Chapter 13

MJ sat down on one of the beds, feeling out of place and awkward just being there in the motel room with Dean who was doing quite the job of pretending she wasn't there. The headache brought on by her vision earlier in the day was still hanging on. She felt like she could sleep for a week straight, but knew that they likely only had a few short hours before Allison's ghost struck again.

"Sam went to sober up. When he gets back I'll get caught up on the case. Maybe we can finish it tonight and get out of here." Dean said, his focus on cleaning off the bloody dog bite on his ankle.

"I know who's doing it." MJ began, somewhat guarded. It was like she was having this conversation with a stranger. "Her name was Allison Champlagne. She committed suicide last spring." MJ forged on despite the aching in her heart every time she looked at Dean and found his eyes carefully averted. She had no time for self-pity. People were in danger. She could wallow later. "Those guys, Trenton Hill, Mitchell Sands and Jacob Miller all…attacked her a few weeks before she killed herself. Another player, Garrett Sloan, watched along with the bartender and didn't do anything to help her."

Dean paused in cleaning off his leg wound. He kept his head down and shook it in dismay. "Jesus." He whispered.

"Yeah, so Garrett and Jacob are the only two left who were there that night and that means one of them is next. And if she sticks with her pattern, she might go after them at their game tonight." MJ said urgently.

Dean got the hint and quickly slapped on a bandage before rolling his jeans back down and grabbing his boot. "How much time do we have?"

MJ snapped into motion, moving to the nightstand and grabbing up the paper she'd scribbled information on at the library before walking over to Dean. "Four hours until puck drop." She didn't miss how his face hardened when she drew near him. She cleared her throat and ignored him. "Here's where she's buried." She said tonelessly. "Sam and I will go to the arena and keep an eye on the two guys while you burn the girl's bones."

Dean bristled a little at this. It sounded an awful lot like she was giving orders. But he had no interest in having it out with her, so he just picked the piece of paper up off the table and nodded as he scanned the room, looking for the weapons bag. There was one small issue though that had to be addressed.

"Sammy isn't exactly in game form right now." Dean pointed out as he rifled through the bag. "And I can't start digging until sundown which isn't for another three hours…we'll be cutting it close."

MJ swallowed. Having this conversation with Dean's back was not sitting well with her. "That's why Sam and I will be there. We'll intervene if we have to."

"Intervene?" Dean asked skeptically, pulling lighter fluid from the bag and shaking it to see how much was left. The contents inside sloshed around.

"We'll handle it, Dean. What choice do we have?" MJ said in a clipped tone, not really caring if Dean did pick up on how pissed off she was.

The next two hours passed slowly, with Dean cleaning every gun they owned at least twice while MJ lied on one of the beds, her iPod blaring while she tried and failed to concentrate on reading. Her mind kept wandering to her most recent vision. She found herself wishing she hadn't brought it on herself. True, it had been incredibly helpful, but it had affected her far more than the other visions had. It was different. For starters, before today, she'd always been a bystander, an observer of what she was seeing. She'd never experienced the vision as someone else had…she shuddered involuntarily and tried to cover it up by rolling onto her side on the bed, facing away from Dean. She'd been Allison. Lived through that terrifying night exactly as Allison had. She knew it wasn't real, but she could still feel those men on top of her…hurting her…the all too familiar panicky feeling was settling in her stomach. Not just seeing, but feeling all of that had brought a lot of memories unbidden to the surface.

MJ sat up and yanked out her ear buds, made her way toward the door.

"Where ya going?" Dean asked, trying way too hard to sound casual as he focused on wiping down his rifle.

"Grab a soda." MJ mumbled as she slipped on her shoes and made her way out the door before Dean could ask any more questions. She just needed a minute to breathe. Being in that room with him while he studiously ignored her was really getting to her. She trudged to the soda machine just around the corner from their room and fought back the tears stinging her eyes as she fished some quarters out of her jeans pocket. He can't even stand to look at me, she thought as she jammed the coins into the slot roughly.

"Hey," Sam said by way of greeting when he entered the motel room. He scanned the room. "Where's MJ?"

Dean looked up at his younger brother. He looked sullen and exhausted, but decidedly more sober. Dean put down the gun he'd just finished with and took out his knife.

"She went to get a soda. Should be back any second so listen up." Dean answered as he began sharpening his knife.

Sam's eyes met Dean's and the older man didn't waste any time.

"MJ figured this out. Did she tell you that?"

Sam's expression didn't change. "No."

