Chapter 16

Sam was completely physically drained as he sat on the ground, holding tightly to his unconscious sister. His mind was somehow frozen, unable to process what had just happened…what he'd just done.

"I'm sorry," he croaked out in a voice he hardly recognized as his own. He was shaking his head in dismay, "I'm sorry, baby, I'm so, so sorry." He repeated in an agonized whisper as he cradled her listless body.

And then there were firefighters and paramedics all around them, demanding in urgent voices that Sam tell them how many more were inside, insisting on letting them place oxygen masks on both their faces. Two men were pulling MJ away from Sam, and his weariness was suddenly replaced by a myriad of emotions: he was so afraid for his sister, shocked at the realization his own hands had killed Jacob Miller, so incredibly anxious as adrenaline began coursing through his body, that all his brain could seem to tell his body to do was to hold onto his sister, hold onto her for dear life and never let her go. So that's what he did. He fought the two men trying to pull her away, shoving them back and crouching protectively over MJ's still form, where she lie on the sidewalk. He eyed the group of men hovering cautiously around him. They had backed away, were standing a few feet off, hands raised in a non-threatening gesture, talking to him in slow, calming tones, saying words he just couldn't seem to comprehend. His heart was racing so fast and he couldn't seem to catch his breath.

That's how Dean found his siblings, MJ lying lifeless on the ground, pale and covered in ash, Sam crouching next to her, leaning over her, protecting her from the perceived threat of the rescue workers. As soon as Dean spotted them from a block away, he sprinted the remaining distance, sick terror churning in his stomach. MJ wasn't moving. Is she even breathing? He thought in total panic.

He couldn't call out to them, or ask if they were okay. He couldn't find his voice to say anything. He shoved through the men surrounding them, staring down at his brother and sister in a daze. Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes not registering any kind of recognition.

"Sammy?" Dean barely whispered. He knelt down hands going to MJ's face. She was breathing, he realized with a sigh of relief. Sam was staring at him still, the fog seeming to clear as tears welled in his eyes.

"Dean." He uttered, pained and broken.

Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezed reassuringly. "She's just passed out, Sammy. She's alive." He waved the paramedics over, gently shoving Sam back and away from their sister, his hand resting on Sam's shoulder still. "It's okay," he reassured him in a quiet, level voice, "You're both okay. That's all that matters." Dean pulled Sam into a fierce hug, his guilt nearly all consuming. He hadn't been here. He'd been angry at both of them…ignored Sam's voicemails. You were being selfish and look what almost happened. "You did good, Sammy." Dean's voice broke with genuine gratitude toward his brother for keeping himself and their sister alive.

Sam hugged Dean back, stiffened suddenly.

"MJ!" He nearly shouted, looking over Dean's shoulder to where the two medics had placed a now alert MJ on a gurney and an oxygen mask on her face. Dean relinquished his hold on Sam and stood, rushing back to MJ's side.

MJ looked up at him from where she sat on the cot, legs dangling over the edge, eyes streaming tears, face etched in pain. Dean stared back at her, nearly numb in his own mix of shock at what he'd found when he arrived and relief at seeing her alive and awake. And then Dean saw something in her expression as she gazed up at him that had him nearly in awe, had tears springing to his eyes: she was happy. She was happy to see him. Despite how he'd treated her these past few days. How he'd abandoned her, demeaned her, treated her horribly. Even though he hadn't been here in time, had left her and Sam to fight on their own and nearly die because he didn't have the balls to show…despite all of that she was happy to see him now.

Dean wrapped an arm around Sam, who was standing silently beside him, the other arm around MJ's shoulders, pulling his brother and sister, his whole world into a bone crushing hug. He held them in his arms, each of their heads on his shoulders. Sam gave a stuttered breath, caught off guard. MJ cried even more forcefully than she had been, face buried in Dean's neck, oxygen mask still covering her mouth and nose, clutching at the front of his leather jacket like it was a lifeline.

"Shh," Dean soothed them both, as he clung to them just as desperately as they clung to him. "Everything's gonna be okay now."

Chicago

February 2003

"What's your poison, Mary Jane?" Carl asked from behind the counter in the tiny galley kitchen. MJ was sitting on the living room floor, back against the couch, the half completed "log cabin" replica in the center of the coffee table in front of her. She applied more glue, carefully affixing the popsicle sticks to the structure. She hoped she'd have enough to finish it before her presentation at the end of the week. She had scrounged up the money for the supplies and watched nervously as her pile of popsicle sticks slowly dwindled.

"I'm fine." She muttered, eyes remaining focused on her work. Carl had been staying with them for a couple weeks now. He was always around. Her mother would leave to work odd jobs here and there or to run to the liquor store. Carl almost never left. He was like a permanent fixture in their tiny studio apartment puffing away on his no filter Camels. A never ending chain of cigarettes made their way through his fingers, to end up in filthy heaps in Styrofoam cups all over the cramped apartment. There was no privacy. And it was freezing out, so there was no escape either. The public library was a 14 block walk in the single digit temperatures and any other public place would make her buy something in order to stay and she had no money. So her only choice was to try her best to ignore Carl's shifty eyes and overall unsettling presence.

