A/N: Hey! So, don't arm the firing squad, but I sorta lied. The gang does get back on the road, but not until the very end of this chapter. Sorry! Once I fleshed out the story it was just longer than I'd anticipated. Just means more story for you in the end:) Love you all! Enjoy!

Chapter 4

Dean returned to Bobby's late at night, killing the headlights before pulling up to the house. He was dead on his feet, hadn't really slept at all since he'd left here a week ago. His brain was working overtime trying to make sense of everything Jenna and Wendy had told him. Between that and the general sense of uneasiness that always came with being away from Sam and MJ he found even trying to sleep to be pretty useless. He sighed, walking toward the house, thinking of his waiting bed.

Dean froze, mid stride when he caught movement to his right, around the side of the porch. He slowly turned his head and even under the cover of night made out the unmistakable form of a man climbing the willow tree beside the house, deftly moving up the trunk until he was right outside of MJ's bedroom window.

Dean snapped quickly into action, jumping the porch steps in one leap and noiselessly entering the house. He took the stairs two at a time, drawing his pistol as he reached the second floor landing. He wasn't surprised to see Bobby awake, standing in the hallway outside of MJ's closed bedroom door, shotgun in hand. Dean caught his eye in the dim moonlight filtering in through the window and motioned to his and Sam's bedroom, letting the older hunter know he was going in through the adjoining bathroom since he knew that door would be open.

As he stepped over the threshold into his bedroom he heard MJ's window creak open, sending his heart hammering into his throat. Sam, who had been sleeping soundly when Dean entered the room, sat bolt upright at the sound, already reaching for his gun on the nightstand. Dean didn't pause to give Sam direction, knew Sam would be right behind him as he crept through the bathroom and listened at the open doorway into MJ's room. He heard careful footsteps crossing the room toward MJ's bed. Dean squinted, just making out the shape of a man leaning over his sister's still form.

Dean took a step into the room, gun raised.

"Don't you fucking move!" He growled, cocking the pistol.

The figure froze as the bedroom door burst open, Bobby stepping in and quickly throwing the light switch as he aimed his shotgun at the man's head. Sam was beside Dean at once, gun trained on their target, breathing fast.

MJ's eyes flew open and she gasped at the sight of the man whose face was mere inches from her own. The man had frozen, slightly bent over MJ, hands out in front of him, not daring to move. He looked up slowly, locking eyes with Dean. MJ appeared to be frozen in shock on the bed below him.

Dean took a step closer. "Back away from her before we turn your head into Swiss cheese!" He threatened.

The man straightened up slowly, his hands raised, taking a step backward.

"Sammy." Dean said, eyes still trained on the intruder.

Sam shoved his gun into his waistband at the small of his back as he moved forward taking hold of MJ's upper arm. When she finally tore her eyes away from the intruder and looked up at Sam he guided her off the bed and situated her next to him and slightly behind Dean.

"Please." The man said, speaking for the first time, his voice trembling. "I'm not armed." He swallowed looking between Dean and Bobby. "Please." He pleaded.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded taking another step toward him.

He stumbled back another step, frightened eyes locked on Dean. He never looked away from Dean as he said, "MJ, little help here?"

Three sets of confused eyes landed on her, making her look down suddenly very interested in Dean's old AC/DC t-shirt she was wearing. She could feel her face growing crimson.

No one spoke for a few beats, all eyes on MJ.

"MJ?" Sam questioned quietly, nudging her arm.

She slowly looked up, not making eye contact with any of them. "Guys, you remember Patrick." She said quietly, locking eyes with the intruder. MJ turned toward Dean, saw his brow furrow as he studied Patrick's face. Then comprehension dawned and his expression cleared turning murderous.

"Patrick." Dean sad quietly, to himself, not lowering his gun. "Whatcha doing here Patrick?" Dean asked, before clenching his teeth so tightly MJ could see his jaw muscle jump.

MJ took a deep breath, eyes on her eldest brother. "Can you lower your gun, Dean?" She asked quietly.

"I asked you a question!" Dean yelled, ignoring his sister completely.

Patrick's face was growing redder by the second and the sweat was beading on his forehead.

"What are you doing here?!" Dean repeated a little more forcefully.

"I don't-" he tried, looking around frantically before his gaze returned to Dean, clearly at a loss. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way." He said, shaking his head.

