A/N: So here's the next chapter! The Winchesters are still at Bobby's, but not to worry, they will be back on the road in chapter 4 and I for one can not wait! Happy reading:)

Chapter 3

MJ had been been tossing and turning for hours now, unable to turn her brain off. She knew if she fell asleep she would have weird dreams, dreams about her time with the demon. They weren't terribly graphic or frightening. In fact, once she woke she could rarely remember any details of the dreams. No, it wasn't the dreams themselves that scared her, it was the possibility the dreams would make her remember. Because for some reason she had absolutely no recollection of anything that happened from the time she saw the demon in the cabin until she was kneeling on Dean's hospital room floor. Maybe it was the demon's doing. Maybe some higher power had mercifully erased those memories. Whatever it was MJ wasn't going to question it. And she certainly wasn't going to tempt fate by thinking too much about it. She knew that Dr. Whitmore wanted her to try and remember, but the way she saw it, she had plenty of messed up shit to keep her in therapy for ten years without ever talking about those 36 hours with that freak of nature.

MJ huffed, punching her pillow as she tried to find a comfortable position. Sam and Dean took her for an idiot. Their lame story about Dean needing to check out a lead on a poltergeist, but that it wasn't necessary for all of them to go? Please. Dean had barely let her out of his sight the past four months then he's suddenly leaving for a week? And since he left two days ago Sam had become her new shadow. She had heard more of their argument that day in their bedroom than she'd let on. She knew that Dean wanted answers about MJ's visions and the demon who'd taken her. And she knew that Sam wanted to grill her about it. She felt a sense of gratitude toward Dean for forbidding Sam from asking her about it. She may not remember anything, but she still really didn't want to be interrogated. She turned onto her side scooting further under the comforter.

She totally got why they wanted answers. What didn't make sense to her was the apparent urgency of the situation. They were operating under the assumption that the demon who took her was dead, so why was digging up dirt about him time sensitive? Why did Dean have to run off alone to look into it right now? What the hell was at stake? She flopped onto her back, sighing heavily. Whatever it was she wouldn't know anything about it because Dean insisted on treating her like a child who couldn't handle hearing the truth.

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand, interrupting her pouting. She rolled onto her side grabbing it and flipping it open, reading the new text from Patrick.

If Dean's away I'd say it's the perfect time 4 me to visit;)

Well, that certainly took her mind off of Dean and Sam's weirdness. She held the phone tightly, reading the text over and over. Her heart sped up just thinking about what he was suggesting. She liked Patrick. Whenever she was feeling overwhelmed or upset by their current situation or all the shit her therapy sessions drudged up, she would send him a quick text and she could count on him to respond with some random weird story or stupid joke that always worked to make her feel better.

It had all started with an unexpected text shortly after they'd arrived at Bobby's. Four words: 'Hey, are you okay?' MJ was touched that he was checking in on her, a girl who had not only lied to him about her age resulting in him sleeping with a fifteen year old, thereby committing statutory rape, but who had also nearly gotten him killed by Dean. MJ still couldn't believe Dean hadn't pummeled Patrick. Sure, Patrick had no way of knowing MJ was underage and full of crap, but it's not like Dean was known for thinking logically, or, really, thinking at all especially when it came to MJ. So for Patrick to be willing to push all of that aside and check up on her was, in her opinion, beyond sweet.

Since then they had been texting and calling each other regularly. At first it was entirely plutonic and MJ was glad for that. She knew this was not the time to start any kind of relationship, especially one with someone six years older than her. So when Patrick dropped the first not so subtle hint that he might be interested in something more than friendship with her, she had ignored it and hoped he'd let it go. But he hadn't. He was persistent and before long MJ found herself enjoying his attempts to take things to the next level. She wasn't exactly outwardly flirting back, but she certainly wasn't making any attempts to discourage him.

