"Dean."
The whispered word caused him to hesitate and turn around, even though there was no doubt who had spoken.
Dean rolled his eyes. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to help?" Sam shrugged.
"Sam …. " Dean huffed, but was cut off by his younger brother.
"I'm not letting you walk into a two on one situation, no matter how much you think you have it under control." Sam put his hands on his hips and made Bitchface #12.
"I do have it under control, Sammy." Dean argued. "I slipped the bartender $50 to add a little Children's Benadryl to my friends' drinks as a joke."
"That was hours ago. We better get in there before it wears off." Sam pointed toward the motel door.
Dean quietly picked the lock, and the two slipped inside the room. They removed all the weapons within arm's reach of the two beds, and placed them all in one of the duffles on the floor, checking the other bag for any weapons. They then sat at the small table for nearly 45 minutes, until Dean finally nudged Sam and pointed at the bed further from the door.
Once Sam was in position at the end of the bed, Dean flipped on the overhead light.
"Rise and shine, boys!" He greeted in a deceptively calm and friendly voice.
First Roy, and then Walt sat up blinking, to find the scene of their worst nightmare.
"Dean." Roy scrambled backward, clutching at his pillowcase.
Walt grabbed a bowl by the bed and threw salt in the direction of the Winchesters.
They didn't flinch.
"Looking for this?" Sam held up Roy's gun in his left hand, and with a flick of his thumb, dropped the clip onto the floor.
"Hands where we can see 'em." Dean ordered.
Walt sat up slowly, raising his hands to either side of his head. "How are you here?" he asked fearfully. "We shot both of you. Sam twice and Dean three times. I checked your pulses for a full minute to make sure you were both dead."
"Well, see, the thing is," Dean grinned. "It turns out that Sam may have started the apocalypse, but we're also the only ones who can stop it. That earns us a 'Get Out of the Afterlife Free' pass."
"Dean, look, man … " Roy pleaded.
"Roy, I told you when I came back I was going to be pissed." Dean half shrugged. "You two forgot Winchester Rule Number One." He glanced over his shoulder to grin at his brother. "You wanna remind them what that is?"
The left side of Sam's upper lip twitched before it curled into something between a sneer and a smirk. "Don't fuck with Sammy."
Dean nodded with a disarming smile. "But I'm not as pissed at you, Roy. You're the same as you've always been, just Walt's little lackey, too stupid to make a decision for yourself. Sam, take care of him."
Before either man on the bed could answer, a muffled shot rang out, and Roy fell back against the headboard, a perfect, round, red hole between his eyes.
"Good shot, Sammy." Dean praised, then turned his attention back to Walt.
"You got anything to say, asshole?" Dean raised an eyebrow.
"You're gonna kill me anyway." Walt choked out.
"Yeah, I am." Dean agreed easily, as if they were discussing the weather. "But I'm gonna to take my time and let you think about it, so if you've got anything to get off your chest, you've got a few minutes."
Walt's head snapped from one brother to the other, his chest heaving.
"So did you tell everyone that you killed the Winchesters?" Dean asked, wiping at an invisible spot on the barrel of his sawed off shotgun.
"I mentioned it," Walt's gaze flicked uneasily between the brothers again. "You … you know, to a couple other hunters who were planning to come after you. You know, so they would know there was no reason."
"Good." Sam put his gun in the back waistband of his jeans and withdrew a filet knife from the sheath at his side, twirling it in his fingers. "When they hear about you, they won't be stupid enough to try to take us on."
"Just get this over with, Dean." Walt sighed in resignation.
Dean looked over at his brother. "Whacha think, Sammy?"
"It's up to you." Sam shrugged. "How long did you have to look at me dead?"
Dean tossed his head from side to side, considering.
He finally stopped, and narrowed his eyes at Walt. "Ok, I think it's been long enough."
Dean leveled the shotgun and fired. Blood and stomach acid poured from the gut wound. Walt groaned and struggled back into a sitting position, his hand hovering above the wound, and looked up at Dean in horror.
"Good night, Walt." The elder Winchester glared at him steadily, and pulled the trigger again.