A/N: Hey! Things are a little hectic right now with the holidays, so I don't know how soon I'll be able to post another chapter. I'll do my best:) Happy Holidays!

Dean heard from Jenna on their way to interview Susan's boyfriend, and she informed him she had scheduled the first of MJ's therapy sessions for later that evening. MJ had been grumbling about it since Dean hung up the phone.

According to the police reports, Timothy Ellis sold Mercedes' for a living. They drove to the dealership, and were told that Tim was out on a test drive with a customer. To kill some time, Dean headed to the nearest electronics store so they could purchase the web cam for MJ's sessions.

"Go ahead, kid." Dean said to MJ as he parked the Impala in front of the store and handed her some cash.

MJ snatched the bills from Dean's outstretched hand and got out of the car, slamming the door without a word to her brothers. Dean called out the window after her. "And hey, if you have enough leftover, buy yourself a new attitude. Something less moody and bitchy."

MJ turned, flipping Dean the bird before heading into the store.

"Man, our sister is one classy lady." Dean quipped, fiddling with the radio.

Sam smirked. "Want me to go in with her?" Sam asked, surprised Dean had let her go into the store alone.

"Nah," Dean answered, "I can see her from here." He pointed to his sister, who he had a clear view of through the storefront window as she approached a salesman. Dean suddenly smirked, nudging Sam with his elbow. "Watch this." He said pulling out his cell phone.

I wanna, li-li-li-lick you from yo' head to yo' toes
And I wanna, move from the bed down to the down to the to the flo'
Then I wanna, ahh ahh - you make it so good I don't wanna leave
But I gotta, kn-kn-kn-know what-what's your fan-ta-ta-sy
I wanna get you in the Georgia Dome on the fifty yard line

"God damn it, Dean!" MJ hissed, flushing crimson as she rushed to silence her phone. The salesman was smiling politely, pausing in his explanation of the various webcams they sold to wait for the music to end. "Sorry." MJ said, mortified.

She hastily selected a camera and paid, practically running from the store, her face burning. She could hear Dean roaring with laughter as she approached the Impala.

She quickly got into the car, slammed the door shut and reached over the seat in front of her to pinch Dean's arm.

"Hey!" Dean yelped before resuming his obnoxious laughter. He turned in his seat, taking in her pissed off expression. "Oh, come on. I mean, you shoulda seen your face."

Sam apparently had seen her face, because he couldn't seem to hold back any longer and started chuckling along with Dean.

MJ just shook her head, leaning back in her seat. "Yuck it up, clowns." She muttered, folding her arms across her chest.

They returned to the car dealership to find that Timothy Ellis was back and was standing beside a shiny new Mercedes, in his expensive suit, trying to schmooze a middle aged woman into buying a silver convertible.

The siblings watched from a distance, parked in the street in front of the car lot.

"Doesn't seem too torn up about his dead girlfriend, does he?" Dean commented as they watched him throw his head back and give a hearty laugh. They watched as the woman took Timothy's business card and slipped back behind the wheel of her own car.

Dean, Sam and MJ approached him from behind as he watched the woman drive away.

"All that effort and no sale." Dean said shaking his head as they drew level with him.

He turned, the fake smile on his face faltering as he took in their appearance. "How can I help you?" He asked politely.

"Relax, we're not here to buy." Dean said, flashing his badge.

Timothy crossed his arms. "Gee, you don't say." He said sarcastically. He canted his head toward the Impala. "That rust bucket all the federal government can afford to give you guys?"

Sam stepped forward, sensing Dean was going to take that comment personally. "We need to speak to you about the accident last week, Mr. Ellis." Sam said, pulling out a small notebook.

Timothy fidgeted with his tie, scanning the lot. "We have to do this now, while I'm working?" He asked, clearly annoyed.

"Your girlfriend was murdered. In your apartment." Dean said, taking a step toward Timothy. "Not the kind of thing you can put on the back burner so you can make your monthly sales quota." He said, irritated.

"Where were you when the incident occurred?" Sam asked, pen poised, waiting for Timothy's response.

Timothy pulled at his tie again, clearly uncomfortable with this line of questioning. He looked around, like he was searching for a safe topic change. His eyes landed on MJ and he gave a weak smile. "What's this? Punky Brewster on a ride along?" he laughed at his own joke, seemingly unbothered that no one else found it remotely funny. "Trust me, cutie, you'd be better off in sales. Nine times outta ten, a hot body and a pretty face seals the deal." He paused to look her up and down. "I'd say you've got a future."

