Woohoo! Sequel time! This, in case you haven't figured it out, is the sequel to my last story, "Split." I strongly suggest that you read that one first. So, here we go. Oh, yeah, a little language in this one, but not too bad :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except for the idea... I guess... not the characters, though. :(
The voices. The damned voices. His, both of them, but one just wasn't right. It couldn't really be his, could it? The things it said sometimes, they caught him off-guard, scared him. The worst part was that he couldn't tell anyone, not even his brother. How do you tell someone that there's a war being waged in your head and you can't control it?
Sighing, Dean turned to look at the sleeping form of his brother in the motel room's other bed. Instant rage flashed through his head, brining with it the unwanted urge to grab the knife from under his pillow and slash his brother's throat.
The older man shuddered, turning back to look at the wall. The feeling passed almost instantly. He had no idea what was happening to him, just knew that it had something to do with the explosion that had shaken him so badly almost a month before.
His brother had had a dream, as Sam often did, and it had led them to a hospital. It was in the room of a psycho that the explosion had taken place, the explosion that had literally split Dean in two. He'd been put back together, obviously, but was still far from normal.
The remorse he'd felt for the terrible things his darker side had done was to be expected. After all, he'd remembered every heinous murder the evil man had committed. He'd also remembered every emotional breakdown his better half had had, which made matters even worse. Murder was something he could deal with, weakness was not.
But that was only the half of it. Since leaving the small town of Onyx, Montana, behind them, Dean had had a kind of mental war going on. An evil, sneering voice in his head told him to do things, kill people, and sometimes it just took control. Bad things happened.
Other times, he'd found himself on the verge of tears for no apparent reason, and that evil voice had spoken up in his mind, said some awful things, and brought him closer to a meltdown.
Sighing, Dean closed his eyes, hoping desperately for sleep to come. It seemed like it had been ages since he'd gotten a decent night's sleep. He was plagued by dreams of his evil half's adventures, experiencing cold-blooded murder every night as his brother slept soundly.
Slowly, the sound of Sam's soft snoring began to fade, and the older hunter drifted off to sleep, an evil voice in his head laughing maniacally as darkness took him.