Dean shrugged, eyes still on Sam. "Yeah, I guess you were too busy manhandling her to ask about her vision."

Sam looked a little guilty, but Dean pushed on. "Those boneheads that got killed? They gang raped a girl and she killed herself. The bartender watched and surprise-she came back for some revenge. There's a game tonight, two of the players are probably next on her list. You and MJ are going to the game, I'm gonna burn her bones." Dean placed his knife back in its sheath as he stood. "Questions?"

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean cut him off.

"Good." Dean said as he pulled his jacket on. "I'm heading to the graveyard." He hiked the weapons bag over his shoulder. "Oh and Sam? That crap I walked in on earlier? That doesn't happen again." There was a dark warning in Dean's eyes as he delivered the order. Sam just stared back at him.

Dean pulled the door open. "Keep her away from those perverted psychopaths." He called to Sam as he walked out.

MJ rounded the corner in time to see Dean strolling across the parking lot toward the Impala. She watched him drive off before heading back into the room, orange soda in hand. Sam was standing over the table, pouring over all of MJ's research on Allison. He looked up at her briefly when she entered the room, but his eyes didn't linger before dropping back to the paper he held in his hand. He had changed into jeans and was already wearing his jacket.

"Dean filled me in." He said after several minutes of silence. His voice was level and his tone unreadable. "We'd better get to the arena."

MJ nodded. "Right." She mumbled gathering up her bag even as Sam swept out the door without a backward glance.

Awesome, MJ thought, swinging her bag over her shoulder and shuffling out the door. One brother is barely speaking to me and the other is so disgusted he won't even look at me. She turned to lock the motel room door and felt more tears stinging her eyes. Suck it up! She silently scolded. They didn't have time for her to feel sorry for herself.

Conversation between her and Sam was minimal. Since MJ – acting as an FBI agent – had been kicked out just this morning, they entered the arena as civilians, buying tickets and heading to their seats, hoping to go unnoticed by anyone. They sat in silence through the first period, the noise of the arena around them almost enough to ease the tension between them. MJ held her breath every time there was any kind of scuffle amongst the players, worried that it might be Allison making her move, but when the buzzer sounded indicating the end of the period, Allison hadn't shown. MJ hoped Dean was making some progress at the grave site.

As the second period started, Sam pulled out his phone and looked at the screen before nudging MJ and holding the phone up for her to read. MJ read the text from Dean. Two words: It's done.

MJ breathed a sigh of relief. The bones were burned and Allison was at rest. Neither Sam nor MJ made a move to leave, both knowing full well they needed to stay to be certain it was really over. They continued to watch the game is silence, MJ wondering if this was how things with her brothers were going to be from now on: tense and angry.

The game was pretty physical. There had already been three fights, when half way through the third period a player on the opposing team threw down his stick and went after Garrett Sloan. MJ didn't panic right away, just watched closely, slightly tense just as she had for every fight that had broken out. This time it was Garrett Sloan who was on the receiving end of an onslaught from a player on the opposing team named Cavanaugh. Sloan had dropped his gloves and removed his own helmet, but MJ could see from the look of terror on his face that he was not pleased with having to fight this guy. MJ didn't feel right about this one. And her suspicions were confirmed when Cavanaugh reared back and tossed the referee backward a good ten feet without ever looking away from Sloan. He then pulled Sloan down to the ice and wrapped his hands around Sloan's throat.

"Sam." MJ rasped urgently, standing up.

She didn't need to say anymore. Sam grabbed hold of her hand and rushed down the steps and to the glass, then started making his way down toward the players' bench and the entrance to the ice. MJ didn't know what his plan was or if he even had one, but getting closer made sense to her and she hurried along behind him. They were stopped a few feet from the door by a security guard and Sam quickly flashed his badge. The guard looked unsure, but stepped to the side.

From here they were feet from the two players, with only the gate and glass barrier separating them from the ice. MJ could see that Garrett Sloan was very close to losing consciousness. Cavanaugh's hands were relentlessly squeezing the life from him, stealing the breath from his lungs. There was a tangible change in the atmosphere of the arena and MJ could tell by the shouts and screams of the fans that they knew what was coming. Sam was pulling the gate open, a determined look on his face as he grabbed his pistol from inside his jacket. MJ watched him start to step onto the ice and panicked. She remembered what the inmate had done to him that day…thought about what this ghost had done to Patch and Mitchell and Trenton.