"What wasn't supposed to happen this way?" Dean demanded.

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Well for starters, you're not supposed to be here." He said, waving his hand in Dean's direction.

This comment was met with silence. One by one, four sets of eyes landed on MJ. She could feel them boring into her and she didn't dare look up, her eyes focused on her bare toes. MJ knew they had all caught on now. They knew that she had planned on Patrick coming here. Not that she was going to deny it or anything, but all the same, it was an intense, horrible moment. The jig was up.

When she couldn't stand the quiet any longer, she raised her head, just a little, just enough to look to her right and see Dean's enraged face. She tried to convey to Dean how sorry she was, that she knew this was really dumb and that he really, really didn't need to kill Patrick to get that point across to her. She held his gaze, begging him with her eyes not to totally flip out. She didn't look to Sam or Bobby, partly because she was too embarrassed. But mostly because she instinctively knew that Dean was running this show.

Patrick took another step back, away from the barrel of Dean's gun. The movement drew Dean's attention away from MJ, and he looked back at the intruder as if he had forgotten the man was there. Patrick stared apprehensively back at Dean.

When Dean finally spoke again, it was with forced calm. Not lowering his gun, he turned toward Bobby. "Bobby, would you mind taking MJ downstairs?"

Before Bobby could make any response MJ took a step forward, away from Sam and Dean and toward Patrick. "No!" She screamed her hands balled into fists at her sides. She turned back to face her brother, standing in front of Patrick, so that Dean's gun was now aimed at her head.

Dean quickly lowered his weapon, looking angrily at MJ. "Jesus, Mary Jane-"

"I'm not going anywhere Dean. I'm not gonna leave this room so you can do God knows what to Patrick like he's the bad guy and I'm some kind of…victim!"

"That's exactly what you're gonna do!" Dean shouted, taking a step toward her.

"Dean, I invited him here, okay? I am not innocent in this! You don't get to take this out on him while I wait with Bobby like some little kid!"

" BUT THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE!" Dean roared, leaning over her, his face inches from hers. "You are a child, Mary Jane! A fifteen year old kid!" He jabbed a finger over her shoulder, pointing at Patrick. "He is a man! An adult who has no business even talking to you, let alone showing up in your bedroom in the middle of the night! That makes him a bad guy, Mary Jane! So, yeah, you're gonna leave this room while I have a little chat with Patrick and I don't care if you like it or not!" He held her gaze, not backing away.

MJ just looked up at him, shocked into silence. Dean was wrong. He was way outta line and she was waiting for either Sam or Bobby to call him on it, to take her side. When it became clear that neither of them was going to refute Dean's tyrannical speech, MJ bit her tongue and moved slowly toward Bobby, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes still on Dean, glaring for all she was worth.

Bobby motioned for her to go ahead. He turned toward Dean before following her out the door.

"Dean."

Dean shifted his gaze from MJ's retreating back to Bobby. He took a deep breath. "It's under control, Bobby. Really." He said as calmly as he could manage.

Bobby threw a quick glance at Sammy. The stern look he gave him clearly saying, 'don't let your brother do anything stupid,' before he followed MJ from the room.

Dean turned his attention back to Patrick, who had a wistful look on his face as if his last hope at surviving this had just walked out the door.

"So. Patrick." Dean walked slowly toward the clearly anxious man, his gun still in his right hand, held close to his thigh. "Didn't think we'd be seeing you again." Dean shook his head, now circling Patrick. "Knew I shoulda jacked your ass back in Lincoln."

Patrick was tracking Dean's movements, his eyes wide with fear.

"How old are you, Patrick?" Sam asked from across the room. Patrick looked up at him as if he was only now realizing he was still in the room.

"Twenty one." He squeaked, voice barely audible.

Dean nodded, pacing the length of the room just a few feet from where Patrick stood. "Twenty one." He repeated. "Yeah." His mouth was set in a thin line as he turned to face Patrick. "Do you remember how old my sister is, Patrick?" Dean asked.

Patrick said nothing, eyes glued to Dean's right hand, still gripping the gun at his side.

After a few moments of silence, Dean stopped pacing, facing Patrick, fire in his eyes. "That wasn't a rhetorical question. Fucking answer it!" He demanded.

Patrick started, fumbling backward a step as he mumbled, "A-almost sixteen."

