A/N: Thanks for reading, guys! Enjoy:)

Chapter 12

MJ knew Sam was furious, could tell by the tension rolling off of him in waves as he carried her from the car to their motel room. She couldn't open her eyes to look at his face without being in excruciating pain. She was jostled slightly as Sam unlocked and opened the door and stepped over the threshold, pausing to kick the door shut behind him. She felt him begin to move again, take three steps forward, then dump her unceremoniously onto one of the beds.

MJ finally opened her eyes, just a sliver, just enough to look back up at her brother and manage a glare. Sam's mouth was set in a grim line as he looked down at her, disgusted and nearly trembling with anger.

They were both silent for a while, MJ lying on the bed, staying as still as possible to keep from throwing up. Her head throbbed painfully. She could hear Sam moving about the room, could hear him pouring a drink…then another…then another.

Sam stared across the room, eyes glazed over, pouring glass after glass of the amber colored liquor. Sam didn't really even like it. Dean went on and on about it. "Jack is so smooth, goes down so easy"…as far as Sam was concerned it all tasted like gasoline from the top shelf brands down to the swill in the plastic bottles that Dean resorted to when he was low on cash or when it didn't really matter what he drank so long as it made him numb.

Sam forced down another swallow of the whiskey, sliding his eyes toward MJ. She was out. Had been for half an hour or so. He swirled the liquid around in his glass, thinking about what had happened yesterday. How she'd flinched away from him. He'd been bewildered, even a little bit hurt. Why would she react like that? He'd chalked it up to an involuntary response, to all the shit she'd been through in the past few years. After all, how could it possibly have anything to do with him? He'd never struck her, not once.

Then later when they'd come back here to catch some sleep, he'd remembered…just as he'd been drifting off to sleep he'd remembered…

**Flashback**

Sam sat on the balcony – well glorified fire escape really – of Wendy's fifth floor apartment. It was noisy out here. Traffic, the river, city sounds that he normally found deafening when they visited were mere background noise to him now as he stared down at the padded envelope in his hand. He could hardly believe that he was finally holding it. All the planning and secrecy for months, hiding the application, setting up the PO box here in Chicago, convincing his father they should visit MJ. There were times when he'd almost dropped the entire thing. As badly as he wanted to go to college, to experience something normal, something for himself for once it had just seemed so out of reach sometimes.

Now, sitting here, the letter from Stanford clutched unopened in his hands, he was too afraid to look. He'd separated from Dean and his father a couple hours ago, telling them he was just going to crash here while they killed the time waiting for MJ and Wendy to get home by going on a supply run. As soon as they'd pulled away in the Impala Sam had walked the 8 blocks to the post office, his stomach in knots, to retrieve his mail. He'd held his breath as he unlocked the receptacle, finding applications and brochures for other colleges before pulling out the larger manila envelope, Stanford's address in the upper left hand corner. He'd tossed the rest of the mail, carefully placing the envelope inside his coat before walking back, his mind racing.

Sitting here now he felt distinctly torn. He still wanted this, but…it would come at a hefty price. He and his father had discussed – well, more like argued about – college twice, the second fight ending with John telling Sam to forget about it, he wasn't going 'and that's final.' It had been a clear order and Sam had gone ahead and applied anyway. Sam knew from experience how this would go if he did get in and if he decided to go…

Sam's tortured thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and voices entering the living room. Sam knew he was hidden from view and was just about to duck back through the window and announced his presence when his sister's voice carried through the open window.

"My mom won't be home for a couple hours." She said, her voice low, almost breathless.

"Nice." A male voice answered.

Sam froze for a second, pulling back away from the window again. That voice sounded awfully deep for a middle schooler, he thought. He stood next to the window, his back against the building, listening.

"Want one?" The boy asked as Sam heard a lighter being flipped open.

"Sure." MJ answered, although Sam thought she sounded the opposite of sure.

There was silence for a moment and then MJ started coughing.

The boy chuckled. "Easy. Probably shouldn't inhale if you're not used to it." He suggested, his voice totally at ease.

