted by an insistent pounding on the door.
"Patrick Kane?" Dean's booming voice sounded from the hallway. "Open the God damn door!"
"Shit!" MJ whispered harshly, looking desperately around the apartment for an escape.
Patrick gave her an apologetic look before pulling the door open and stepping to the side, recognition dawning when he looked up at Sam and Dean standing in the doorway.
Dean stepped inside, sparing Patrick a quick, murderous glance before walking quickly toward MJ, who stood, frozen, beside the living room couch. She stared at Dean as he approached her,
fear in her eyes.
Dean said nothing, only staring at her, completely livid. He grabbed her by the upper arm, squeezing harder than was necessary and essentially dragging her toward the door.
"Ow! Dean!" She complained, wincing at the vice-like grip he had on her. Sam stood inside the doorway, taking in the scene, not daring to object to Dean's behavior.
He didn't let up, and she lost her footing as they reached the threshold, stumbling over her own feet, and nearly being pitched face first to the floor.
A pained whimper escaped her lips as Dean held fast to her arm, and roughly yanked her back to her feet before continuing to haul her out the door.
Patrick followed them out into the hallway. "Hey, come on man, take it easy." He admonished, standing behind Dean.
Dean turned quickly, retaining his grip on MJ, and with his left hand, snatched up a handful of Patrick's t-shirt and slammed him against the wall.
"Don't." He said simply, his face a mask of fury that made it clear that Patrick did not want to get involved in this. Dean shoved Patrick against the wall before letting him go and turning his full attention back on MJ. Sam stood in the open doorway, watching, anticipating this getting completely out of hand.
Dean shoved MJ against the opposite side of the hallway wall, making her teeth chatter together. She kept her eyes open wide, and while she could feel both Sam and Patrick watching her intently, she couldn't look away from Dean's eyes. Anger. Frustration. Disappointment. Worry. Exhaustion. Fear. They were all there.
Dean just stared into her eyes for what felt like minutes, his left hand still wrapped around her upper arm, holding her there. Her arm ached painfully and his nails were digging into the skin. Finally, when MJ thought she couldn't take the anticipation any longer, Dean cocked his right arm back, his hand forming a fist, his eyes still locked on hers.
"Dean!" She heard Sam shout, as she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the blow to make contact.