Now MJ could feel his eyes on her and it made her skin crawl. Carl gave a superior chuckle, pouring himself a tall glass of Southern Comfort. "Oh, come on. It'll be our little secret." He reached for another glass, pouring out a generous shot. He moved around the counter, glasses in hand and stood in front of her on the other side of the table, looking down at her with sly eyes. MJ studiously ignored him, affixing another stick to the wall of the cardboard house.

After a minute Carl plunked the glass down in front of her, moving to sit on the couch to her right, his left leg brushing her shoulder. "You say that's supposed to be George Washington's house? I don't think he lived in a log cabin."

MJ tried to discretely scoot to her left so there was some space between her and Carl.

"Abe Lincoln." MJ corrected tonelessly, gaze still on her work.

Carl grunted, taking a long pull from his glass.

"Come on." He urged, nudging her with his leg, "Have a sip."

MJ froze as she felt him hunched over so his face was inches from hers. He reeked of cigarettes and whiskey.

MJ was careful not to turn her face toward his. "No thanks." She answered quietly, hands shaking as she reached for the glue.

Carl didn't seem to hear her. He moved even closer, his chin brushing over her cheek.

"You smell nice." He whispered harshly. "Real nice."

MJ woke with a start to hands on her chest, roaming over her bare skin. She tried frantically to block the hands that were on her with her own, looking up at the stranger with wild eyes. A man in scrubs, a stethoscope around his neck…she didn't know this place…maybe a hospital? Where were her brothers? Where were her clothes? How had she gotten here?

"Don't!" she tried to scream it, but she didn't seem to have any voice. Her throat was raw and dry and only a raspy, broken whisper came out.

The man's hands stilled and he stepped back a little, eyes on her.

"Maureen, I'm Dr. Crosby. You're in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?"

MJ grabbed at the open gown, yanking it back together to cover her chest. She gasped as pain shot through both of her hands. She looked down at the bandages covering both hands and wrists completely. The fire, she remembered, all of the details flooding back to her. She looked distrustfully at the doctor. "Where are my brothers?" She rasped, feeling panicked and trapped. He was still standing way too close to her.

"Your brother Dean is waiting just outside. Maureen, you were in a fire last night. You suffered smoke inhalation and some bad burns to both of your hands. I just need to examine you to make sure you don't have any other burns that require treatment."

MJ once again instinctively tried to close the front of her gown, which was hanging open, leaving her chest completely exposed. Again, the excruciating pain in her hands made her stop. She whimpered, frustrated and completely vulnerable.

"I don't have any other burns." She insisted hoarsely.

The doctor hesitated for another moment before taking a step toward her. In response, MJ flinched, cringing away from him as far as she could. He slowly and deliberately pulled her blanket up to her shoulders so she was covered.

"I won't try to examine you again unless you're awake and you give me your consent. In return you need to promise not to use your hands to do anything. The more you do that, the more you could damage the tissue. Deal?"

MJ nodded, still eyeing him warily.

"Do you know how you hit your head? You have a laceration that required stitches and a significant concussion." He pressed, eyeing her in an almost suspicious manner.

MJ stared back at him, her expression carefully blank. She shook her head. "I really don't remember anything." She insisted.

The doctor nodded, looking down at his clipboard like he was considering her response carefully. He looked back at her, his would be calm manner ruined by the burning curiosity in his eyes. "That bar was a crime scene. What were you and your brother doing in there?"

MJ's eyes widened. "Sam," she rasped, "Where is he? Is he okay?"

Dr. Crosby put a hand up to stop her in a placating manner. "Try not to talk so much, only whisper. You need to rest your throat and vocal chords. Sam is fine." He canted his head to the right. "He's just down the hall. My next stop actually." He forced a tight smile. "I'll send Dean back in. The nurse will be in to check on you soon." The smile stayed in place until he turned and was out the door.

The door had barely clicked shut before it was opened again and Dean hurried back into the room, eyes on MJ, gauging her expression.

"You okay? He was in here forever." He complained striding over to her bedside. "He's been asking me all kinds of questions. I think they're suspicious of us." He turned back toward the door, worry marring his face. "We may have to split pretty quick." He looked back at MJ. "How's your head?" He asked in genuine concern, eyes meeting hers and holding her gaze.

MJ couldn't respond. Her head hurt like hell, her vision was a little blurry and she sort of felt like she would puke at any second. And none of that even held a candle to the incessant throbbing of both of her hands. It was worse now from trying to grip her gown just moments ago. Yet, right that second, she was only vaguely aware of her physical pain. All she could feel right that moment was relief and something close to elation as Dean looked at her, really looked at her, without disgust in his eyes. After nearly a week of him avoiding even being in the same room with her, MJ could think of nothing that would make her happier than Dean being willing to lay eyes on her. It may not mean she was forgiven, or that things were back to the way they were, but she knew that the concern and care she read in his eyes right now meant that they would be okay. Just like Dean had whispered to her the entire way here in the ambulance. A constant, soothing mantra of "We'll be okay." She knew they would.