Sam caught the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke wafting out of the open window. He clenched his jaw as his mind protested what was clearly happening: his eleven-year-old sister was smoking with some kid who sounded at least sixteen. Sam heard rustling sounds and after neither of them said anything for about a minute he chanced a glance inside. What he saw made his blood boil. Some dude with jet black hair and a leather jacket had his tongue shoved in MJ's mouth and one hand up her shirt groping at her chest while the other pushed her slowly back until she was lying flat on the couch.

Without another thought Sam crawled deftly through the open window and strode to the couch, grabbing the kid by the scruff of his neck and yanking him back until he was completely off of MJ and sitting back on his elbows, a look of shock on his face as he stared up at Sam.

MJ gave a startled cry, quickly wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Sam!" She yelled in surprise. "What-what are you doing here?" She stuttered out, her face quickly reddening.

Sam spared his sister only a brief glance before turning back to the boy. He was tall, kind of scrawny and clearly not eleven.

"Who the hell are you?" Sam demanded.

"Max." The kid answered, his voice shaking with what was quickly becoming fear.

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen." He mumbled, nearly a whisper.

Sam took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he looked ready to destroy Max.

"Get out." He ordered, his voice low and intimidating.

Max immediately obeyed, standing quickly, nearly falling over in his haste to leave. He ran toward the door without so much as a look in MJ's direction.

"Max, wait!" MJ called after him, but Max bolted, fleeing out the front door as fast as he could, not even stopping to close the door behind him.

MJ turned toward Sam, her expression furious as she stood and straightened her shirt. "Thanks a lot." She huffed, crossing her arms and stepping around her brother.

Sam's anger hadn't faded and he turned, taking hold of her arm and pulling her back around to face him.

"Are you serious, Mary Jane? Smoking? Making out? What the hell?" He shouted down at her.

"So?" She spat, yanking her arm free.

"So?" Sam repeated loudly. "You're eleven!"

MJ gave a frustrated grunt. "I'm not a little kid!" She insisted, her cheeks red and tears springing to her eyes.

Sam was shaking his head as she spoke. "You are way too young for this." He growled furiously.

"You don't even know me!" MJ shrieked, stomping her foot on the floor for emphasis. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides. "You think you can come aroun twice a year and boss me around? Hell no!"

"You bet I can!" Sam shouted, matching his sister's volume. "You're a child and like it or not you'll do what you're told!" Even as he said it Sam was shocked at himself, couldn't believe how much he sounded like his father in that moment. But he stood his ground, staring her down.

MJ ground her teeth together, her words coming out in a snarl. "Fuck you, Sam. I'll screw whoever I want and you can't stop me!"

Sam's body seemed to act of its own accord, his right arm shooting out, his hand connecting with MJ's left cheek with enough force to make her head whip to the right, her hair falling forward like a red curtain across her startled face.

Her left hand shot up to her cheek as she stared up at her brother, a look of utter shock on her face.

There was total silence except for their harsh breathing as they stared at each other.

Sam felt instantly contrite, couldn't believe he'd just lost his temper like that. Yes, she'd been way out of line, but he should've kept his cool. He blew out a breath, cringing slightly as a look of raw hurt dawned on his little sister's face and the tears began to fall.

"MJ, I didn't mean to-"

"What's going on?"

Sam turned to see John and Dean standing in the open doorway, looking thoroughly confused. Sam watched as Dean's eyes raked over their sister who still had her left hand covering her smarting cheek and tears cascading down her face.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, eyes still on MJ and the alarm clear in his voice. He set the bags he was carrying down by the door and moved closer to her, pulling her hand away from her face and leaning down toward her. He sucked in a breath as he took in the red mark high on her cheekbone. "What the hell happened?" He demanded, looking to Sam for an answer.

Sam's responding look of guilt and shame was all the answer Dean needed. He straightened to his full height, shoulders rigid and jaw clenched as he looked back at Sam, fire in his eyes. "You son of a bitch." He growled in disgust, moving toward Sam.

"Dean." John warned, but it was too late.

Dean's fist smashed into Sam's jaw, sending the taller man stumbling backward. Sam made no attempt to fight back, straightening up and looking pleadingly at his brother who was bearing down on him once again.

