All right. Anotehr day, another update. More good vs. evil, and, of course, the funny-ness that is Supernatural :)


Dean walked down the shadowy alleyway behind the motel. Anyone else would have been worried, but not him. He was the fearless Dean Winchester after all. He swiped at his eyes, momentarily clearing them of the tears that had begun to form.

Sure, he'd been feeling strange since the explosion, but that was to be expected. He'd been thrown out of a freaking hospital room, across a hall, and had landed on his younger but taller brother. Some weirdness was bound to ensue after that.

Maybe he'd been feeling a little less like his regular self, but maybe that was good. Maybe Sam liked him better now, and if Sam liked him better…

A strong arm closed around Dean's head, holding him in place, and he felt a the cool blade of a knife being shoved under his chin.

"I'm gonna turn you around slowly," a familiar voice that Dean couldn't quite place said, "but you can't scream."

The attacker released him and Dean turned around to find himself staring into dark hazel eyes. It was like looking into a mirror, but instead of seeing the new softness of the features he'd become accustomed to since the explosion he saw only hatred and a kind of subtle evil.

He screamed, hoping that Sam would hear him and come running, come to his rescue as he always did. It was one of the reasons he needed his brother to stay around.

Before he even saw his attacker's arm move, the heavy handle of the knife came whistling through the air, connecting cleanly with Dean's forehead. He fell to the grimy street, unconscious.

"Told you not to scream," the attacker smirked, grabbing his twin's wrists and pulling him through the muck in the alley to the Impala.

He slid in behind the wheel, wincing at the pain that shot through his back as he did so. Looking in the rearview mirror to make sure his 'better half' was still out cold, he noticed blood slowly trickling down his forehead.

"What the-?" he sped off, leaving the little motel and Sammy in the dust.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," someone sneered as Dean opened his eyes. His head ached dully and his back felt raw.

"Where am I?" he asked, blinking in the bright fluorescents. Looking around he saw old furniture, mounds of dust, and bare, unpainted walls. The floor he was sitting on was made of cement and not at all comfortable. Both of his hands had fallen asleep behind his back, where they'd been tied around a support beam.

"Where are my manners? Welcome to my humble home. Well, it was Steph's place, but I don't think she'll be needing it anymore. We're in the basement. Nice, huh? Big house. Better than anything you'd ever be able to afford, that's for sure."

"Who are you?" Dean demanded, beginning to struggle against his bonds.

"I'm you," his captor replied, stepping into view and slumping into an old leather chair, "well, the stronger, faster, sexier part of you anyway." He smirked. Again, Dean had the sensation of looking into a twisted mirror. The reflection he saw was almost right, but there was something amiss with the persona. Something evil stirring beneath the familiar hazel eyes.

Dean struggled harder, hoping to loosen the ropes that held him enough to slip free of his evil twin's grasp. He was surprised when cool metal began cutting into his wrists, burning.

"Stop it," the other him commanded, pushing up the sleeve of his dark jacket to inspect his quickly reddening wrists, "that hurts." He laughed again.

"What do you want with me?"

"You cut right to the chase, don't you? You're not even curious about what I've been up to? How I'm even here?"

"Sam filled me in."

"Right. Little psychic Sammy. Thinks he knows everything. Like he's so much better than us. I thought I told you to stop struggling!

"You know, I always wondered why we kept those cuffs. It's not like we'll ever have the key. Remember when we got them, how we had to use a car antenna just to get free before those two bumbling hicks found us? And then you went after Sammy. Got us backed right up into a corner. We almost died. And for what? To get insulted by some psychic freak show?"

"Sam's going to come looking for me," Dean muttered, having trouble believing the harsh words being spoken with his voice.

The other Dean smirked, his eyes glinting as he massaged his sore wrists. "Not if you go waltzing back into that motel room." Smiling wide, he stood and walked to the stairs, sparing a brief moment to look back at his captive. "Don't do anything I would," he cautioned, "though I doubt you can even fathom…"