Dean closed the distance between them in one giant stride, gun raised and pointed directly at Patrick's forehead as he closed in on him. Patrick squeezed his eyes shut, backing up against the wall behind him. He looked like he was trying to melt into it as he turned his head to the side, trying in vain to put some distance between Dean's gun and his brains.

"FIFTEEN!" Dean shouted, correcting Patrick's answer.

Sam took a step forward, watching his brother carefully. Dean was breathing hard, a maniacal glint in his eyes. Dean was good at appearing to be in control, but Sam knew him well and right now he was on the brink of blacking out from the rage. All the signs were there: the dilated pupils, heavy breathing, the vein throbbing in his forehead. Dean was losing it. Fast. Sam was really wishing he'd put the gun away and just throttle the guy. He could definitely get behind that.

"Dean, why don't you lose the pistol, huh?" Sam suggested calmly.

Dean ignored him.

"Here's how this is gonna work, Patrick." Dean spat his name like it was a dirty word. "You're gonna answer my questions and I'll decide how badly I'm gonna hurt you based on those answers." Dean raised his arm, pressing the barrel of the gun right to Patrick's forehead.

"Oh, God." Patrick whimpered, eyes still glued shut.

"And if you lie to me," Dean began, cocking the pistol, "so help me God I will put a bullet through your fucking skull." There was no doubting Dean's sincerity.

Patrick made a choked sobbing sound and Sam saw tears begin to fall down his cheeks.

"Dean." Sam protested weakly, moving around the bed to stand behind his brother.

"Question number one," Dean proceeded as if Sam had said nothing. "Why did you come here tonight?"

Sam looked to Patrick, all at once worried about where this was going and curious as to the answer. He made no attempt to intervene.

Patrick took a shaky breath. "MJ told me you were away on business and I thought maybe I could sneak in to see her without getting caught." His voice was quiet and his words stilted.

"Why did you want to see her?" Dean fired off, seemingly having no reaction at all to Patrick's response.

"We've been talking. Texting a lot. We like each other and I really wanted to see her."

"Have you laid a hand on her?" Dean asked quietly, his voice menacing.

Patrick shook his head. "I swear, this is the first time I've seen her since that first night. Honest." He hastily tried to explain.

"You come here to sleep with her?" Dean asked, his tone deadly.

Patrick opened his eyes, just slightly, to look at Dean. He shrugged. "That would've been up to her."

Sam ran a hand over his face in frustration. This guy just kept digging himself deeper.

Dean grabbed a fist full of Patrick's jacket, pulling him a few inches away from the wall only to slam him back against it again in outrage.

Patrick hastened to explain himself. "It's not what you think. I really like her. I'm not just trying to get in her pants. I'm not looking to hurt her."

"She's a child!" Dean hissed.

Patrick made no response. His eyes on Dean, pleading for mercy.

"Gimme your phone." Dean demanded, left hand digging into Patrick's coat pockets while his right hand kept the pistol trained on Patrick's head. He retrieved the cell phone handing it back to Sam without turning around.

"What's he gonna find on there?" Dean asked, searching Patrick's face for answers. "Hmm?"

Patrick swallowed, looking between Sam and Dean. Sam was just holding the phone in front of him, eyes on Patrick, silently begging him not to have been that stupid.

After a few moments' silence, Dean waggled the gun, letting Patrick know he'd better answer and fast.

Patrick closed his eyes again, speaking so quietly Dean almost didn't make out the words. Almost.

"There's a couple pictures…" He said.

Dean froze. Taking a moment to digest what Patrick had just said. Sam's eyes went wide and he looked down at the phone disgusted before looking back up to see Patrick cringing as he anticipated Dean's reaction.

Dean opened his mouth, closed it, sputtered a couple times. He ran a hand over his mouth, inhaling deeply as he leaned in toward Patrick, gun still pressed to the other man's face.

"What pictures?" He finally managed.

Patrick looked pleadingly back at Dean, hands raised in surrender. "J-just some pictures MJ sent me. Just for fun. It was harmless. Really." He sputtered, tripping over his words.

Sam saw the last shred of control leave his brother and he stepped forward, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder as he came around to face him.