Dean reached out and grabbed ahold of Timothy's tie yanking him forward so he was hunched at a clearly uncomfortable angle. "And I'd say your future holds my foot up your ass if you don't cut the bullshit and answer our questions."

"Okay. Relax." Timothy held his hands up in surrender as Dean relinquished his hold and took a step back. "I'll answer your questions, but I don't know anything. Like I told the local police, I got off work at 5 and stopped at home. Susan wasn't home yet. Then I went to the gym, got back around 7:30, saw Susan for like, half an hour and then headed out for drinks with the guys. When I left she was doing laundry. That's it."

"Did anything seem unusual that day or the days leading up to it? Any strange happenings in the apartment?"

Timothy gave Sam a weird look. "Like what?"

Sam shrugged. "Strange noises or…smells?"

Timothy shook his head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Just answer the question." Dean ordered in a loud voice.

"No." Timothy spat. "Now is that everything? I really have to go." He looked down at his left wrist, like he was checking the time, but his wrist was bare. He blinked and dropped his arm, sighing.

MJ saw the obvious tan line on his wrist, and something stirred in her head. The neighbor said they'd lived together for months…

Dean was handing Timothy his fake business card and taking one in exchange. "Call if you think of anything. And you'd better pick up if we call you or we'll be showin' up here again." He threatened.

Timothy turned back toward the dealership, stuffing Dean's card into his breast pocket.

"What happened to your watch?" MJ called after him. He stopped, but didn't turn back right away. His whole body stiffened. Slowly, he faced her. "I lost it. Haven't had a chance to get another one yet."

MJ took a step toward him. "If you lived with Susan, then why wasn't there a single article of men's clothing anywhere in her apartment?"

"What?" Timothy asked with a nervous chuckle.

MJ fixed him with an accusing glare. "You broke up." She said, clearly not a question. "She kicked you out."

Timothy shook his head emphatically, taking a step backward, away from MJ. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I bet she dumped you that night," MJ continued. "She got rid of all of your shit while you were at the gym," she pointed to his wrist, "including your watch, and confronted you when you got home."

Timothy had stopped playing dumb and was going for pissed instead. He took a step toward MJ, his face set like stone, and without hesitation Dean planted himself between the man and his sister with a warning look at Timothy. "Confronted me? Kid, you have no idea what you're talking about! I'm done answering questions, just get out of here!" He shouted.

Dean shoved him back away from MJ. "That's enough." He warned.

MJ held her ground, seemingly unfazed by Timothy's outburst. Her eyes narrowed as she looked closely at him. "You cheated, didn't you?" She asked, shaking her head. "You cheated and you got caught. That's why she trashed all your stuff." MJ continued with the air of someone who had just solved a difficult puzzle.

She knew she was right when he just sputtered incoherently in response, flushing bright red. It took him a few moments to form a response. "So what if I did? It doesn't make me a killer. The cops already checked with my gym, I was there. I'm innocent."

MJ actually laughed at this. "You may not be a killer, but you're far from innocent, pal."

Timothy's jaw clenched and he took a deep breath, like he was trying to control his temper. "Are we done here?" He asked in a clipped tone.

"Just don't go far." Sam said by way of dismissal.

MJ watched Timothy as he stalked angrily back toward the dealership. Once he was out of sight she turned to find her brothers staring at her with identical impressed, somewhat disbelieving looks on their faces.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked as they walked back to the Impala.

MJ shrugged. "I don't know. I just knew something was off."

"What made you so sure he was cheating?" Sam asked.

MJ hesitated, still trying to figure that out for herself. "I don't know. It was just like a gut feeling." She paused, not sure how to say it. "To be honest, that song was sort of my biggest clue." She confessed.

"What song?" Dean asked, pausing with his hand on the car door handle.

"That Beyoncé song." Dean continued to give her a bewildered look. "You know, the one I was singing at Susan's apartment. The one that was blaring on your radio when we got back in the car."

A car crept by them, slowing for the red light up ahead. Its windows were down, and MJ's eyes nearly popped out of her head when she heard the music coming from inside it.

