Dean knew that there was a table somewhere in the room that had knives on it. He fumbled in the dark, trying to put most of his weight on his good leg. He bumped into a table, and felt it gingerly, not wanting to cut himself.
"Yes," he said softly in triumph when he felt the blade of a knife. He found the handle, and picked it up, trying to make his way back to the stairs. When Clara came back down, he was sure that she would bring a gun, so he would have to move quickly, or get shot.
He didn't know how long he waited for, listening and hoping. He heard some footsteps from above, and then they stopped for a while. It was silent, and he didn't know for how long, but it dragged on for him like eternity. Finally, he heard voices. Only one voice, actually.
"No, I won't let you," he heard... was it Clara or Diane? Damn it they both sounded the same.
"What, like you're going to stop me? You're too weak Diane." Okay, so that was Clara.
"I'm strong enough to keep a hold on you," Diane said.
"Not all of the time, obviously," Clara said.
"Just stop this. Please, I'm begging you," Diane said pleadingly.
"He'll bring back people to kill us," Clara said. "Are you really willing to die to get rid of me?" Dean frowned. Was Clara saying she would kill Diane?
"Yes," Diane said.
"If you want it so badly, why don't you just do it yourself? You know you hate me," Clara said.
"Truth is, you're right about me, in a way," Diane said. "I'm too weak to do it myself. But I'm strong enough to let him do it for me."
He heard a scream, though it was more like a primal shout of effort, and a thump. It was quiet for a moment, and then he heard footsteps. The trapdoor swung open suddenly, and Dean ducked to the side of the stairs.
"Dean?" a voice asked. Clara or Diane, he wondered. "Dean, it's me," she said.
He held the knife more tightly, waiting. He heard footsteps on the stairs, and saw the light from a lamp she was holding. He peeked around to see her clothes, and realized it was Clara. He charged her, and she turned just in time to see him and dodge away, barely keeping a hold on the lamp.
"Dean, it's me," she insisted.
"Yeah right, nice try," Dean said, holding the knife, ready to attack again.
"Look, I swear, Dean. If I was Clara, I would have brought a gun, right?" she said. He looked her over, and didn't see a gun.
"It's me," she said again.
"What did you do, take the clothes back?" he asked.
"It's complicated," Diane said.
"Complicated? You've been telling me it's complicated since the day we met Diane. I want some answers now," he demanded.
"Dean, look, you need to go. You can go right now. The gun's on the table up there, you can take it with you," Diane said pleadingly. "Just go, bring back help."
"I heard you talking to your sister up there. What did she mean when she asked if you were willing to die to get rid of her?"
Diane didn't answer.
"What did she mean Diane?!" Dean demanded.
"Please don't," Diane begged. "Please, just-"
"Something's going on here, and I want to know what the hell it is," Dean shouted.
Diane took a breath, and something seemed to change. The air in the room grew a bit colder, and his breath came out in clouds. Her eyes shifted, tending more towards a cold grey color. She smiled, a cold, calculating, mocking smile. "Fine Dean. You want to really know what's going on here?" she said. She put the lamp down on the table in the center of the room, and took a step towards him.
"Stop moving Diane," he warned.
"Diane?" she laughed. "You are so naive Dean. I couldn't believe it when you told her how you were a hunter."
"What?" Dean asked.
"Oh, yeah, I heard that conversation. And all the ones that came after it. I know everything about you that she does Dean. It's all up here... with me," she said, tapping her head.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded.
"Wow, you really are thick if you haven't caught on yet," she said. "Think hard for a moment Dean. Why are we both wearing the same clothes?" She rolled up her sleeves, baring her scars. "Why do we have the exact same scars? And, here's the million dollar question. Have you ever seen us both at the same time?" she asked.
"Clara?" he asked, realization dawning on him, all the pieces clicking into place. "You're a ghost. You're possessing her. That's what's going on, isn't it? That's what she's always meant when she's said that she wasn't strong enough to do it. She never meant killing you. She was talking about killing herself to get rid of you along with her. That's why she's out here all by herself."
"Finally," Clara said. "Took you long enough."
Dean backed away from her as she advanced on him. "Stay back," he warned.
"Or what, you'll stab me? You'll be killing Diane," Clara said.
Dean would have killed for some salt right about then. Or iron. "So how does this work, you're both trapped in there and what, she keeps you under wraps most of the time?"
