By the next morning, almost all of the snow had melted away from the front of the cave, leaving a foot deep puddle in the lower part of the cave.
"It'll drain out," Diane reassured Dean as she pulled her clothes back on. "We should eat and get going before something else pops up," she said.
"Do we have to?" Dean asked, sitting up behind her.
"It'd be a good idea. Besides, you have to go and send people back to take care of my sister, right?" Diane said sadly, not turning to face him as she pulled her shoes on.
"Yeah," Dean said, trying not to feel guilty as he grabbed his pants from where they were lying. Even if it did hurt Diane, he had to do it. He knew that she understood. At least, he hoped to god she did.
They ate in silence after that, before Diane grabbed a hunting knife from her stash of weapons, and they headed out. The ground outside was covered in snow, and there were small mountains of it piled here and there from it falling off of trees.
Dean had a few things he wanted to ask Diane, but as usual with her, he didn't know what to say. 'Diane, I know I'm going to turn your twin sister over to the authorities, and probably have her either thrown in prison or the nuthouse for life, but when all this is over, do you maybe want to see me again sometime?' He didn't think so.
But she understood that he had to do it, didn't she? he thought. She knew her sister had a few screws loose, and needed to be put away where she couldn't hurt anyone else.
But that didn't mean that she would like it at all, he argued with himself. After all, no matter what Sammy did, would he ever want to see his brother going to jail(Or a crazy hospital) for the rest of his life? No, he definitely would not. He didn't know if it was different between Diane and Clara, but it really couldn't be too-
"Stop," Diane said from ahead of him. He did. "What is it?" he asked.
She peeked around a hill of snow, and then closed her eyes, pursing her lips. Dean walked over to her quietly, and looked for himself, seeing Claras cabin.
"Do you think she's home?" he asked Diane softly.
"Probably," Diane said.
"Would she come after us if she saw us walk past?" he asked.
"That's not what I'm worried about," Diane said, her teeth gritted.
"What then?" Dean asked.
"Look, I can't do this. The road's about two miles east. Try to hurry," she said, handing him the compass that she had, and her knife. "I'm sorry."
"I don't understand, what-"
"You're never going to understand Dean, and it's better that way. Just go," Diane said. "And when you come back, it'd better be to take care of my sister."
She started walking towards the cabin, and Dean watched her for a few seconds, mystified by this new turn of events, and half wanting to run after her and demand answers, but not wanting to go anywhere near that cabin and her phsycho sister. He turned, walking in the direction that the compass told him was east. He was moving pretty slowly since the snow was so high, burying his feet in the places where it was low. He worried that the road might be blocked with snow. He figured he could just follow it. It was reasonable to assume that if he did he would end up somewhere even-
"Dean, wait!" he heard Diane call. He turned, to see her sprinting after him, snow flying up around her feet.
"What happened?" Dean asked. "Nothing," Diane said, out of breath.
"What was that all about back there?" he asked, turning to walk again.
"Oh, you know," she said, and he froze as he heard a gun cock behind him. "Just grabbing something I needed."
He turned slowly to see Diane aiming a hand gun at him.
"Diane?" he asked carefully.
"Put your hands up where I can see them," she ordered. Dean raised his hands, still holding the compass.
"Drop that," Diane instructed. Dean did as she ordered, still not understanding why Diane would be pointing a gun at him. Or maybe...
"You're not Diane are you," he realized.
Clara smiled, a nasty gleam in her eye.
"Nice to see you again Dean. I must say, she did a good job of hiding this time. I'm gonna have to have you show me where she's holed up before I kill you," she said.
"Where's Diane?" Dean asked, nodding at Dianes clothes, which Clara was wearing. Dean was suddenly worried for Diane. Clara had probably taken her clothes so Dean wouldn't recognize her right away. So where was Diane? And was she alright?
Clara laughed. "Honestly, I wouldn't hurt a hair on her head, she's just too precious." She nodded over her shoulder, not taking the gun off him. "Start walking, back to my cabin," she ordered.
"Why, so you can play with me some more?" Dean asked.
"Exactly," Clara said.
"So why the hell do you think I'm gonna do what you tell me?" Dean asked contemptuously.