A small part of her knew it was a bad idea and that it would likely not end well for either of them. But another part, a bigger, more forceful part of her liked how she felt when she was talking to him. He listened to her. He complimented her. He didn't treat her like a kid who needed to be protected from the big, bad world. It was nice to be respected and treated as an equal for once. After all, hadn't that been what Dr. Whitmore was preaching to her? That she needed to respect herself in order to be respected by others? And that she should only seek the company of men who respected her as a person? Yeah, way to justify it, she thought to herself. I'm sure Dean will understand once I explain it that way.

Of course, Sam and Dean had no clue she was talking to Patrick. And MJ and Patrick both knew that if Patrick wanted to hold on to his testicles for the foreseeable future, MJ's brothers could never find out.

MJ sighed, typing a response.

Are you forgetting about my giant brother Sam and Uncle Bobby's vast shotgun collection?

She waited to see what he'd say, biting her lip. Her phone lit up seconds later.

Dude, I miss you. I'm willing to take my chances.

MJ didn't respond, not sure what to say. She was pretty sure she wanted to see him, but how in the hell could they pull this off without getting caught?

Her phone screen lit up again.

So what do ya say?

Dean stood on the sidewalk looking up at the rundown building in front of him. It was dusk, and he was sure that that was a good thing, because in the harsh light of day he was sure this place would look even more depressing.

Wendy knew he was coming. He figured there was no point in just showing up here and surprising her, finding God knows what. He'd called and she'd sounded okay on the phone. Said she was glad he'd called her, that she'd gotten herself clean. But he wasn't holding his breath. Not after what she'd been like the last time he'd seen her…

Flashback

MJ hadn't slept since she came back to them from her time with the demon. She hadn't cried either. Just sort of stared…at nothing. She had stood between Sam and Dean while they watched their father burn, her face stoic and her eyes unseeing. She'd shown no emotion at all.

She had said nothing about what had happened while she was with the demon. Wouldn't tell them how she'd gotten back, although Dean was pretty sure he knew the answer to that. Their attempts to comfort her were met with no reaction whatsoever.

Sam had used the word 'catatonic' when talking to Dean as the brothers lagged behind MJ, making their way into a motel shortly after saying their final goodbyes to their father. They were both beyond worried and at a total loss as to how to help her. Dean watched his sister lay down on the bed, fully clothed, her eyes not closing, just staring off into nothingness.

Sam made his way toward her, his face a mask of worry.

Dean sighed heavily as something occurred to him. Wendy had disappeared sometime after John was pronounced dead. Dean hadn't given her a second thought. Until now. He hated himself for even considering asking that woman for help. After what she had done to MJ…but he was beyond desperate.

"Sammy." He said quietly. When his brother looked up, he canted his head to the side, beckoning Sam to him. Sam looked back down at MJ as he stood and crossed the room. "Look," Dean said in an undertone, looking over at his unmoving sister, "We need help."

Sam considered his brother carefully. "What are you thinking?" He asked slowly.

"I think we should call Wendy." Dean said.

Sam just looked at him for a moment before letting out a low chuckle. "You're joking, right?"

Dean just looked back at Sam, stone faced.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. "You have officially lost your mind." Sam whispered harshly.

Dean looked over at MJ and gestured for Sam to follow him outside. Dean left the door ajar as he turned to face his pissed off brother.

"We are in way over our heads here, Sammy. I don't like it either, but I got nothing else."

"What exactly are you suggesting here?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought maybe Wendy could…snap her out of this."

"She needs intense therapy, Dean. Maybe even meds. Not some junky who's never been there for her!"

Dean was nodding as Sam spoke. "We are gonna get her those things. As soon as we get to Bobby's we'll take her to a hospital and get her whatever she needs. But right now…I can't take this." He ran a hand over his face in frustration, turning away from his brother. "This kills me, man. Even suggesting it…but she's broken, Sammy. And me and you…we can't fix her. I'm afraid-" He stopped, his voice breaking. He took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I hate that woman as much as you do, maybe more. But right now I'd ask the devil himself if I thought it would help."

Sam was quiet for a long time. Dean finally turned back toward him, his eyes shining.

"Do you really think she can help?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean shrugged. "I think it's worth a shot. She did some horrible things to MJ, but she's still her mother and MJ still loves her."

