All rioght. Tome for another chapter. Thanks again to all of my faithful reviewers who never disappoint with their compliments! I love you guys!
Night had fallen while the three Winchester men waited in the Impala, watching the house for any signs of life. The plan was to break into the house that Dean's evil half was occupying and ambush him. With luck, everything would go their way.
John reached his hand into the pocket of his jacket, where a gun had been safely hidden away. Dean checked his own jacket pocket, his fingers caressing the wooden handle of the knife that his other half had used to kill so many innocent people. It would be fitting for him to perish by that blade.
"Ready?" John asked, his voice harsh in the still night air. His sons nodded. "Let's go."
Three car doors opened simultaneously and the men climbed out onto the pavement. They ran across the concrete, over the lawn, and stopped beside the house.
"There's window over here," Sam explained, leading the group around the side of the building, "it's how I escaped. It leads to the basement. When we get in there, I've gotta warn you, there's a body tied up in the corner."
Dean's eyes went wide. "I killed someone else?" he whispered.
"Three people," John confirmed, "I checked the records. A family bought this house a few months back. A couple and their young daughter. I'm sure they're all dead by now, aren't they, Sam?"
Sam nodded. "Yes, sir. He killed them all. Now, we're going to have to be pretty quiet to get in unnoticed. Come on." He pulled the window open and began to slid through.
"Wait," Dean hissed, "maybe I should go first. Just in case he's waiting."
Sammy nodded again and let his brother go through first. Dean slid through the small opening easily enough and landed on his feet in the basement. He looked around the dimly lit room, stepping forward to see around the couch, before turned back to the window.
"It's safe, guys," he said, "come on in."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a familiar voice said. Dean whirled around to find himself looking into the barrel of a handgun. "Someone could get hurt."
Sam bent back by the window and grabbed it, ready to pull it open and slide through as his brother's voice came through the glass. He was stopped, however, by strong hands on his shoulders.
"Don't," John cautioned, "don't do it, Sam."
"Dad, we can't just leave him in there, he'll-"
"It's a trap. Dean set a trap."
"Our Dean?" Sammy asked, confusion written in his green eyes, "I don't think he's capable-"
"The other one," John explained, "the evil one. Look through the window. There are two silhouettes. They're identical."
"We can't leave him," Sam insisted, "not now. Not with that maniac."
"We won't," John grinned, "we'll just use the front door."
"They're scared, Dean," the man smirked, his hazel eyes glistening maniacally in the small amount of light in the room, "they're scared of youOf us. Personally, I don't blame them. I'd be scared, too, living with a homicidal nutcase like us."
"They'll come. They're just waiting to get a good shot."
His evil half smirked. "A good shot, yeah. Dad's got great aim, doesn't he. Too bad he'll kill us both, huh? Sammy? Now, Sammy'd wait until you got far enough along in this master plan of yours before shooting. He's a real sensitive guy, isn't he? And such a high-pitched squeal of pain, too."
"A master plan?" Dean asked, shuddering slightly even though the room was warm, "you really are crazy. Paranoid, too, if you think we're plotting against you."
"I told him," the other man said, finally moving his weapon to lock eyes with his better half, "I told him what I'd found out. Of course he'll use it against me. So, come on, let's get on with this, because I really am getting tired of talking to myself."
His face set and determined, Dean pulled out the knife and sliced the old cut on his palm open.
"Perfect," his evil half said, "you've made this incredibly easy for me." He dropped his gun and grabbed at Dean's hand, getting a strong hold on it as their blood mixed. "Thanks a lot, Deanster."
Dean ripped his hand away, grinning broadly. "No, thank you. Really."
The evil man cocked an eyebrow and picked up his gun, taking a step toward his better half. "We're two separate people now," he muttered, "if you're trying to tell me that was all part of your plan, then I must tell you that Sammy's losing his touch. I'm going to kill you. It's going to hurt. Better still, it'll be a slow death, and while you die, I'm going to go upstairs. You know why? Because you deserve to die alone you lousy piece of shit. But you already knew that, didn't you?"
Dean's grin never faltered as his evil half approached. Neither of them heard the door to the basement opening, neither saw the other two hunters enter. The gun was raised to the level of the man's stomach, but he didn't back down. He had a job to do, and in order to regain his family's love, he was going to have to do it right.
"Say good-bye, Dean," the evil man said, touching the barrel of the gun lightly at his better half's side.
"Good-bye, Dean," Dean smiled, plunging the knife deep into his evil half's side. He yanked it out as his victim looked down at his dark, blood-soaked shirt. Slowly, gasping, the evil man backed up to the wall, holding his hands protectively against his new wound.
Dean walked up to him and knocked the gun from his hands. "There's only enough room I this world for one Dean Winchester, my friend, and you, sadly, are not him."
The man smirked, his eyes still glistening malevolently. "Dad's never going to love you, you know, Never going to accept you."
"We'll see about that," Dean growled, his eyes tearing up as he watched a vital part of himself die.
Suddenly, a shot rang out in the basement, starling everyone present. Sam whipped his head around to stare at his father, who had his gun held out in front of him. A slight grin was forming on his face.
Dean gasped as the bulled ripped through his chest, the searing pain causing the tears he'd been trying to hold back to flow freely from his softened hazel eyes. He glanced down at his chest to see that the bullet had gone straight through him. He looked back at his evil half, whose wicked smirk was present even as the shallow bullet wound in his chest began to bleed.
Finally, Dean turned his head to look at the man who had shot him. It was his father, his own flesh and blood, the man that had made him everything he was. His father had shot him.
The world around him began to go dark, and Dean gave into it. What reason was there to live if your own family hated you enough to try and kill you? He fell slowly forward, never taking his eyes from his idol, the man he'd looked up to and respected. The man that had shot him stared back, his eyes cold and pitiless.