"Dean, I'm sorry-"

"Not as sorry as you're gonna be!" Dean cocked his fist back again.

"Enough!" John bellowed, stepping between his sons. He gave Dean a stern look. "That's enough."

Dean lowered his fist, but still glared at Sam.

"Dean, go cool off." John said, still planted firmly between the two young men.

Dean shook his head, "Dad-"

"That's an order!" John commanded.

Sam watched as Dean shot him one last death glare before storming out of the apartment. John watched him go as well, before turning to face his younger son. "What happened, Sam?" He demanded.

Sam looked over at MJ who was watching all of this quietly, eyes wide and cheek still bright red from the force of the slap. His heart clenched painfully at the sight of her an he had to get out of there.

"Ask your daughter." He answered tonelessly as he turned quickly and bolted, ignoring his father's shouted protests.

Sam walked aimlessly for a few blocks before leaning against a brick building and pulling out the manila envelope. He found that he was no longer worried about what it said. He knew now that either way he had to get out. What had just happened…he knew if he stayed he'd become just like his father. He'd lost his temper with MJ and look what he'd done. He couldn't be that person. And if he stayed…it was inevitable. No. This wasn't him. He had the power to be someone different. Someone better. Someone he could be proud of. Someone his mother would be proud of…

Sam ripped the envelope open, pulling out the packet inside. The page on top was addressed to him and he didn't need to read past the first word: Congratulations.

Sam stared down at his nearly empty glass, aware on some level that he'd drank the entire bottle of Jack. How had he forgotten about that? Things had gotten so insane right after that. He left for school, didn't talk to any of them for months after. Shit, he hadn't even apologized to her for that. He shoved the guilt aside, outrage quickly building at his sister's absolute disregard for her own safety. There was no excuse for her behavior today.

A soft groan from the bed behind him brought Sam back to reality. He turned to see MJ stirring, but still asleep. He drained his glass, the whiskey burning all the way down. He'd spent his entire adult life trying to prove he wasn't like his father. He'd told himself that every decision he'd made since he'd applied to Stanford had been about finding himself, being his own person. When really it had been about showing the world who he wasn't. He wasn't John.

He scoffed, shaking his head. Nope, he definitely wasn't like his father. His father saved people, just about every day of his life. And in the end, Sam was pretty sure he'd traded his own life for the life of his daughter. And what had Sam done? He hadn't saved Jess. He hadn't saved Patch or countless other people. Hell, he had God damn psychic dreams and still couldn't save people. So, mission accomplished, Sam. You're nothing like your father.

Sam felt a little foggy as he stood, walking slowly and unsteadily toward the bed. Not only didn't MJ seem to care about her own safety, but she also made it impossible for them to keep her out of harm's way by refusing to tell them anything. It was ridiculous and it needed to end now. Sam stood over her still form, looking down at her angrily, just waiting.

MJ opened her eyes sometime later. She figured she must've fallen asleep for a little while because she hadn't heard Sam move toward the bed. But he was standing over her, staring down at her, clearly pissed off and more than a little drunk. When he finally spoke it was through gritted teeth.

"You have got to be kidding me." He growled before turning his back on her and removing his tie.

MJ made to sit up and the room began to spin with the effort. She lied back down, covering her eyes with the back of her hand to block out the light. She was so nauseous and exhausted.

"Sam," she began in a weak voice. "Just let it go. I did what needed to be done."

Sam whirled back around, eyeing her in disbelief. "We talked about this yesterday! I forbade you from using your visions to get information about this case! I told you it was too dangerous and you just-just completely disregarded me!"

MJ winced at the volume of Sam's voice. She felt as though she might throw up or pass out any minute from the pain in her head. She was overly sensitive to everything: sound, light, even smells…she just wanted everything to go away, just for a minute, her brother included.

When she didn't make any response to Sam, he continued with a shake of his head and a humorless laugh. "It's like you don't even care."

MJ bristled at this comment and yelled back, even though it made her head feel close to exploding.

"Give it a rest, Sam! I was only doing what I had to do!"