An hour later Sam was seated in his usual spot, perched on MJ's bed, watching her silently while Dean paced the room. There was a soft knock on the door making Sam look up at his brother. Dean silently went to answer the door. He nodded at Wendy, not really looking at her and stepped to the side so she could enter the room. Dean stole a quick glance at her as he closed the door behind her. She looked much the same as she had at the hospital, except that she wasn't shaking quite as badly. Dean tried not to think about what she had done to ease the tremors.

Wendy's eyes landed very briefly on Dean as she walked in, scanning the room. Her gaze stopped on MJ and she paused for only a second before striding toward MJ, more sure of herself than Dean had seen her yet. She didn't hesitate, not even when Sam stilled beside her, clearly uncomfortable with this. Wendy ignored him as she swiftly scooped MJ up in her arms and cradled her like a baby.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Mommy's here." Wendy softly cooed in MJ's ear as she gently rocked her back and forth.

At first MJ stayed frozen and then slowly her features melted into a pained expression. A tortured wail broke free as the tears sprang to her eyes and she began sobbing, the force behind it making both her and Wendy's bodies shake. Sam stood and moved slowly to Dean's side as they both watched, caught somewhere between relief and sadness as they watched their sister fall apart. After a few minutes Sam turned to his brother, an impressed look on his face, silently thanking him for calling Wendy. Dean just shrugged in response, folding his arms over his chest as he focused back on his sister. He still wasn't sure he'd made the right decision.

Over an hour later, Sam sat at the table, mentally and physically exhausted. After nearly an hour of MJ alternating between hysterics, completely silent tears and everything in between while Wendy muttered reassurances to her, MJ finally fell asleep in Wendy's arms while the boys looked on, awkward and helpless. Wendy continued to hold MJ while she slept, occasionally looking up at Dean with a strange expression on her face. Sam tried to catch Dean's eye to find out what was up, but Dean never looked his way.

Eventually Wendy squirmed her way out from under MJ, laying her daughter's head carefully on the pillow and placing a kiss to her forehead before making her way determinedly toward Dean.

"I should go now before she wakes up." She said simply. And Sam could see it. A change in her, even since she'd walked in the door. The tremors had returned full force and there was a look of imminent need in her eyes. She was jonesing for a hit.

Dean just looked at her for a moment, his jaw muscle twitching. "I'll walk you out." He finally said as he headed toward the door. He looked back at Sam. "Sammy, stay with her." He said before following Wendy out and closing the door behind them.

Wendy stood a few feet from the door, facing him, shifting her weight impatiently from foot to foot and chewing her lip expectantly. She didn't look up at him, just waited.

Dean considered her a moment, the appreciation he felt toward her for snapping MJ out of her near comatose state warring with the deep seeded disgust and rage he carried just for her. He stood there, his stance rigid as he took out his wallet and handed her a few bills.

She snatched them from his outstretched hand and immediately turned toward the parking lot without so much as another glance in Dean's direction.

"What, no 'thank you'?" She muttered as she counted the money.

Something exploded inside of Dean and he took a step forward grabbing her by her upper arm and pulling her around, slamming her back into the wall. His left hand moved immediately to her throat-not applying pressure, just resting there- his right hand gripping her arm, his hand closing easily around it. Her eyes widened in surprise and she made a feeble attempt to free herself before going completely still.

"I know you only came here for the money and that all you can be bothered to care about is getting high, but would it kill you to pretend to give a shit about that girl in there?" He growled, his expression furious.

"Oh, fuck you, you self-righteous son of a bitch!" She snarled, glaring up at him. "You think you know me? You have no fucking idea what my life is like!"

Dean maintained his hold on her and squeezed the hand that was around her throat, just enough so she knew he meant business. His eyes were murderous as he looked down at her. "I know you left your child alone, to fend for herself for months." She began to struggle against him and Dean leaned in closer to her face, his left hand clamping down on her throat a little harder. "I know you pimped out your own daughter to drug dealers for a fucking crack rock." He took a deep breath, straightening slightly. "And now I know that for $300 you can act like a mother for sixty minutes." He growled.

