A/N: Sorry, kids! My computer crashed and I lost a lot of what I had written for this story:( I've rewritten it to the best of my ability and can only hope it's up to your high standards;) Please enjoy and as always thanks for reading!
Chapter 9
Dean rapped sharply on the door before ducking to the side and pressing himself against the wall out of sight. He'd driven the seven or so hours straight through from Ham Lake to Lincoln and he was still extremely hung over. Yet right now he was sharp and focused and wide awake. He'd learned over the years that adrenaline could do that for you. He'd also learned that having passion for a specific goal could keep you particularly motivated and since leaving Minnesota that morning he'd had a one track mind: destroy Patrick. Instinct took over completely when he heard footsteps approaching the door.
The door opened a few inches and Dean knew that the chain was engaged and that Patrick was checking to see who was there before opening the door completely. So he was nervous. Good.
Dean waited quietly, not even breathing, until the moment when Patrick, seeing that no one was there, was just starting to close the door again then sprang into action. He moved quickly in front of the door and with one solid kick, destroyed the chain and ripped the door nearly off its hinges. Patrick was knocked backward onto his ass, looking up at Dean, shocked. At realizing who was standing in his doorway, all of the color drained from his face and his eyes went wide in terror.
"Knock, knock." Dean stepped slowly into the apartment, standing over Patrick. He looked down at the man and was happy to see that one: his face was still all jacked up from the last beating Dean had given him, and two: he was scared shitless.
Patrick scrambled backward, half crawling until he was up against the back of the couch and couldn't put any more space between himself and Dean.
"Wh-what do you want?" He asked, his voice shaking in fear.
Dean stood over him, hands balled into fists at his sides, his green eyes hard and unwavering as he stared back down at Patrick. He shook his head, disgusted. "You must be a special kind of stupid." Dean took a step to the side, pulling his jacket off and laying it on the table. "Or," he theorized, pulling his gun and knife out, "You have some kind of death wish." Patrick's eyes were glued to Dean's hands as he laid his weapons down on the table as well and started rolling up his sleeves. "But I gotta tell ya kid, if you are lookin' to end it, there are far less painful ways than what I'm about to do to you."
Dean turned back walking slowly toward Patrick, his fury clear in the set of his jaw. He shrugged in a would-be blasé manner that was at odds with the anger radiating from him. "Not that it'll help you, but do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Patrick looked up at him for a long moment, trying to look like he wasn't about to pee himself. He fixed Dean with a contemptuous look. "You can hit me all you want, what's done is done."
Dean shook his head, giving a wry chuckle. "Knew you'd make this easy for me."
Dean bent, grabbing up a handful of Patrick's shirt and yanking him up, only to smash his fist into his face, sending his head flying backward into the back of the couch. Dean continued his onslaught, his only goal causing this guy as much pain as possible. He barely even felt it when the skin on his knuckles split as he pounded into the other man's skull. Patrick tried fighting back at first, getting a couple lucky shots in, but causing minimal damage and not slowing Dean down at all.
Finally, after what could've been minutes or hours, Dean heard a shrill cry from behind him and turned around in time to see a massive dog bearing down on him. The dog knocked him backward and landed on him, tearing into Dean's shoulder with his teeth. Through the stabbing pain Dean was vaguely aware that someone was standing in the doorway, still screaming and that Patrick was crawling away toward the door, blood dripping from his face onto the floor. Dean scrambled backward quickly and the dog caught his left calf, tearing into his flesh through his jeans. Dean kicked out instinctively, and heard the animal give a high-pitched yelp as Dean's boot connected with its head. Dean quickly and painfully made it to his feet and lunged for the kitchen table. He grabbed up his pistol and climbed onto the table, taking aim at the snarling animal.
"Call him off or I'll shoot him!" Dean demanded, aiming at the dog who was standing in front of the table, eyes on Dean and the hair on his back standing on end, bearing his teeth and growling low in his throat. Dean felt a twinge of guilt even as he made the threat, not relishing the idea of hurting the animal, even if it was trying to kill him.
The woman who had been standing in the doorway shrieking moments ago, was now kneeling on the floor beside a bleeding, whimpering Patrick. She looked terrified, but called out in a firm voice nonetheless, "Tyson, heel!"
The dog immediately backed down, whining as he moved back toward his owner, eyes never leaving Dean.