Sam yanked off his jacket, tossing it over a chair as he kicked off his shoes, sending one flying across the room. "What you had to do?" He repeated incredulously before turning back toward her, hands on his hips, staring her down. "Mary Jane, that is a crock of shit and you know it! You were doing what you wanted to do. You were going at this case full throttle and not even stopping to think! This," he gestured widely around himself, "all of this, everything you've done the past three days has just been a stupid, reckless, fucked up distraction!"

MJ sensed he was just getting started, that everything he'd been holding back was about to come raging forward and she had no intention of listening to it. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood shakily, having to stand still for a minute to gain her bearings before making her way toward the bathroom.

"I'm not listening to this." She muttered.

But Sam was quicker and steady on his feet, despite all the alcohol he'd consumed. She had spied the empty bottle of Jack on the table and knew it had been sitting there, half full since Dean left. Even so, he easily blocked her escape, standing in the bathroom doorway.

"You are going to listen. It's long overdue and you're gonna hear every single word!" Sam bellowed, pointed at her for emphasis.

MJ stopped in her tracks, her heart speeding up. She didn't want to hear this. Not now…maybe not ever. She turned abruptly; not able to look at Sam.

Sam took a few steps toward her, watching her closely, half expecting her to try to bolt out the front door. "You're hiding. You're throwing yourself into this case, obsessing over it so you don't have to deal with everything that happened with Dean and Patrick." He accused angrily.

"Shut up, Sam." MJ ordered through clenched teeth. Her vision was still blurry, but now it was hard to tell how much was a result of the migraine and how much was from the tears welling up in her eyes. She was close to panicked now, knowing, sensing where Sam was going to go with this.

"You said you'd run away and you did, didn't you? I mean it's the same thing…what you're doing? Running at danger in order to run away from shit you don't want to face!"

"I said shut up, Sam." MJ repeated. Her back was still to Sam, but she could hear him slowly approaching her.

"You know what Dr. Whitmore told Dean and me at your last session? He said that you'd never get better, not really get well until you confronted everything, everything you've kept buried all this time."

MJ couldn't respond, her throat was thick with tears and a sense of dread. She couldn't listen to this. No, no, no…

She moved toward the front door as quickly as she could which of course was no match for Sam in her incapacitated state. She had barely pulled the door open when Sam slammed it shut, remaining right behind her, his hand on the door right in front of her face. She let out a choked sob.

Sam's voice was quieter, but just as insistent. He wasn't letting this go.

"What happened when you were with that demon, Mary Jane? What did he do to you?"

MJ spun around to face him, nearly falling over with the quick movement. Her stomach turned unpleasantly at the strong scent of whiskey on his breath. She was slightly surprised by his question…she had thought he was going somewhere else with this…

MJ looked up at her brother, who was standing close to her, staring straight down at her. She tried to manage a glower. "I don't remember." She said slowly, fury in her voice. She stepped to the side, wanting to get away from Sam's penetrating gaze and incessant questioning. Unfortunately, Sam wasn't willing to let this go and moved with her, blocking her path.

"You're lying!" Sam spat, clearly frustrated and upset. He looked down at her for a moment , breathing deeply as if he were trying to calm himself down. His eyes softened just slightly, his words lost some of their antagonistic edge. "MJ, you can tell me."

"I said I don't remember, Sam! Now get off me!" MJ demanded, shoving at the solid wall in front of her that was Sam. He didn't even budge.

"Tell me what he did to you…what he had planned for you." Sam asked again, this time a little louder.

"Fuck you, Sam! I don't have to tell you a God damn thing!" MJ screeched, even though the force of it made the pain in her head nearly unbearable.

She shoved at him, scrambling around him, only for Sam to spin her back around before she'd made it halfway across the room, gripping her upper arms tightly, pulling her up until only her toes remained on the floor. "Tell me what happened!" Sam all but bellowed in her shocked face, shaking her.

Very suddenly, Sam's vice like grip on her was gone and she nearly fell over when her feet once again met the floor. It was Sam's turn to look shocked as he was yanked backward by the collar of his shirt and shoved face first into the wall by a clearly enraged Dean. MJ let out a surprised yelp as Dean pulled Sam back away from the wall with both hands gripping the back if his shirt, only to throw him forcefully back into it.