Wendy reached up pulling at his arm, and this time he backed away letting her go. She moved quickly, clutching the money in her fist.

"Don't even think about coming back around her!" Dean called after her, the threat clear in his voice. In that moment his father's final words to him were the furthest thing from his mind.

Present

Dean descended the steps into the basement of the building, where Wendy's apartment was located. The hallway was dark and musty, a single light bulb illuminating the dirty walls and stained carpet. He made his way to the other end, where apartment eight was located and rapped his knuckles three times on the door as he scanned the hallway. He noticed a man weaving his way toward him from the far end, muttering something that might have been English.

The door opened and Wendy looked up at him not quite meeting his eyes, a small, unsure smile on her face. She stepped back, letting him inside.

"Dean." She said.

He nodded back at her, scanning her face. She still looked thin, but not quite so unhealthy. Her hair was combed and her clothes actually fit her. She wasn't shaking, but she also didn't have that spaced out look in her eyes like she was high. Dean thought she might actually be sober as he walked past her into the tiny apartment. It was basically one room split into a kitchenette and a living room. Wendy had a small couch and a mattress on the floor. There were boxes of clothes on the floor and a half full ashtray on a TV table that was serving as dining/coffee table. There was a tiny kitchenette and one door off the living room that Dean guessed was the bathroom. That was it. There was one tiny, grimy window high up on the wall that even on the brightest of days probably didn't let in much light. The entire place reeked of cigarette smoke.

Wendy gestured toward the couch, eyes cast downward as she sat next to him, perched on the edge, her hands in her lap clearly uncomfortable.

"You said you needed to talk to me. What about?" Wendy asked, eyes still cast downward, picking nervously at her fingernails.

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I need to know what you know about this demon that kidnapped MJ."

Wendy's head snapped up, her eyes wide, finally looking at Dean's face. "The demon's dead." She said an edge to her voice.

Dean held a hand up toward her. "I know. But I just need to make sure that there's no…loose ends. We gotta be thorough, that's all. It's a good idea to know everything there is to know. Just in case."

Dean danced around the truth, not wanting to give too much away, but also needing to convince her to be honest. He was surprised when a small smile crept over her face.

"You sound just like your father. You always were so much alike."

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his eyes shifting to look around the room. Something about this woman talking about his father…talking like she knew him…it irritated him. He cleared his throat again.

"Anyway, you told John that the demon had come once before for MJ." He prompted.

The smile vanished, leaving a haunted look on her face. She nodded. "When I was pregnant. I was getting ready to deliver and he came to me in one of the nurses. Said that he was MJ's real father and that he'd be coming for her when the time was right. But that in the meantime he'd be watching out for her so I'd better not fuck it up." She shook her head. "After that, I could feel him. All the time. It's like we were connected. I knew when he was close, watching her. Knew when he was mad or happy. It scared the shit outta me."

Dean was staring at her, not sure what to make of her confession. She looked back down at her hands.

"He didn't show himself to me again until a little over a year ago. I was walking home. I knew he was close by, but I figured he was checking in on MJ, like he did before. It worried me a little because he hadn't done that since she was a little kid. Then he came at me, in a cop this time. Told me it was almost time and that if I helped him convince her to go with him that he wouldn't hurt us."

"That was the night you took off."

She looked up, nodding. "I had to. He was using me to get to her. I don't know how, but I knew if I got away from her he couldn't find her. I didn't want to leave her alone, but what else could I do?"

"You could've told John. Why didn't you tell him when she was born? He could've helped you. He could've figured it out and stopped all of this from happening!" Dean nearly shouted, thinking of how different MJ's life could've been if she'd only gone to John for help. Hell, John would most likely be here now if she had just told him the truth from the get go.

"I wanted to. Honest. But when he got there, right after MJ was born…he was so happy. So proud. I don't know I just couldn't do that to him."