Dean slowly, carefully slid off the table and grabbed up his jacket and knife in one hand, the other still holding the gun steadily on the dog. He limped toward the door, the dog taking up a protective stance in front of the two people on the floor as Dean passed them.
"Get out and don't you ever come back." The woman threatened through her tears as she attempted to stave off the blood pouring from Patrick's nose.
Dean paused for just a moment in the doorway, looking back at them. He guessed from how she was caressing Patrick's face in an attempt to comfort him that this woman was his girlfriend. He considered her for a moment as he stepped into the hallway.
"Do yourself a favor and check his internet history." Dean said to her before painfully making his way outside and to the Impala.
"Dean, it's me. Again." Sam whispered harshly into the phone, looking over his shoulder at MJ who was fast asleep. "Where the hell did you go? MJ said she saw you at the diner this morning and then you just…took off. Look, you were mad, I get it. And yeah, I wanted you to leave and calm down, but-" Sam paused, took a deep breath. "Just call me back, okay?" Sam snapped the phone closed. He sighed heavily, heading back to his seat at the table where his laptop was up and running. He sat back down, trying to focus on researching this case rather than on what stupid thing Dean was doing…or had already done. He'd called him three times. Left three voicemails. Dean had been gone over twelve hours now and as the time wore on Sam's anxiety grew. Dean had been angrier than Sam had ever seen him. And while Sam was of the opinion that Patrick deserved to be punished, he knew Dean wanted to be the one to dole out that punishment and Sam was worried about just how far Dean was willing to go…
It was nearing 3 AM when Dean finally eased the Impala to the side of a deserted back road, pulling out his phone. He got out, hissing in pain when he put weight on his leg and sat on the hood of the Impala, stretching his sore legs out in front of him. His left calf burned from the dog bite and he knew he should clean it up soon. He flipped his phone open, listening to his voicemails, all from Sam. He only briefly considered calling him back, before dialing a different number.
"Hello?"
Dean felt the warmth in her voice melt some of his frustration and anger.
"Hey." He said, his voice low and sheepish. He didn't say anything else, waiting for her to respond.
"Hey." She echoed, and Dean could tell she was guarded, maybe still a little pissed after their last conversation. He could tell she wasn't going to make this easy for him and he couldn't blame her.
Dean closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I uh, I don't remember exactly what I said to you the other night…I know it wasn't…pleasant. I was fired up over MJ and it was shitty to take that out on you." Dean blew out a breath, glad to get that over with.
There was a short pause before Jenna responded.
"And?" She prompted.
"Uh-" Dean racked his brain, not sure what else she wanted him to say. "And…I get a little defensive when it comes to my dad?" Dean guessed.
"Two words Dean. Just say them and we'll move on."
Dean blew out a breath, almost smiling with relief. "I'm sorry." He said.
"You're forgiven." Jenna replied easily. "Anyway, I got in touch with an old contact who works for an internet watchdog group that specializes in child exploitation. Just give me the web address and he'll have the photos removed and the site shut down in no time."
"Shit, Jenna, that's great news." Dean said, nearly weak with relief. Ever since he'd seen them, he could barely think straight and his stomach was constantly in knots just knowing that anyone anywhere could be looking at those pictures. He knew he wouldn't be able to function until they were gone for good.
"Now," Jenna started, hesitantly, "about the guy who posted them…"
Dean didn't miss a beat. "Taken care of." He glanced down at his left hand where it rested on his thigh, his knuckles raw and still bleeding.
Jenna didn't miss the disgust and anger in Dean's voice.
"Yeah," she replied, "That's what I figured." She cleared her throat. "Listen, Dean, I didn't mean to lecture you about how you dealt with MJ. Anyone would've freaked out. It's a big deal. You have every right to be angry with her. Sometimes I tend to overstep my bounds."
"Nah, you were right. I shouldn't have compared her to Wendy. I would've put my foot up anybody's ass who talked about her like I did."
"You were drunk. And enraged. I get where it came from, I just…you have to remember where she came from…what she's been through before you light into her."
Dean shook his head, running a hand over his face. "I can't even look at her without wanting to punch something, Jenna." Dean admitted, feeling a lump growing in his throat. "Every time I lay eyes on her all I see is-"
"You gotta let it go, Dean." Jenna interrupted, forcefully. "Move past it."
"How?" He challenged, not able to keep his voice from breaking. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
"However you can. Have you talked to MJ about it? Told her why you're so upset with her?"
Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "I can barely be in the same room with her let alone have a conversation with her."