Dean didn't even look in MJ's direction as he hauled a somewhat dazed Sam out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

Once outside, Dean relinquished his hold on Sam, shoving him forward a few feet. Still dazed from being slammed into the wall- twice- Sam stumbled slightly before righting himself on the sidewalk and turning to face an angry looking Dean.

"What the hell were you doing in there?" Dean demanded, hard stare boring into his brother. "Huh?"

Sam just stared back at Dean, his face still contorted in anger.

Dean took a step toward his younger brother. "Are you drunk?" He demanded, surprise coloring his tone.

"So what if I am? What, are you gonna lecture me about drinking? That's rich." Sam chuckled.

Dean stood rigid, hands clenched into fists at his sides, jaw working dangerously.

"I told you we weren't asking her about what happened with the demon." Dean said slowly, clearly furious.

Sam threw his hands in the air. "Yeah, well, you left. You were gone and I was here with her and I decided it was high time she tell me the truth about it." Sam crossed his arms in front of him, defiant.

Dean recognized that his brother was challenging him, knew that he wanted to have this fight. But Dean was tired, exhausted. He shook his head in disgust. "You know what? I don't have the energy to have it out with you right now, Sam." He ran a hand over his face, taking a breath. He looked back at his brother. "Let it go." Dean warned, eyeing his brother warily. "And don't you ever pull something like that again, got it?" He demanded, the threat clear in his voice.

After another few seconds of the two glaring at each other Dean turned abruptly, heading toward the motel room.

Sam gave a low chuckle. "Walk away Dean! Run off like you always do!" He called after his brother.

Dean paused, a few feet from the motel room door. He stood rigid, his back to Sam, silent.

Sam shook his head, letting disgust seep into his voice. "She runs head on into any distraction she can find and damn it Dean she's mimicking you. The day either of you confronts your problems head on I'll die of shock!"

"Can the Dr. Phil bullshit, Sammy," Dean warned, turning back toward his brother. "I'm so not in the mood."

Sam smirked, throwing his hands in the air. "You ran off like the selfish prick that you are and she kicked it into high gear. Did you know she made herself have another vision? Yup, earlier tonight. At a crime scene." At Dean's alarmed face Sam continued. "It was awesome, Dean. Totally fine, since you know you were off 'taking care of it'. I'm sure now that you've beaten Patrick to within an inch of his life, poof! MJ will just magically be fine."

Dean still looked murderous, but Sam could tell he was taking in everything he'd just laid on him.

"Take a walk, Sam. Sober up." Dean said tonelessly, not quite making eye contact with his brother.

Dean heard Sam mumbling more insults under his breath, but ignored him as he made his way into the motel room. He felt MJ's eyes on him the second he stepped inside, but kept his eyes averted, busying himself with taking off his jacket, unpacking clothes from his duffel.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked her, looking in her general direction, but not making eye contact.

MJ stood, rooted to the floor, still a little shell-shocked from both Sam's outburst and Dean's sudden reappearance. "Yeah." She answered quietly. She looked up at her brother, who was standing with his foot up on a chair, rolling up his pant leg.

"You're bleeding." She said, alarm pulling her out of her shocked state. She took a step toward him, intent on assessing his injuries. Dean's hand shot out toward her, signaling for her to stop. He kept his gaze down, looking at his torn up leg.

"I got it." He said firmly, never looking up.

MJ stopped in his tracks at the command in his voice. Her heart sank. Something was wrong. Dean was avoiding looking her in the eye. He hadn't stepped within 6 feet of her since he walked in. He'd pulled Sam off of her, saved her from his angry outburst, but then…he hadn't even checked if she was okay. Not really. And she couldn't help but feel a little panicky as she wondered where the hell Dean was? Where was her overbearing big brother who wasn't satisfied until he'd examined her closely and asked her a dozen times if she was sure she was okay? Why wasn't he forcing her into some lame heart-to-heart, lecturing her about everything with Patrick? MJ felt a deep sense of sadness settle in her chest as she stood, watching Dean examine his wound, feeling distinctly out of place.