"And never, in all the time you knew he was out there, just biding his time until he could steal your daughter and do God knows what to her did it cross your mind to go to John for help?" Dean wasn't holding back now, couldn't fathom how she could've made such a reckless decision.

"That thing would've killed John! Don't you get that?!" She shouted back, tears swimming in her eyes. "There was nothing John could've done. He would've killed him!" She stood, hands fisted at her sides, her face growing red. "You think I liked living this way?! Always having a monster inside my head? Never being able to rest and know that Mary Jane was safe? I lived in a constant state of fear. Constant."

Dean looked up at her, slightly taken aback. When he'd recovered his train of thought, he stood in front of her, careful to lower his voice.

"And now?"

"Now…he's just…gone. That's how I know he's dead. I knew the minute it happened. Right before MJ came back. It was like having a chain around my neck, always pulling me down for 15 years. And then it just…broke." She sat back down, the tears now falling down her face. "I did try to tell him, you know. After I left her, I called him." She wiped at her face. "It was too late."

Dean resumed his seat beside her, his elbows resting on his knees as he processed what she'd told him. The silence stretched on until Dean finally broke it, turning to face her.

"You know, John was her father."

Wendy frowned slightly. "I always knew that. There was never any question."

Dean just nodded as he stood.

"Well, thanks." He said awkwardly. He had no clue how to leave this. He was grateful he had at least some answers, but no amount of information she gave him could undo the horrible things she had put MJ through. He turned toward the door.

Wendy stood quickly taking a step toward him.

"How is she?" She asked.

Dean stopped, but didn't turn around. "She's better."

"Is she here?" She asked and Dean didn't miss the hope that had crept into her voice.

He turned toward her. "No." He watched her face fall in true disappointment. "But she's good. Really."

Wendy nodded in understanding and Dean turned to leave once more.

"Do you think I could see her sometime?" She blurted.

Dean sighed, turning back again. "Look, Wendy-"

"Please?" She begged. "I'm clean, I swear." She moved quickly into the tiny kitchen area and retrieved her purse. "I did thirty days inpatient and I'm going to meetings." She dug around in her purse and pulled out a chip. "See? 60 days sober. Well, 63 to be exact." Dean just looked at her, saying nothing. "Please, Dean. I just wanna see her. That's all."

"It's just…not a good-"

The rest of Dean's words were cut off by a loud, insistent pounding at Wendy's door.

"Open up, Wendy. I know you in there. Can't hide forever, baby." A greasy voice cooed through the door, clearly trying to sound cool and authoritative. This was followed by more pounding so forceful that the lock rattled, threatening to give.

Wendy walked past Dean to the door, quickly setting the chain lock.

"Friend of yours?" Dean joked weakly, watching Wendy as she walked back by him.

"Sorry about that." She said quietly, face reddening, before heading back toward the living room. "Just a pusher who knew me from before. Musta caught wind I was back in town." She shrugged like this was an everyday thing, no more concerning than an annoying telemarketer. "He'll give up and go away in a few minutes."

Dean walked back toward her trying not to lose focus.

"The thing is, Wendy, she was pretty torn up by everything. You saw how she was when-"

The pounding resumed, and this time the words that followed had a decidedly threatening edge to them. "I ain't leavin' here 'til I see you, baby. I'll do what I gotta do, ya hear? So you open this damn door." The voice demanded. There was a tapping sound, like fingers drumming on the door for a moment before he spoke again this time in a somewhat quieter voice. "Ya know I got whatcha need."

Wendy didn't look toward the door, her eyes on Dean, waiting for his answer as if they hadn't been interrupted. If it weren't for the deep blush creeping up her cheekbones, Dean might've thought she hadn't even heard the man speak.

Dean forged on. "I mean, she's making progress right now and-"

"Wendy!" The banging this time issued from the bottom of the door, and the shoddy hinges on the wood looked close to giving way as the door was repeatedly kicked. When the assault on the door finally ended, the man spoke in a deadly quiet voice, still loud enough for Dean and Wendy to easily catch every word. "I ain't never gonna give up. Never. And the longer you make me wait the worse it gonna be for you, baby. Ya know ya can't hide from me, so quit bein' fuckin' stupid and open this door you bony ass cunt." He hissed.

