Barney seems unusual tonight, when he wakes up. It's not the depressed type of unusual. It's not really an upset of any sort. Robin can't place her finger on what exactly is wrong, but she knows that something is. She asks him if he is okay, and he says yes, he's fine.
What she does know is that he wants her, and she can tell. He smiles at her, despite the fact that something is amiss, his eyes tracing over every detail of her body lustfully. Before she knows it, he leans in and kisses her, and that is what feels certainly normal. His tongue finds its way into her mouth, as always, and she relaxes her body and closes her eyes as he starts to undress her.
He is, in what feels like seconds, over her, biting her neck to leave a trail of small hickeys down the sides, but harder than usual, almost painfully so, and she swears that she can feel a warm droplet of blood oozing from one of the marks.
More minutes pass, pleasurably so. Then it's all over, and he tumbles off, catching his breath. She catches a glimpse of a puppet sitting in the corner of the room, and the mere looks of it creep her out greatly. Its gaze is unrelenting, penetrating. Why has she not noticed it before? She doesn't want to look at it any longer, and she has no idea why it's there, but she assumes that it has something to do with a magic trick, and it's too late to ask right now. She's tired, and is asleep soon, saving the questions for tomorrow.
Barney lays in the alley behind his apartment, breathing, but only barely. Every so often, the cold night wind blows, sending a white hot burning pain through the wounds etched across his body. The warmth of the blood flowing freely from him conflicts with the bitterly freezing air as it pools around him, seeping into his suit and matting the clothes to his body, sticky and hot. But despite the massive pain he feels, he has confidence. He is Barney Stinson, and he isn't going to give up this easily.
The call of the arriving ambulances rings in the night air, sending a feeling of relief into him. He's too weak to cry out, and he doesn't know what's happened, but when he does find out, he pledges to himself that he'll get revenge somehow. How his twin brother, of blood, could betray him like that, is beyond his comprehension.
The paramedics come, and the last thing he sees before falling unconscious is the flashing lights of the ambulance. But he knows that one thing is for certain, and when he awakens, it will be a guarantee.
The madman that he is ashamed to call his brother will no longer be excused to the saying, "The puppet made me do it."
Chester, and that puppet, Marjorie, of his, will get their justice.