A/N: Second to last chapter this one is, and it's a killer ;) Pun intended, of course. It's long, it's epic and it's oh-so delicious. It has lots of implied Tru/Jack goodness, Jensen's evilness, Harrison's fun brooding/complaining, and Richard's annoyingness. Get set.

Go.

Blood Of A Stranger
Chapter Nine: Divided

The sun breeched through the heavy clouds, lightening them as the day strolled along calmly. The light snow had ceased after the brief shower early that morning, although the cold hadn't seemed to disappear, despite the presence of the sun. The thick layer of snow underfoot was slowly fading, growing smaller and smaller, soon to become pools of icy water.

Tru tried desperately not to sigh in frustration as her brother panted angrily on the other line of her phone. She walked quickly, her mind set on her destination.

"…and after all of that, he still has the nerve to show up at Dad's office," Harrison continued his angry rant, though Tru was hardly listening. "He made up some sad story about legal advice. You know the real reason he was there, don't you?"

Her brother didn't give her any time to answer his stray question, for he managed to draw a sharp breath before answering it for himself.

"…he did it to get to me. He wants to…"

Tru stepped up quickly onto the sidewalk, her hand firmly pressed to her ear. "Harrison, it's a rewind day. I know all about Jack and Dad. He's helping Jack out with some advice regarding a false allegation against him."

She heard Harrison grunt in frustration. "Doesn't make it right. Out of all the law firms in the city, he chooses Dad's."

"Yeah, who knew," Tru quipped distractedly while darting her eyes around the street. "Listen, Harrison, Jack is none of your concern. Just don't worry…"

She stopped dead in her tracks when a hand grabbed her loose arm suddenly, turning her around sharply. She found herself staring into the cold, deep blue eyes of Jack Harper, who glared at her with a grim expression.

"Harrison, I have to go," she muttered quickly into her phone before closing it over, her eyes never leaving Jack's.

He spoke quietly, yet very clearly, his tone cold and strained. "Everything okay?"

Tru nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but found her lips were dangerously parched. Her fingers convulsed with small shakes, her heart pounding wildly. She wanted to break down, right there in front of her enemy, and cry deeply into him. She had to pull herself a few steps back away from him so she wouldn't be tempted. Still, she couldn't bring herself to speak.

Jack understood why she resisted speaking. He leaned down so he could whisper to her, "I have Jensen's father covered. I just need to know you can do this. Are you sure this is what you want?"

His eyes bore down on her and she felt intimidated suddenly. She could only nod slowly. There was no other way.

He screamed for their blood. He screamed for his father's blood; may it pour out in a river of crimson as his soul soars for the sky. No one would cry for him, least of all his own son. The bitter sensation of resentment crept itself inside of him, clutching onto his vacant memories with a cold malice. He would have no remorse for killing his father; not that he had remorse about any of the other murders. Or, at least not to the degree that it would burn.

He often felt something of a sadness after he killed. It wasn't something that he could easily explain. It was just like a lagging feeling deep within himself.

Never mind, though, as the day wore on and the sun wore thin.

His fingers wrapped securely around the handle of the metallic gun and he breathed in her scent. It was some kind of flower; a lily, maybe. He let it draw him in, following it blindly until he reached the back of a construction building, and she was beginning to float up the steel steps, oblivious to his presence.

His favourite kind.

She was in her own little world, absorbed by the happenings of the day and what would come.

She had no idea, really.

Oblivious.

He liked that word.

It burned in his mind as he moved quickly, like an unseen enemy, and held the gun to the back of her head. She gasped but didn't turn around. That was exactly how he wanted it.

Some may have labelled it an execution. Surely that was what the papers would call it the following morning. That was what the news readers would say about it when the body was found.

He liked to call it preparation.

Preparation for a bigger kill, a bigger ending. One that was soon to come.

He was late. Again. Tru searched for him upon entering the diner, but could not catch sight of him. She knew his interview at the morgue had finished a while ago. She had been there for the most part. Tru sighed in quiet frustration before dismissing her thoughts and plastering on a smile.

It was fake. It was all fake. But it was something she needed to do. She couldn't let Avery notice something was wrong, for the blonde had a habit of doing that, especially with Tru. But, not today, Tru reasoned with herself firmly. She could not afford to let parts of her slip through the cracks; she could not afford for Avery to suspect something.

Tru slid into the booth with a graceful precision, careful not to let her mask fall. "How's it going?"

Avery smiled wryly at her friend's slightly frivolous emphasis on the last word. "Did you know the burgers here are eight dollars? Seriously, you'd think there was a burger shortage…"

"Avery," Tru said quietly, trying to cut into the girl's rant, though to no avail.

"And the fries are an extra four bucks," Avery complained warily, sensing something from Tru; something like a strange vibe. "You're vibe-y. What's wrong?"

Tru frowned, impulsively, then forced her smile back on. It felt wrong. All wrong. "Nothing, I was just thinking about tonight." She saw the blank look her friend offered her and leaned forward to explain. "My dad, the law firm he works at is having this function tonight. It's like a ten-year thing to celebrate achievements and everything. You should go."

Avery raised an inquisitive eyebrow, suspicion rising within her. "Why?"

"It will be good for you," Tru replied quickly, almost too quickly. "And besides, my brother has no one to go with and I don't want him turning up solo for a work function. Doesn't look good."

After a slight pause, Avery flicked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Okay, I'll do it. I don't have to dress up or anything, right?"

Shifting uncomfortably in the booth, Tru gave a small sympathetic look. "It's kind of formal."