Dean was frozen, standing stock still for what seemed like minutes, but was probably only a few seconds. Thoughts raced through his head. He had less than no connection to this woman. He had no attachment to her and had on countless occasions, while trying in vain to mend the wounds she'd inflicted on his damaged sister, fantasized about her slow, painful death. He had held her in the same regard as the monsters they hunted, convinced that she deserved no more compassion than those evil creatures. But in none of the scenarios he'd envisioned of her getting what she deserved, was Dean ever in a position to step in and help her. Did he care what the man on the other side of that door did to her? Not really. Still, it was one thing to get satisfaction from hearing about her getting her ass kicked, after the fact. It was something entirely different to stand idly by and watch it happen.

MJ's face flashed through Dean's mind and he knew how much it would upset her to know her mother was hurt or killed. It would nearly kill her to know that Dean was in a position to stop it and did nothing. MJ loved this woman, possibly out of obligation, but she loved her all the same. And as much as Dean wished it weren't true, John had cared about her, too. He'd defended the woman with his last breath and with that undisputable fact at the forefront of his mind, Dean sprang into action as the door finally gave out, crashing from its rusty hinges.

The man took a step inside, scanning the room, his eyes skimming over Dean like he was of no more significance than the ratty couch before he honed in on Wendy. He moved determinedly toward her, a nasty grin on his face. Dean swiftly moved so he was standing in front of Wendy, facing the tall, dark, broad shouldered man with beady eyes and a shaved head. The man looked surprised for a split second before Dean grabbed him by the front of his leather jacket and hauled him forward, nearly pulling him off his feet. Dean reached around with his free hand and placed his arm around the man's neck, pulling him down to his knees on the floor in front of the couch. Dean swiftly pulled his pistol from his waistband and held it just under the man's face, so the barrel was snug against the underside of the man's chin.

The man said nothing, panting to catch his breath and tilting his head back to try and put some space between his face and the gun.

"You should leave. Now." Dean said quietly. He cocked the gun before adding, "And don't you even think about coming back."

Dean pulled the gun back, but kept it aimed at the man as he got unsteadily to his feet, glaring daggers at Dean. He turned to glare at Wendy and Dean took a step to the side, blocking her from the man's angry gaze.

Dean didn't lower his gun until the man had walked back out the door and down the hallway and he heard the heavy outer door slam shut behind him. He turned to face Wendy. She had her arms crossed tightly over her midsection and was staring at the floor, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"This is why!" Dean shouted, wild eyed and waving his gun around. "You might be clean, but you're still living in it! You got your past literally banging down your door and you think you're ready to see the daughter you left to fend for herself? You'd be bringing all that pain and hurt right to the surface. How's that gonna help either one of you?"

Wendy said nothing. She didn't move at all, and Dean saw the tear slide down her cheek and splash onto the floor.

Dean sighed heavily. "Look, Wendy," He began, shoving his gun back into his waistband at the small of his back, "She's not ready. Too much has happened and she's finally starting to heal and seeing you…" He shook his head, not quite meeting her eye, "I think it would just hurt her. So I'm sorry. It's not a no, it's just…not right now." His tone was apologetic, but nonetheless final as he turned once more to leave.

Dean thought about throwing her a bone: like giving her a tentative date of when she could see MJ, maybe allowing her to talk to MJ over the phone. He also considered staying and fixing her completely destroyed door. But he couldn't do any of that. He had given her all that he was capable of giving her. He didn't have anything left. His only thought now was getting home to MJ and Sam as quickly as humanly possible.

He had learned a lot about this demon, which had been the point of this trip. He had thought that knowing more would make him feel better, more in control. But it only filled him with an all new level of panic. Sure, Jenna and Wendy's information gave them a direction to go in, but it also gave them a whole new set of unnerving questions that Dean knew would nag at his mind both day and night.

Amidst all of these troubling questions was one certainty: They needed to move on. It was time to get back on the road.