His expression shifted, his eyebrows scrunched up in slight confusion. "What is it? You look…weird."

MJ cracked a smile, knowing she couldn't hide the tears now shining in her eyes. "I'm okay. Really." She whispered. "How's Sam?"

Dean made a dismissive gesture with is hand, waving off her question. "He's fine. Didn't even really need to be here, but we had to go along with it. Dr. Do Right was all suspicious about the head wounds, how you both got them. Sammy filled me in some, but sounds like he was lights out first. What happened after Jacob cracked his skull?" Dean asked, an edge of anger in his voice at talking about Jacob.

MJ swallowed, tried to relay the events to Dean using the fewest words possible. "He cuffed me to the pool table then bashed my head into it. When I came to he was dousing the place with gasoline. He shot Garrett then lit a match."

"Shit." Dean looked down, shaking his head. MJ saw how his jaw muscle was working like he was really upset. He looked back up at her, expression pinched. "Sam said the ghost chick…possessed him or something and he strangled Jacob."

MJ nodded. "I knew it wasn't Sammy…I asked her to help me and she did. She broke the cuffs and carried me out. Then she was gone."

"So whatever was linking her to this world burned up in the fire." Dean surmised, still looking down.

"Her bracelet." MJ supplied. "I saw it caught up in one of the pockets on the pool table. It got ripped off of her when…" She trailed off, knew she didn't need to finish that sentence.

Dean nodded his understanding, that same devastated look on his face. He swallowed, eyes finally meeting hers again. "I should've been there. It never should've come so close to-" He stopped, blowing out a breath. "You never should've gotten hurt. I was being a selfish asshole, MJ. I'm sorry."

"Don't." MJ begged him.

He stared back at her, his expression tortured.

MJ reached toward his hand that rested on the bed beside her, then stopped short, realized she couldn't grasp his hand, settled for placing her heavily bandaged palm on his wrist. "We're okay. We'll be okay." She whispered barely audible, but knew he heard her.

Dean held her gaze another moment, before turning away, eyes on the window, shaking his head. "The things I said to you before, when I saw those pictures…it wasn't fair and I'm sorry." His voice broke and he was looking anywhere but at her. He cleared his throat, trying to hide his emotion.

MJ was shaking her head. "Don't Dean. Please." She sniffed, wanting to dash her tears away, but unable to. "You were right, it was stupid. I was stupid. And I don't want you to be sorry. I just-" she took a ragged breath, not sure how to say what she needed to say, "I just want you to still want me around." The words she settled on tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop herself. They were true enough. The past few days had been like torture for her. Dean refusing to look at her, keeping her at a distance at all times. He'd never avoided her like that before and it hurt. It devastated her in a way she'd never known before. A broken sob forced its way out, leaving her throat feeling even more raw and sore. She looked down, away from her brother, embarrassed by her reaction to his apology.

"Hey." Dean said forcefully, almost angrily. "I always want you around. You hear me? Nothing you do is gonna change that. Ever." He swallowed thickly, eyes cast downward, looking at her hand covering his. "I know sometimes I don't act like it, but you gotta know that you and Sammy," he shook his head, a steely resolve in his eyes, "Nothing matters more to me."

After a few seconds silence Dean finally looked up at her, taking a deep breath, clearly relieved that part was over. His expression shifted and he eyes his sister shrewdly, "You know Patrick was bad news, right?"

MJ nodded, shrugging her shoulder up so she could try to wipe the tears away with her arm. She failed. These bandages were going to be a pain in the ass.

Dean turned, grabbing a tissue from her bedside table and gently wiping her face. She gave him a grateful smile.

"No more secrets, okay?" MJ's smile faltered and Dean knew she thought he was launching into an interrogation about her past with Wendy and her time with the demon. He hurried to continue. "I get that there's some things, about living with Wendy, that you're not ready to tell us. We won't push you." MJ averted her eyes, looking down at her IV. Dean continued. "And about that demon, if you say you don't remember what happened, I believe you."

MJ gave a little chuckle, immediately regretting it when her throat burned even worse. "Did you tell Sam that?" She asked, remembering his outburst the night before, demanding she tell him what had happened while she was with that demon.

"Sam is on board. Trust me. But Dr. Whitmore thinks you will remember it eventually. And when you do, you gotta let us know. From here on out, you gotta be up front with us. A clean slate, deal?"

MJ looked back up at Dean. She considered her brother for a long moment, images of what she had done to the inmate at the jail and the possessed hockey player running through her mind. Sam had seen what she'd done at the hockey game, but didn't know about all of it. And it didn't seem like Sam had told Dean anything. She swallowed, eyes still on her brother. A clean slate.

"Deal." She agreed.

Dean smiled down at her, looking relieved.

"And there's actually something I need to tell you," MJ began.

The relief on Dean's face flickered as he waited for her to continue.

They were interrupted by a knock on the open door. They both looked up to see a woman who was undoubtedly a social worker standing in the doorway, flanked by two uniformed police officers.

MJ's stomach filled with dread as Dean went rigid beside her.