"Sam, no!" She begged, throwing an arm out to stop him. Before Sam could protest or move her out of his way, MJ had placed her hand to the glass and all of her attention was focused on Cavanaugh. MJ felt the invisible fire boil through her veins and out of her fingertips. Cavanaugh froze as if he'd been zapped and Sloan was released almost the same instant as Cavanaugh fell away from him, rolling onto the ice and laying there in an unmoving heap. There was a moment of shocked silence before a completely still Garrett Sloan gave a mighty gasp and reached up a hand to his throat. Then it was mayhem. People were still screaming. Some seemed to be shouting out in relief. Medics, teammates and police were making their way onto the ice toward the two players. MJ lowered her hand quickly and looked around to see that all eyes were on the ice. No one had seen what she'd done. She was allowed a fleeting moment of relief before she turned and looked up at Sam. His mouth was hanging open and his eyes were wide with shock as he stared down at her. She watched as the color seemed to drain from his face. He was clearly stunned, just standing there looking down at her, being jostled by the police and emergency responders pushing their way past him and through the gate onto the ice. He didn't even seem to realize he was holding his gun in plain view of everyone. MJ quickly grabbed it from him, his lack of resistance confirming that he was in a state of shock. She tucked the gun away in her coat and pulled Sam away from the ice and toward the exit. Once they were out in the quiet hallway, away from the throngs of people, MJ relinquished her hold on her brother and chanced a look up into his face. He still looked stunned, but the set of his jaw and the way his eyes were shifting around gave away that more than anything, he was scared shitless. MJ took a few steps toward the exit, but stopped when she realized her brother wasn't following her. She turned and saw him standing there, just watching her.

"Sam!" She shouted urgently her hand on the door and eyes on his face.

That seemed to shake him out of his trance and he looked back at her with a determined, if still frightened expression. He finally moved toward her placing a hand on her back and steering her outside. "We gotta get out of here. Now." He said in a strained voice. His order wasn't necessary. MJ wanted nothing more than to be away from here. Her heart hammered in her chest. She'd done it again…and she hadn't even stuck around to see if that guy was alive.

Dean hurried toward the Impala, shovel slung over his shoulder, cursing under his breath. Sam had called before the fire in the grave had even died out to tell him it hadn't worked and the spirit had nearly killed another player. So now they had to regroup and figure out what they missed before someone else died. Dean's phone rang, and his agitation only grew when he saw Wendy's phone number.

"Yeah?" Dean barked into the phone.

"Hi, Dean. It's Wendy."

Dean rolled his eyes toward the night sky. "Wendy, not the best time." Before Dean could disconnect a different voice came on the line.

"Mr. Winchester? This is Tanya Stevens. I'm a senior investigator with Cook County Child Protective Services. I've been assigned to your sister's case. Ms. Hansen and I would like to know when you can make it back to Chicago to discuss the custody arrangement."

Dean had stopped dead in his tracks, a few feet from the Impala. He was frozen, not moving a muscle. The voice on the other end of the phone had delivered her speech very quickly, in a forceful, expectant tone. Dean didn't respond, and the woman on the other end said nothing, waiting him out.

Dean thought back to what Jenna had told him. That MJ's case had been reassigned and he should make himself scarce, that Wendy being back in the picture and John dead would change things. Dean swallowed and took a breath, tried to sound unaffected.

"I appreciate your concern, but I don't think there's any need for that. MJ's fine, right here with me."

"And where would that be?"

Dean recognized the challenge in her voice.

"Listen, lady. Wendy coming back around? That doesn't change a thing. My sister is safe. She's right where she belongs."

"With a wanted felon?" She challenged. She paused briefly before forging ahead. "Mr. Winchester, your custody arrangement is no longer valid. There's a warrant for your arrest and the Judge has issued an order for you to return Mary Jane to Chicago immediately."

Dean grit his teeth together, gripping the phone tightly. "I was granted-"

"That temporary custody order has expired." She interrupted. "Circumstances have clearly changed. John Winchester has been declared dead. Wendy Hansen, Mary Jane's biological mother and only remaining legal parent, is alive and well and quite frankly the only suitable relative Mary Jane has. Now, I will ask you again, Mr. Winchester: when can you return Mary Jane Hansen to Chicago?"

"I will let that neglectful, pitiful excuse for a mother anywhere near my sister when hell freezes over." Dean slammed the phone shut, shaking with fury.

Dean's mind was reeling as he approached the Impala and tossed the shovel into the trunk.

"Christ." He mumbled under his breath as he made his way around to the driver's door. "What else could possibly go wrong?"