Standing in the front yard telling me
How I'm such a fool, talking about
How I'll never ever find a man like you
You got me twisted

You must not know 'bout me
You must not know 'bout me

MJ jabbed her finger in the direction of the car. "That song!" She yelled. The light changed and the car continued on, leaving the three siblings looking after it, wondering what the hell was going on in this town.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

"This one was the first." Sam said, holding up one of the file folders, his eyes still on his laptop screen. "Ten days ago. College student. She was home alone, in her room at her parents' house. Her brother went to check on her when he got home and found her dead." He said, reciting from memory. Dean sat across from him at the small table in the motel lobby, looking toward the hallway that led to their room. He clearly wasn't listening to a word Sam was saying.

Sam put the file back on the table and looked up at his brother. "Dean." He said sharply.

Dean reluctantly turned to Sam. "What?"

Sam's expressions softened when he saw worry in Dean's eyes. "She's fine, Dean. We salted the door and windows. She's got her cell phone. She's barely fifty yards away." Sam placated.

Dean turned in his chair, resting his arms on the table, folding his hands together as Sam returned his attention to his computer. "What do you think they're talking about?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed, checking the time. MJ was halfway through her first counseling session. Sam and Dean had vacated the room and promised to keep their distance until she came and got them.

"It's only an hour, Dean. Just relax." Sam said. He picked the file folder back up and smacked Dean in the arm with it. "And try and focus."

Dean glared at Sam, yanking the folder from his hand. "Adrian Dunham, nineteen." Dean read from the police report, before flipping to the pictures. He cringed a little at the photos, not because they were particularly gruesome. He took in the girl's small frame, reddish brown hair and green, lifeless eyes. She didn't bear a strong resemblance to MJ, but these similar traits were enough to put him on edge.

Sam, seeing that Dean couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the crime scene photos, pulled the file form Dean's hand and closed it. "The brother told the police that she had broken up with her boyfriend the night before and things got pretty ugly. The Sheriff's Department interviewed the boyfriend, but didn't charge him."

"They didn't think he did it?" Dean asked, skeptical. He would have thought the cops would latch onto any possible suspects in a case like this.

"Rock solid alibi. He was two hours away in Sioux City at a concert all night." Sam answered.

"Why'd they break up?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "It's not in the police report." He flipped through the third and final file.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that," Dean snatched a page from the file in Sam's hand, earning himself an annoyed look. "Valerie Samson had just broken up with her boyfriend before she was killed."

Sam shook his head. "Well, they interviewed her roommate, her parents," Sam said, skimming the file. "No mention of here even having a boyfriend at all."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to go talk to them all again, see what else we can find out." Dean said. He looked up, handing the page back to Sam, whose eyes were focused behind Dean, an alarmed look on his face.

Dean turned in his chair to see MJ coming toward them, her eyes rimmed in red and her face blotchy, her expression unreadable. Dean stood quickly, closing the distance between himself and MJ. He held her at arm's length, examining her face.

"What's wrong? What happened?" He looked beyond her, down the hallway she had come from. It appeared to be deserted. He looked back down at his sister just in time to watch her face crumple as she dissolved into quiet sobs. Dean pulled her toward him, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, a hand at the back of her head as he continued to scan the lobby and hallway for the cause of her distress.

Sam stood beside them, looking worried. "What happened?" He asked Dean.

Dean shook his head in response. He placed his hands on either side of MJ's head, gently pulling her back so he could see her face. "What the hell happened, Kid?" Dean asked.

MJ shook her head. "Nothing." She took a step back, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "Nothing, I just- I'm sorry that's all."

Dean looked to Sam, totally at a loss.

"MJ, what do you have to be sorry for?" Sam asked her, a hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged, taking a shaky breath. "Everything. All the crap I've pulled. I know I'm a pain. And I know that if you guys weren't willing to put up with it, I'd be living in some crappy foster home somewhere." She paused to take another breath. "So I'm sorry I've been such a bitch."

Dean shook his head. "Whoa, whoa. You're not a bitch. Is that what that therapist told you?" Dean asked, clearly angry.

"No, Dean it's nothing like that. We just talked about some…stuff…that happened before," MJ said cryptically. "And it made me realize how lucky I am to have you guys."

"Well, that clears it right up." Dean said sarcastically rolling his eyes as he looked over at Sam. Sam leveled a look at his brother and Dean blew out a breath before turning back to MJ.

"Like I told you before." Dean said to her, "We want you here, MJ. You're not a nuisance. And you definitely have nothing to be sorry for." He placed his hand under her chin, nudging her head up so she met his eyes. "Got it?" He asked.

Dean pulled her into a hug, looking over at a still worried looking Sam, his eyes asking the silent question: why won't she believe that we want her around?