"Dean," was all he said. After a moment Dean reluctantly looked away from Patrick and at Sam. Sam gave him a look that said he got it, he hated the guy, too, but that they both knew how this needed to play out. Dean was not convinced at first, but Sam's gaze was unyielding and Dean knew he was right. Dean slowly lowered his gun, nodding his head, his eyes on the floor. He placed the pistol in Sam's waiting hand As Sam uncocked it and set the safety, Dean bent down, pulling the Beretta from his ankle holster and the hunting knife from its sheath at his thigh. After Sam had tucked the pistol safely away he took the other two weapons from Dean.

Patrick sighed, muttering a weak "thank you" as Dean shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it onto MJ's bed.

Ignoring Patrick, Sam handed Dean the cell phone. "We'll be in the kitchen." Sam said as he left, letting Dean know he should bring Patrick out the front.

Patrick watched Sam leave the room then looked back at Dean, the relief ebbing away, a sense of foreboding overtaking him as Dean just stared at him, malice in his eyes.

Dean waited until he heard the kitchen door swing shut before throwing the phone down on the hardwood floor and smashing it with his boot. He then roughly grabbed Patrick by his upper arm and yanked him down the stairs and out the front door.

Once they were a good distance from the house, Dean relinquished his hold on Patrick and stepped back, squaring off with him. Patrick took in Dean's stance, his fists clenched at his sides, the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Patrick took a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dude, I'm not gonna fight you." He said, trying to infuse his voice with confidence and failing miserably. "You don't want me around your sister, I get it. You want me gone? Fine, I'm gone." Patrick turned away and Dean was on him in a flash, pulling him back around and punching him in the jaw with such force, he fell back, landing in the hard packed dirt.

Patrick's hand went to his face as he looked up at Dean, slightly shocked.

"Get up." Dean ordered as he circled Patrick.

Dean pushed through the kitchen door to find Sam sitting at the kitchen table across from MJ who still looked pissed as hell. Bobby was standing, leaning against the counter, eyes on the siblings, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked strangely at ease, considering the tension in the room radiating off of Sam and MJ.

When Dean walked in Sam looked up at him while MJ just stared resolutely at the table in front of her. Dean met Sam's eye, nodding slightly, letting him know it was done and Patrick had left with a broken nose and his tail between his legs. Sam's shoulders seemed to relax a little and Dean realized that Sam hadn't expected him to be able to exercise any control.

Dean approached the table, standing over MJ, looking down at her, arms at his sides. He waited, expression disapproving, until she looked his way.

Try as she might to continue to ignore him, MJ's eyes darted to the left, and she caught sight of his scraped and bloodied knuckles. Her eyes grew wide and she looked up at him.

Dean saw fear in her eyes as she tried to read his expression, figure out just what he'd done with Patrick without having to ask him. She searched his face for answers, and he knew exactly what she wanted to know, but he refused to give her that satisfaction. He watched as her face grew pink with anger. She hastily shoved her chair back and stood and Dean thought he saw tears swimming in her eyes as she brushed past him.

"Phone." Dean said evenly, turning toward her.

She stopped, hand on the swinging door. Sam watched, looking between Dean and his sister, wondering who would explode first, ready to intervene if it came to it.

MJ spun around, hands fisted at her sides.

"You must be joking." She growled, eyes shooting daggers at Dean.

Dean's only response to was hold his hand out toward her, palm up.

She glanced at Sam and Bobby. Both wore carefully neutral expressions and she knew they'd never disagree with Dean's demand.

She took two steps back toward her brother, reaching into her back pocket and slapped the phone into his outstretched hand.

"You know, I'm allowed to have friends, Dean. That's all it was. You didn't have to act like a total psycho." She accused. Dean could hear the hurt in her voice, under all the anger and resentment, and he felt a little bad about that. But not bad enough to back down. Because the ease with which she was lying to his face riled him right back up.

"Yeah, you're allowed friends. Friends who are your age. Friends who don't sneak into your bed in the middle of the night." Dean took a step forward, his voice raising. "And most importantly friends who aren't twenty-one-year old perverts who have naked pictures of you on their phones!"

The blush in her cheeks grew deeper and spread until her entire face and chest were a deep crimson. She said nothing, her lips slightly parted in surprise and her eyes falling closed in what Dean recognized as embarrassment. She stood there as if rooted to the spot, her eyes cast downward.

Dean nodded, sensing victory. "Yeah, that's right. The psycho knows what you were up to!" He gloated, angrily pointing a finger at her. "So you can forget trying to sell us some crap about this being totally innocent." He waved his hand in Sam and Bobby's direction. "We're not buyin'!" He pointed over her head toward the hallway. "Now go upstairs and pack your shit! We leave tomorrow after your appointment with Dr. Whitmore."

