Well, it's time to see what happens to John!

John opened his eyes slowly. He'd had the worst dream. Something that looked like his oldest son had tricked him, tied him up, and made him think that Sammy was dead. Not the best night's sleep he'd ever gotten. He even had a headache.

"Good to see you're finally awake," a sinister, yet familiar, voice said from behind him. John tried to turn, but found that he'd been tied tightly into a chair, his wrists and ankles bound painfully.

"What are you?" he demanded as the thing that looked like his son came into view, smirking.

"Why, I'm your son," the thing answered, hunkering down in front of the chair and looking John in the eyes, "don't you recognize me, dad?"

The old hunter looked the thing square in the face, hoping that he was successfully hiding his astonishment. Whatever it was, it looked exactly like Dean, but rougher around the edges. The face was the same, but the eyes were harsh, and something stirred just beneath the hazel surface. It was something evil.

"That's impossible," John said, shaking his pounding head, "you're not Dean. Dean wouldn't do this to me. Now, just tell me what you really are, and I get on with kicking your ass."

"Watch the mouth, there, dad. Wouldn't want your kids to talk like that, would you? Remember that time when I was six and you caught me cussing at my shoes for not coming untied? Boy, you really let me have it that time. I got my mouth washed out with soap, a spanking, and I was grounded for a week. Just for cussing out my sneaks. Now, I know I'd heard you say worse around me and Sammy. Why set a bad example?"

The hunter was temporarily taken aback. He could barely remember that incident, so how could this shape shifter, or whatever it was, possibly know about it. Unless…

"What happened, son?" John asked, just hoping for an answer, "did something get to you? Or are you just lying?"

The thing with his son's face smirked again, standing up and walking around the chair. "There was an accident, dad, at a warehouse. I was telling the truth about that. Sammy hauled his ass out, left mine behind. I've got plans for him, too. Maybe we'll have a little reunion before I kill you both. But I digress. This explosion did something wonderful to me, dad. It set me free. I can finally do whatever I want without fear. There's no holding back now. I don't have listen to any more of Sammy's whining or follow any of your orders. I'm free."

"Sam wouldn't have left without you-"

"Oh, he left with me. Just not the me you're talking to. See, it's kind of a long story that I really don't have the time to recount right now because, even as we speak, your two wonderful sons are rushing here to save you."

"Two sons? I thought you were Dean."

The thing grinned, an expression so filled with malice that John barely suppressed a shudder. "I am. I'm your Dean, the one you trained relentlessly from the time that mom died. I'm the soldier, dad. You taught me to kill, and now I'm going to. I'm going to kill you. Eventually.

"See, I had to put up with a lot from you over the years. All the training, the hunting, the looks. I saw the way you looked at me, even before that shtriga tried to kill Sammy. I'm not as dumb as you think I am, dad, and I saw it. You looked at him with love and affection. You looked at me with something like disgust. I used to wonder why, and then I figured it out.

"I remind you of mom, don't I?" It smiled, ruffling John's hair, "but you know what, dad? I'm more like you than her. She didn't have this evil within her waiting to break free."

Realization dawned in the older hunter's eyes. "You're-"

"The bad part of your sweet oldest boy, yeah. The good part's on his way, and, let's face it, when it comes to me, there never was an ugly. So sit back, relax, and enjoy this rant, because it's been a long time coming.

"I do everything you tell me to, I never question your orders, and you overlook me. You prefer Sammy, don't you dad, and you don't try to hide it. I tried to be perfect for you, and you know what it got me? Absolutely nothing. You left. Just poof. One day I wake up, and you're gone.

"When you came back, I tried to be perfect again, but I was mad. I was pissed off. And it was all your fault. So I took a page from Sammy's book and decided to rebel a bit, see if I could get your attention, and you yelled at me for it.

"Now, here's the kicker, dad. You get your ass possessed, try to kill me, and then ignore the fact that I'm dying in the backseat of the car. But, you know, I can forgive you for that. You had more important things on your mind. Like how special Sammy is, right? Boy, he sure is better than me, huh?"

"You don't mean that," John sighed, "any of it. It's not you, Dean. This isn't your fault."

"But everything else is. As least, that seems to be your philosophy when it comes to just about everything. If Sammy fell down and skinned his knee when he was just learning how to walk it was my fault. If he went out on a date and stayed past curfew, I was to blame. He suddenly develops psychic powers and it's all my fault. I should have told you that he was seeing crap that hasn't even happened yet, right?"