"Most of the time, she doesn't have too. She only really tries when someone comes into the woods, or I try to go anywhere. I will admit, she does have a strong will. But, so do I," Clara said. She walked past the table, picking up a knife off of it. Dean backed away further, on the other side of the table from her by now. "Her problem is mostly sentiment. It makes her weak. Me, I'm ruthless. I don't care about anyone anymore, not even her really. I used to. I used to love her the most out of any of my family. You know they tried to send me to the nuthouse once?" she asked.
"I can't imagine why," Dean said sacastically.
"Me neither. They all betrayed me, every one of them. Diane helped me escape. And then she killed me," Clara said.
"What, for no reason? I don't think so," Dean said.
"Well, she did have her motives. I killed the entire family, after all," Clara said.
"Why am I not surprised at this point?" Dean asked.
"They had it coming. Blood's supposed to be thicker than water," Clara said. She snorted angrily. "But as far as most of them were concerned, maple syrup was thicker than blood."
"Or maybe they saw that you were crazy as batshit and didn't want you hurting anybody," Dean argued. He was getting closer to the stairs. He was planning to make a run for it, grab the gun, and... what, shoot Diane?
"You didn't know them, so don't defend them," Clara spat.
"They can't have been any worse than you," Dean retorted. He had it. He would grab the gun to keep it away from her, run, and come back with salt and iron. They could get the ghost out of Diane, and everything would turn out rosy.
"How do you think I got like this in the first place?" she yelled. "You don't pop out of the womb this way!"
"So what, you blame them for turning you into a monster?" Dean asked.
"Yeah," Clara said.
"Well you know what? Sometimes family sucks. That's what they're for, they're annoying, and they make you feel like shit. And yeah, they help shape who you are as a person. But there's a point in your life where you gotta stop blaming other people for what they do to you, and take responsibility for your own actions," Dean said.
"You sound like my old therapist. You know what happened to her? I gutted her with a pen knife," Clara said.
Dean turned and ran for the stairs without responding. He made it to the top when Clara grabbed his foot, trying to pull him back down and slashing wildly with the knife. He kicked at her, the knife slicing through the top of his shoe and grazing his foot, but he managed to get free, and stumbled to his feet, looking for the gun. He saw it on the table where Diane had said it would be and ran for it. He grabbed it, but Clara ran at him screaming, trying to stab him. He fell to the ground, she on top of him, trying to pry the gun from him, having lost her grip on the knife. There was a sudden bang as the gun went off, and Dean waited for the pain to hit him. It never did though, and Clara fall off him, letting go of the gun completely. Dean scrambled back from her, seeing blood spreading across her stomach. She pressed her fingers to it, looking down at the wound in shock.
"Well shit," she said. Her eyes shifted to a warmer brown color, and the temperature in the room rose a few degrees.
"Diane?" he asked. Her eyes flitted over to him, darting away quickly. "Is that you in there?" Dean asked, starting to make his way towards her.
"Don't," she said, holding a hand out weakly to try and hold him back. "Get out of here, now."
"No, you're coming with me," he said, trying to pull her to her feet. She wasn't helping him at all, trying to make him go on his own, and he couldn't lift her with the state his leg was in.
"Dean, just go," she mumbled, trying to sound insistent, but not succeeding. He knew he couldn't get her out of the woods. He would be amazed if he could make it out himself. He grunted in pain as he dragged her over towards the bed in the corner, setting her down and sitting next to her.
"You're losing too much blood. Look, Diane. Look at me," he said. She focused on him, and he took her hand, placing it over the wound. "Press on that, and don't stop. Do you hear me? I can get Clara out of you, and then everything is gonna be fine, you got that? You don't have to die," he said firmly.
Diane made a small sound in the back of her throat, her eyes closing. Dean shook her, and the popped back open. "You can't go to sleep. Don't do that, okay?" he said. "Promise me you aren't going to die on me Diane," he said.
"Just go Dean. Hurry up," Diane said. He hesitated, before leaning down and kissing her forehead quickly.
"I'm coming back for you," he said, standing. She watched him limp out of the cabin, turning back one last time to look at her before walking out. She stared after him until she couldn't hear his footsteps anymore, before she closed her eyes, silent tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she swallowed back a lump in her throat, knowing that this was the last time she would see Dean Winchester.