He saw a tear splash down MJ's face when she finally looked up at him. She swallowed, crossing her arms over her chest and turned, quickly leaving the room. Dean heard her flying up the stairs and slamming her bedroom door closed.

Dean didn't turn around, could feel Sam and Bobby's stares boring into his back. He was already feeling guilty for yelling, making her cry. He didn't need to hear it from either of them. He was tired, he was pissed and he had more important things to discuss with Sammy. As far as he was concerned, Patrick was a bad memory, MJ could hate him if she wanted to and everyone else just needed to get over it.

"Dean-"

"Bobby, don't." Dean cut in, finally turning to face Bobby and his brother. "You know how much I appreciate you helping us out, letting us stay here-"

"And that's exactly why you're gonna listen, boy!" Bobby roared, the carefully calm façade finally breaking. Bobby straightened up, pointing a finger at Dean. "You're pissed all to hell, I get that. And I know you're only tryin' to keep her safe, but losin' your cool like that, just pushes her away." Bobby's eyes bored into Dean's as his expression softened. "She lost him, too, Dean. And this is just her tryin' to deal with it."

Sam stayed seated, looking between Bobby and Dean. He didn't say anything.

Dean just looked back at Bobby, his expression unreadable. He gave a non-committal nod, turning to Sam. "I'm gonna hit the hay." He said tiredly before leaving the room.

MJ had woken early the following morning, despite being woken late to her brothers and Bobby trying to kill Patrick. She was up before Dean or Sam and didn't bother to wake either of them, leaving alone for her run. She returned before 7, to find them all awake, having breakfast in the kitchen. Well, Sam and Bobby were having breakfast. Dean was brooding over his coffee cup, clearly agitated. He abruptly stood when she walked in the room, a mixture of relief and anger on his face when he looked at her.

"What, so you just leave now without letting anyone know where you're going?" He demanded angrily.

"Gee, Dean," She responded calmly, walking through the kitchen and grabbing a banana. "Maybe if you hadn't taken my phone you could've called to check in on me." She didn't so much as look in Dean's direction as she headed upstairs to shower.

MJ dressed and headed straight to the Impala, sitting in the back and waiting until her brothers joined her. She did get out to say goodbye to Bobby, couldn't even consider being rude to him. She hugged him somewhat awkwardly; sure he was disappointed and ashamed of her. But he'd gripped her tightly and kissed the top of her head, just like he always did. This made her feel marginally better as she climbed back into the car without so much as a glance in her brothers' direction. She figured that Sam deserved the silent treatment as much as Dean since he hadn't stood up for her at all.

Sam and Dean sat in front of Dr. Whitmore's desk an hour later, anxiously awaiting the end of this session. Dean was itching to get back on the road, to focus on something, anything besides this crap with MJ. That snide remark this morning in the kitchen were the only words she'd spoken to him since last night and the looks she sent his way…where did girls learn to glare like that? Sam hadn't said much either, but then Dean hadn't really given him the chance. He shifted in the leather chair, scowling slightly. They all needed a good hunt. Something familiar and tangible to focus their energy on.

"So, Sam. Dean." Dr. Whitmore began, just as he always did when meeting with them after MJ's sessions, with a demeanor of calm and detached friendliness. If he was ever shocked by anything they told him he never showed it. "MJ tells me this was our last session. Is that right?"

Dean nodded back at the doctor. "Yeah, uh, we gotta hit the road." He smiled in what he hoped was a polite way. "Duty calls."

Sam just nodded his agreement.

"Well," the doctor said, "I'm sorry to hear that. I'd hate to lose MJ as a patient, especially after all the progress she's made. But I certainly understand that you need to work." He scribbled something down before looking back up at them. "Tell me, Dean," he began, folding his hands in his lap, "what did you and MJ argue about last night? She would only say that she wasn't speaking to you and that I should ask you why." The doctor's eyes remained kind and Sam thought he saw a little amusement there on his face when he asked the question.

Dean massaged his forehead with his hand, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. "She was seeing a twenty-one-year-old behind our backs. I put a stop to it." He sighed in frustration. "She knows it's not okay." He defended.

The doctor considered Dean for a moment before actually chuckling lightly. "I see." He shook his head.