"You misunderstood that. I didn't mean it like that-"

"No, dad," Dean said, kneeling back down in front of the chair and locking eyes with the older man again, "you meant it just like that. I believe your exact words were, 'if something like this happens to your brother, you call me.' Ignoring the fact that I can never get a hold of you, do you really expect me to go behind my brother's back like that? I mean, I will now, but back then? Ooh, if Sammy'd found out I'd done something like that, he would have left. Just like you."

John hung his head. "We'll fix this, Dean, we will."

"I don't think so," the younger man said, grabbing his knife off the bed, "see, you won't be talking much longer. Any last words?"

The older hunter swallowed hard as the knife was pressed to his throat. He looked into the cold hazel eyes that had locked with his own and shuddered. Had his son always felt like this? Like he was second best? Was this twisted imitation telling the truth, or just lying through his teeth?

"I," John began, hoping that the three simple words that he had hardly spoken to his oldest boy since the fire that had taken his dreams away could stop the dark storm that raged behind those haunted eyes. He never got the chance to find out.

The door of the motel room burst open, revealing two silhouettes that both men recognized instantly.

"You," Dean hissed, standing up slowly and turning to face the door, "I was wondering when you'd come to join the party." He smirked.

"Looks like we're just in time," another voice said, exactly like the first that had spoken. John's eyes widened as his eldest son stepped into the room, wearing blood-smeared jeans and a crimson shirt that had once been white. His right hand had been crudely bandaged.

"Dean?" he asked as the newcomer crossed the room to stand between John and his captor. Sam walked around behind him to loosen the knots that held him in place.

"Don't worry, dad," the man said, smiling sweetly, "we're gonna get you out of here."

"Where's the fun in that?" his captor asked, dropping the knife back on to the bed and shrugging, his black-clad shoulders rising and falling quickly.

"Sam," John whispered urgently, watching the two Deans stare each other down, "what's going on here?"

"Later, dad," Sam hissed back, "it's not safe here for either of us."

The man in black smirked. "You can't run forever, you know that, right? And there's no way a wimp like you can protect them, so just give up. Let me kill them, and I swear, I'll leave you alone. Oh, wait, that's right. You don't like being alone, do you Dean? That's too bad." He took a step forward, grabbing for the knife as he did, but his better half was faster and got to it first.

"No way," he said, "I'm not going to let you hurt my family."

The twisted version of the hunter rolled his eyes and took another step forward. "What are you gonna do? You can't hurt me without hurting yourself."

"And I can't hurt myself without hurting you," the good one nodded, smiling and placing the glinting knife blade up to his wrist. The other man stepped back, holding his hands up in front of his chest.

"All right, man, I'll leave them be. For now, at least, just don't do something we'll both regret later. Although," the evil smirk returned, "you could do it and they wouldn't even shed a tear. You realize that, right? If you slit our wrists, they wouldn't give a damn? They'd just leave, wouldn't even bother to bury us. Shame, too. We always wanted a nice funeral."

"Sam, get dad out of here. I'll make sure this thing doesn't follow us."

"This thing?" the man asked, feigning shock, "how could you, Dean? I'm just as much a part of this family as you. But, I guess that makes me something like chopped liver in these folks' eyes, huh?"

"You shut up."

The ropes that had been holding John fell loose, and the man stood up, looking at the scene. If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought that the two men blocking the door were twins.

Sam grabbed his father's wrist and pulled him past the two halves of his brother. They had gotten to the door when John suddenly stopped, pulled free of his youngest son's grasp, and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a gun, which he brought down over the closest man's head.

Sam watched as his brother fell, both hitting the dirty floor at the same time. "Go," he yelled at his father, a little angry at the man for the uncalled for attack, "now. Get in the Impala. I'll grab Dean."

His father ran into the parking lot, yelling something that sounded like 'keys' as he went. Sam nodded, and reached into the pocket of the evil man's black jacket to find the Impala's keys. He stepped over the fallen villain and grabbed his brother, picking him up (Dean was lighter than he'd imagined) and carrying him to the car.

Sammy slid in behind the wheel and adjusted the seat, glancing carefully at his father, who was sitting beside him. Dean had been laid in the backseat, and was starting to regain consciousness.

"You mind explaining this now?" John asked urgently as the car pulled from the parking lot of the small motel.

"Can it wait until Dean wakes up?"

"No, it can't. Sam, this is important, all right. I need to know what's going on with you two. Or is it three?"

Sam was about to reply, but stopped when he heard a soft moan from the backseat. "Hey," he said softly, glancing up into the rearview, "you all right."

"Headache," Dean replied groggily, "hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Watch out for semis." Dean grinned, then passed out again. Sam and John looked at each other for a moment before getting the joke. They smiled, albeit slightly, in the waning light of the setting sun.