"You don't give yourself enough credit, Dean. I know you'll work this out. I have faith in you."
Dean gave a wry chuckle. "Yeah, that makes one of us."
"That's enough, Dean." She said, her voice now stern. "How many times are we gonna have this same conversation, huh?"
"What can I say? I'm just insecure." Dean joked.
"You're full of it." She said, trying and failing to keep the smile out of her voice.
"Hey. Seriously, though, thanks. You're really doing me a favor here."
"Anytime, cowboy." She said and Dean could hear the coy smile in her voice.
Dean gave a gruff laugh. "Cowboy, huh?"
"I don't know. Just felt right."
"Hey, you make those pictures go away, you can call me whatever you want."
"I'm gonna hold you to that." Jenna teased.
There was silence for a moment.
"So, uh," Dean began, "You planning on staying at your brother's for a while?"
"Yeah, I guess. I like it here. And I found a job."
"Oh, yeah? What kind of job?"
There was a pause. "Bond enforcement."
"Bond enforcement?" Dean was speechless for a moment. "You're gonna be a bounty hunter?" He asked incredulously.
"Yes." Jenna snapped. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"No!" Dean answered quickly. "No, it's just…." Dean couldn't think of a single thing to say that would be safe. "Wow."
"Gee, Dean thanks for the vote of confidence." Jenna said sarcastically.
"No, no it's…great." Dean responded lamely.
Jenna gave a wry laugh. "You don't think I can do it."
"Oh, you can do it alright. That's the problem. No doubt you'll get your guy every time. And get your ass beat in the process." Dean heard her huff on the other end and continued before she could interrupt. "Look, that's a compliment. I know you. You'll put it all on the line. Go big or go home, right?"
'Is there any other way?" She answered immediately.
Dean shook his head with a sigh. "No." He swallowed. "Just…be careful, okay?"
"Always am." He could hear the smile in her voice, loud and clear and it made the pain fade just a little bit.
"Whoa, slow down, would ya?" Sam called out to his sister, hurriedly tucking his phone back in his pocket and checking traffic before trotting across the street.
MJ stood on the corner, hands on her hips, chewing her bottom lip impatiently. She broke back into her brisk pace once Sam joined her.
"What's the rush?" Sam asked falling into step beside her.
MJ didn't turn toward him, kept her eyes straight ahead as she answered, all business. "I just wanna solve this and kill whatever's doing it." She said in a clipped tone. "Besides," she looked up at him, "You can't keep up with me?" she asked incredulously.
Sam gave her a bitchy look, pulling the arena door open. MJ smirked and stepped inside, Sam following right behind her.
"I'll take the lead. You're the intern. We'll interview as many of the players from last year's team as we can get to."
MJ nodded in response, leading the way into the locker room. Sam stepped in front of her just as she was about to step inside. "Whoa." He held his hand up, halting her. "Men's locker room. What are you doing?"
MJ rolled her eyes. "Please, I've seen it all before." She made to shove past Sam, but he stood his ground. "Forget it. You're waiting out here."
MJ gave a dramatic sigh. "Come on, Sam. We're wasting time." She stepped to her right and Sam mirrored the movement.
"Just wait here. I'll bring them out one at a time." Sam tried to reason with her. He could tell, though, that she was barely listening to him, dead set on getting to the players as quickly as possible.
MJ stepped the other way and Sam quickly did the same. She growled in frustration.
"Cut it out, Sam!" She ground through her teeth, arms folded across her chest.
"No, you cut it out. Just stop and take a breath." He gestured over his shoulder. "They're not going anywhere. Just relax."
MJ scoffed. "Yeah, they're not going anywhere because they're dying while we stand here arguing."
"You're being absolutely unreasonable." Sam accused, quickly losing patience.
"Well you're being overbearing and pig headed." MJ hurled back at him.
Sam had had it. "Fine. I'm overbearing. I'm also the adult and you're the child, so what I say goes. You're waiting here. That's final."
MJ looked up at him for a moment, face reddening in anger. Sam just stared back down at her, unyielding. Finally she threw her hands up in defeat.
"Whatever you say, Dean." She turned and walked a few steps down the deserted hallway.
Sam rolled his eyes before turning and heading into the locker room muttering, "Dean had better get his ass back here and fast."