"Because if you don't, I'll just shoot your kneecaps out, knock you out, and drag you back," Diane said.
Deans eyes darted around, trying to find some way to get out of this, more than aware of the knife that Diane had given him, tucked into his belt. He started walking back towards the cabin, winning a nod of approval from Clara, and hoping that she wouldn't see the knife. He might be able to surprise her with it.
"So, what happened to you to make you so deranged?" Dean asked.
"Oh, I'm not deranged," Clara said. "Just a little bit sadistic."
"I think you mean a little bit phsychotic," Dean said.
"Definitely that," Clara agreed.
"If Diane is too precious for you to hurt, why do you keep torturing people? She hates it you know," Dean said.
"Well, Diane won't hurt me either, but she does steal my toys," Clara said. "So I figure we're pretty much even. Although I do wonder about her sometimes. I would have thought she'd have known better than to go and sleep with you, knowing that in the end you would either send people back to kill us, or fall right back onto my table," Clara said.
"I'm only going to send people back for you," Dean said.
"And how, pray tell, are they going to be able to tell the difference between my sister and I?" Clara asked. "I won't hurt my sister, but if it comes down to it, I'll let them kill her in my place."
Dean shook his head in disbelief. He didn't know why. He should have been expecting it from this... sicko.
"You're disgusting. You're a disgusting, vile, wretched human, and you make me want to throw up," Dean said.
"All humans can be described that way," Clara said.
"How do you figure that?" Dean asked.
"Simple humanity," Clara said. "It defines itself. All you have to do is watch our race, and you'll see that we're scum, pure and simple."
"Not everyone is," Dean said. He could see the cabin now, though Diane wasn't in sight. Maybe she was inside.
"Oh trust me, on the inside, maybe hidden deep down in the recesses of the soul, everyone, and I mean everyone, is capable of being twice what I am," Clara said. Dean stopped at the door of the cabin, glancing back to see that Clara was still too far away for him to try anything.
"Get inside," she ordered.
He opened the door, and stepped inside, quickly scanning the room, his worry growing when he didn't see Diane.
"Where's Diane?" he asked, turning to face Clara. She kicked the door shut, not turning away from him.
"Doesn't matter." She nodded to the table, on which was a cup of water. "Drink it," she told him.
"Let me guess, it's drugged," Dean said, picking it up.
"You're very intelligent," Clara remarked drily. "Down the hatch."
Dean picked the glass up, looking down into it with no intention whatsoever of drinking it. He tossed it at Clara, dodging to the side quickly as the gun went off, pulling the knife off his belt and ramming into her. She grabbed his arm as tried to stab her, and he pinned the hand she had the gun in to the ground. She jerked her knee up, connecting with his groin, and headbutting him at the same time, stunning him enough to fling him off of her. The knife went flying against the wall, and he felt a sharp, tearing pain in his leg in the same instant as he heard a gun go off. He cried out, clutching his leg where Clara had shot him.
"Damn it," Clara said, looking at a deep gash on her arm. Dean hadn't know that he'd cut her, and he was glad that he'd gotten something in. He spotted the knife to his side, and lunged for it, crying out again as the gun went off, and clutching his hand to his chest. Fuck, she was a good shot.
"Don't move," she commanded, walking over and picking the knife up. "I'm going to need stitches in this. Haven't we talked about who hurts who around here?"
Dean spit at her in contempt.
"That's fine. I'll deal with you later," she snarled, keeping the gun trained on him as she pulled the rug to the side and opened the trap door. "Get down there."
He didn't budge, and her eyes narrowed.
"Get down there or I'll shoot you in enough places that you won't be able to fight back when I haul you down myself," she threatened.
Dean considered still refusing, but knew that he wouldn't get out of this if he couldn't run or fight. Granted, running would be hard with his leg the way it was, but he could make it out if he got the chance. He stood, leaning against the wall for support as much as he could, groaning when he had to put weight on his leg. He started down the stairs, but Clara kicked his back, and he cried out as he tumbled the rest of the way down, to land at the bottom, in serious pain and wheezing for breath, having gotten the wind knocked out of him on the way down. Clara closed the trapdoor, plunging him into darkness.