Dean eyed the doctor incredulously. "What, you think that's funny? A grown man perving on a fifteen-year-old girl?" He challenged.

"Dean, relax." Sam admonished quietly.

Dean's head snapped to the side, glaring at his brother. "Oh, you got something to say now, Sammy? I mean, you were pretty quiet last night. More than happy to stand by and let me be the bad guy in this!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on, Dean. What did you want me to do? You had it under control. There wasn't much for me to say. And in case you haven't noticed, she's not speaking to me either. We're in the same boat here!"

"If I may," Dr. Whitmore began, holding up his hand toward them, causing them both to fall silent. "I certainly didn't mean to imply I find what you told me amusing in any way. On the contrary, an adult man taking advantage of MJ is quite disturbing. I'm glad to hear you responded appropriately to it." He smiled again. "I was laughing because you and your sister are so alike it's a bit startling, Dean." He shook his head. "I must say, sometimes I nearly forget how young MJ is when we're talking. She's very mature in a lot of ways," He held up a finger for emphasis, "but very naïve in others. So it's not surprising to hear that this man was able to convince her he cared for her."

Sam and Dean shared a look as the doctor continued.

"Since I won't be meeting with you again, there's something else I need to inform you of. As you know I normally can't discuss with you specifics of what MJ and I talk about, but MJ gave me permission to talk with you about this." He paused, Dean and Sam both waiting anxiously for him to continue. "MJ informed me that she has absolutely no memory of her time with the man who abducted her. We've discussed it several times and she is adamant that she does not remember anything at all."

"Wait." Dean was shaking his head, as if confused. "Is that even possible?"

Dr. Whitmore nodded. "Not only possible, but not entirely uncommon. It's called selective amnesia. Sometimes when a person suffers a significant trauma, their brain blocks out the memory of that trauma as a way to protect itself. Like a defense mechanism. It would be too painful to remember so MJ's mind has chosen not to. In MJ's case locking away those memories was probably necessary to keep her sane in the moment."

Sam and Dean were silent as they considered what the doctor was telling them.

Dr. Whitmore shifted in his chair as he continued. "MJ's had a lot of trauma in her life, a good amount of it happening in the past few months. The death of your father, her mother abandoning her, the neglect and abuse that occurred throughout her childhood. She's dealing with all of that and I must say making tremendous progress."

Dean looked back at the doctor, sensing from his tone where this was going. There was definitely a 'but' coming.

"That said I'm concerned that MJ's progress will be short lived. I fear a relapse in…familiar habits and behaviors if she doesn't begin to deal with everything that has happened to her."

"So you're sayin' we gotta help her remember what happened with- her abductor?" Dean barely caught himself before saying the word 'demon'.

The doctor shook his head. "She'll remember when her brain thinks she's truly ready to deal with whatever she went through there. There's no point trying to rush that. But you can help her to realize that she's safe. That no matter what happened to her in the past she's not in danger now."

Dean shook his head, looking down at the floor, frustrated. "How?" He asked, looking back up. "We've been hearing that from day one. 'Make her feel safe.' How?" He pleaded.

Dr. Whitmore was unfazed. "Honestly, Dean? I think you're already doing it."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, fat lot of good it's doing." He mumbled sarcastically.

"I'm afraid I have to disagree with you, Dean." Dr. Whitmore said. "All of the progress MJ's made in therapy? None of that would have been possible without you and Sam supporting her."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "I just…want her to be better."

"Patience is a virtue, Dean." Dr. Whitmore said with a small smile as he stood. Dean and Sam followed suit.

"Before you leave," Dr. Whitmore began, following them to the door. "I feel I should warn you." He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Don't be surprised if there's more to MJ's past than what she's letting on. I'm afraid I've only scratched the surface these past few months. But she's a tough kid. One of the most resilient children I've ever worked with. She'll get through it." He pulled the door open with a small smile. "With your help."

Sam and Dean left, both relieved to be done with that, but filled with a new sense of dread. What the hell had that bastard demon done to her that was so terrible she had blocked it out?

"What the hell do you think that's about?" Sam asked, echoing Dean's thoughts.

Dean shook his head as they made their way across the waiting room. MJ stood when she saw them and quickly walked out the door, not waiting for them, her expression still pissed.

Dean sighed. "I don't know, Sammy. Just…add it to the never ending list of crap."