MJ was doodling absently on her notepad as Sam fired off the same questions he'd already asked the previous five players. She glanced at the clock again. An hour. She'd been listening to the same bullshit responses for sixty minutes: They were great guys, awesome teammates, nobody would want to hurt them…no, of course there was nothing that had happened to make someone target their team…
MJ thought her head might explode if this went on much longer. She leaned back in her chair, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs. This drew the guy's attention that Sam was now interviewing. Jacob Miller- or as MJ had dubbed him, Big Fat Liar #6- considered MJ for a moment, Sam's last question forgotten as a smile graced his face. MJ's expression remained benign. Maybe a different day, when she was in a better mood she would've reciprocated. Right now she was so agitated she just didn't have it in her to flirt with this moron.
Sam cleared his throat loudly and Jacob reluctantly turned back toward him. Sam considered him for a moment before deciding to give up on his last question and ask a different one.
"Look, Jacob," He began, leaning forward toward the younger man, "sometimes something might seem like no big deal." Sam shrugged. "You brush it off as nothing." Sam paused. "But if there was anything even a little out of the ordinary or…unusual that happened with Mitchell or Trenton it could be important."
Jacob just shook his head in response.
"Are you sure?" Sam asked desperately.
"Look," Jacob said slightly annoyed, "other than our team being fucking amazing, there was nothing unusual about any of us. Nothing happened. Nobody got in trouble." He shook his head. "I don't know why those two psychos did what they did, but mark my words: It didn't have shit to do with our team." He looked between Sam and MJ a few times. "Can I go now?" He asked.
Sam just nodded, once again disappointed.
MJ threw her pen down as Jacob walked out. "This is a waste of time." She complained. "All we've learned is how 'awesomely amazing' this team was last year." She rolled her eyes in annoyance.
Sam sat up a little straighter. "Well how good were they? Like…freaky good?"
"You mean like 'deal with a demon' good?" MJ opened the folder in which she compiled last year's team roster and statistics. She began skimming the first couple pages. "Hmm, I don't think so. They lost games, took penalties, had the normal amount of injuries." She flipped a few pages . "Looks like the championship series was a battle for them. Doesn't sound like anything weird. Just a decent amount of talent and some luck." She looked up to see Sam giving her a strange look. "What?"
He shook his head, grinning. "Nothing. Thanks for the in depth analysis, Bob Costas." He teased.
MJ gave him a dirty look. "I like hockey. Sue me." She bit out just as a guy a little older than her appeared in the open doorway to the small conference room .
"Hey." He gave an awkward wave. "Garrett Sloan." He remained at the doorway, not quite making eye contact with either of them.
Sam stood extending his hand. "Hi Garrett. I'm Agent Page." Garrett shook Sam's hand, his eyes cast downward. "This is my intern Miss Blake." Sam indicated MJ who gave Garrett a smile that he hesitated to return. MJ watched him curiously. His shy, almost nervous demeanor could not have been more at odds with his egotistical teammates.
Garrett sat, rigid in his chair. MJ could see he was trying to act like he was comfortable, but she could see that he was totally freaked. His left leg never stopped moving, bouncing up and down and he kept his hands in his lap where MJ could see him fidgeting.
"Garrett, we're investigating the deaths of Mitchell Sands and Trenton Hill. We know they were on this team last year. Anything you could tell us about either or both of them that might shed some light on what happened?"
"No." Garrett answered sharply, a little too quickly. MJ glanced quickly at Sam. He met her eye and she knew he'd caught it too.
Sam paused for a moment before asking his next question. "Well, would you say Mitchell and Trenton were friends?"
Garrett shrugged, eyes on the table in front of him. "We all got along. We were teammates. They weren't like best friends or anything."
"So everybody on the team got along with them?"
"Yep." Garrett looked around the room nervously, like he couldn't wait to leave.
Sam considered him for a moment. "You know, Garrett, we have reason to believe that these two murders were connected. That maybe they have something to do with last year's team."
Garrett looked up, briefly making eye contact with Sam before looking back down. It was long enough for Sam to see the worry in the younger man's eyes. Sam forged ahead.
"If that's the case then you and your teammates could be in danger." Sam was quiet for a moment, letting that sink in. Garrett didn't look back up. "So if there's anything at all that you can think of. Anyone who might have had an ax to grind with Trenton or Mitchell or anyone else on the team. We need to know about it."
Garrett's face had grown crimson and M J could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He shook his head, looking up briefly at Sam. "I don't know anything. Sorry." He answered quietly.
MJ stood abruptly, sticking out her hand toward Garrett. "Thank you for your time." She said.
Sam gave her a 'what the hell are you doing?' look as Garrett stood and hesitantly shook her hand. Sam saw the look of disappointment on his sister's face as she released Garrett's hand.
"He's lying." MJ said angrily after Garrett had left the room. She shook her head. "They're all lying."
Sam pointed an accusing finger at his sister. "You touched him on purpose."
MJ was gathering up her files and pushing in her chair. She shrugged. "Don't know what you mean." She said heading toward the door.
Sam was hot on her heels. "You were hoping you'd have a vision when you shook his hand!" He accused in a harsh whisper.
MJ kept walking at a brisk pace to the arena door. "So?" She asked, in a bored sounding voice without turning back or breaking her stride.
"So?" Sam gave a wry chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't-I mean, I wasn't-" Sam sputtered. MJ finally stopped on the sidewalk, turning back to look up at Sam, her eyebrows raised. Sam gestured toward her, "Just don't do that again." He commanded.
MJ gave a derisive laugh, hands on her hips. "Oh, yes sir!" She gave a mock salute before turning and hurrying back down the road.
Sam easily fell into step beside his sister. "I'm dead serious, MJ. It's too risky. Especially since he would've been able to tell something was up. We can't risk exposing you like that. All it takes is for the wrong person to see it just once and that's it. You'll be hunted. Not to mention the fact that we don't know how badly they're affecting you. We'd be playing with fire."
"Sam, if that had worked, we might know who the killer is right now." MJ argued as she crossed the street. She stopped next to where the car they'd rented that morning was parked and turned to face Sam. "It can help us save people. That makes it worth it." She said, determined.
Sam was shaking his head before she'd even finished speaking. "No. It's not worth it." His tone said 'discussion over'.
MJ had other ideas as she watched him unlock the car.
She eyed him furiously. "Well, too bad for you it's not your decision, Sam. It's up to me and I say it's worth it." She wrenched the door open and got in the front seat, slamming the door closed behind her. She stared straight ahead, her jaw set.
Sam got in the car, so furious he had to fight to keep from screaming. He watched MJ's jaw muscle jump and knew she was just as pissed as he was. He was slightly amused by how much she looked like Dean right now, but not enough to calm him down. He turned in his seat to face her, pointing a finger at her as he spoke.
"Look," He started, his voice strained with the effort of controlling himself. "I get it. You're pissed at me. You're pissed at Dean. You're pissed at the world. Fine. Be pissed. But none of that gives you permission to be reckless. We work this case together and you don't make a move without my say so. And if you can't play by those rules you can just sit it out. Got it?"
Sam looked at her, waiting for her agreement. She didn't turn to look at him, didn't even really acknowledge he'd spoken and this ratcheted up Sam's temper. "You want to give me the silent treatment? That's fine. You don't need to agree to my rules, you'll follow them or you'll sit in the motel room until this case is solved."
"Maybe I'll just leave." She threatened under her breath, her icy stare still fixed straight ahead.
"Try it and I'll drag you right back!" Sam growled through his teeth.
MJ gave a derisive laugh. "Okay, dad." She spat sarcastically.
Sam just stared back at his sister, who stubbornly looked straight ahead. As pissed as he was, he wasn't even going to give her the satisfaction of reacting to that comment. He bit his tongue, carefully considering his sister. He was pretty sure she was bluffing about taking off. But he wasn't taking chances. The last thing he needed was her jumping out of the car at a stop sign. Sam's arm shot out toward MJ and she flinched and moved her arms to a defensive position in front of her face. Her eyes squinted shut and she cringed into her seat back.
Sam froze, his outstretched arm mere inches in front of MJ's face. After a moment he continued to reach past her and shove down the lock on her door, his movements slow and deliberate. He saw MJ's eyes open just slightly as he carefully pulled his arm back, resting his hand on the steering wheel. He watched as her posture relaxed a little and she opened her eyes fully, aiming them straight out the windshield once again, not even willing to look at her brother. He could see she was still furious, but he also saw some fear in her eyes now and maybe a little bit of embarrassment over how she had just reacted.
Sam swallowed hard. "MJ," He started, much quieter and calmer than their previous exchange.
"Forget it." She bit out scathingly. And Sam could hear that her voice was a little shakier than before.
Sam put the car in gear and pulled out onto the road, fighting down a guilty feeling that on some level he knew wasn't warranted. He'd never struck his sister once in her life, never even threatened it. So what had made her cringe like that?