"What is?" A silky voice interrupted them and a cold hand was placed on Tru's shoulder. Jensen, seeing Avery's crestfallen look, raised a brow. "Somebody die?"

Tru knew that was in poor taste. Hell it was probably true, the way Jensen was carelessly throwing comments around as if they were nothing. It sickened Tru; she literally felt ill as his hand continued to creep over her shoulder and down her arm. She shrugged it off and plastered her smile back on, welcoming Jensen. Finally.

"I was just telling Avery about Dad's function tonight," Tru explained with a heartened tone of voice, covering up the blood that was draining from her face with a warm smile. "She's coming along to keep Harrison company. You're still coming right?"

Jensen nodded with a small smile of his own. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Tru didn't know how she was able to take that without retching. The lies he was telling, the betrayal he was showing just through his words alone made her sick.

"Mr. Richie?" Avery suddenly felt compelled to spill out in a surprised tone.

Tru looked up to see none other than yesterday's victim standing above her, his hard blue eyes bearing down on her. His hair was cropped short and greying; the way she remembered it from the previous night, though then it had been mattered with his blood.

Tru froze. Hadn't Jack been watching Jensen's father? So why was it he was standing above her, eyeing her with a wary look of disapproval?

"Tru," Jensen began in a quiet, yet oddly proud voice, motioning to his father, "this is my father. He was in town and thought it would be good to meet you, after hearing so many things about you."

She held out her hand. What else could she do? "Nice to meet you," she spoke quietly while he shook her hand with conviction, his stone face not once warming.

"Likewise," he stated in a monotone, pale lips moving forcibly. "Jensen has told me wonderful tings about you. Tell me, was working in a morgue your first choice?"

Suppressing a frown at the strange interrogation, Tru turned a smile to Jensen when he slid in beside her. She inched closer to end of the booth at his nearness. "Actually, no. I was planning to take an internship at a hospital just over a year ago, but their funding fell through."

"Interesting," the stoic man offered a smile before turning to a known face. "Avery, good to see you again."

Avery smiled, almost reverently, at the tall man, whom she had met on many occasions. "You, too, Mr. Ritchie. Are you in town on business, or is this a social call?"

"Hardly," Jensen uttered under his breath, though it was loud enough for Tru to grasp. She tried to ignore it. Her head felt light and she could hardly focus her vision. She prayed she would not pass out.

"Business," the older man concluded, fingering the ties of his striking black trench coat, loosely binding them together. "I really must be going, but it was nice to meet you."

He flashed what might have resembled a smile at Tru, while he gave a small nod to his son, and another smile to Avery, who sat quietly, almost perplexed at the strange occurrence. It seemed forced, somehow.

He was gone in a matter of seconds.

Tru noticed there had been no eye contact between Jensen and his father during that small gathering. The tension was crippling; she felt it still in the air, heavy and thick, like clouds before a storm.

She shivered and felt herself jolt. Pressing her fingers to the side of her head, she breathed steadily, forcing herself to remain calm. She had to.

She excused herself quickly, walking briskly to the bathroom, trying to forget the concerned look Avery offered, and the sickening smile that remained plastered on Jensen's face. The latter, however, she could not remove from her memory. It etched itself in, burned and singed into her mind.

The bathroom was like a sanctuary. The walls were clean and glistening an off white in the bright light. It smelled of lemon disinfectant and pure bleach. She stumbled over to the sinks and ran steaming hot water, closing her eyes slowly.

It helped.

She breathed heavily and cleared her mind. Turning the tap to one side, the running water ceased and she pulled out her phone, fumbling with the opening. Her fingers shook when she dialled the numbers. She was unaware of who she was calling until he picked up.

He sounded surprised, almost concerned. They had it all planned out and now he wondered if she had changed her mind.

That was his first question. What's wrong? Have you changed your mind?

She expelled a breath slowly, its shaky quivering scaring her. She didn't know what was happening. "Jack, I…I don't know if I can…just, I needed…"

Something in her voice hurt him. It struck him deep inside and he closed his own eyes. "It's okay, Tru. It will all be okay."

She thought it suddenly funny to hear him say those words. She almost laughed, it was so ridiculous. Or maybe it was just one of those moments where all you could do was laugh, you felt so bad. "I just need to hear your voice," she whispered hoarsely.

It hurt her to say those words. After everything that had happened between them, after Luc, after his betrayal, she didn't know how she could say those words. She hadn't forgiven him, wasn't even close to, but somehow his words of reason calmed her. His soft voice reached her in a way it never had before.

She felt drawn in, seduced almost, in a very innocent way.

His words were a dull drawl to her; they didn't make sense. But they helped.

The bathroom door was almost pounded open. Jensen stumbled in with a concerned look. Tru felt like laughing again, in that ridiculous, maniacal manner. He strode over to her, a deep frown lining his haughty features, casting shadows from the bright light of the room. He spoke immediately, his cold, loud voice crashing through her like a ruthless wave and she was crushed by its force, drowning slowly. Painfully.

She didn't even know what he said. She couldn't hear the words, just the tone. The cold, heartless, soulless tone.

He touched her shoulders with his hands, his fingertips running up along her arms. She flinched and pulled away, her back knocking hard against the cold tile of the sinks.

Jensen saw her in the mirror. He saw the way she reacted to his touch. He saw the way she was inching toward the wall, where there was essentially nowhere else to go. He saw the way she quivered.

And yet he didn't know why. He didn't know why she was suddenly so repulsed by him. He didn't understand her hurtful actions.

She knew she had to hang up the phone. She knew this because her voice was being called, continuously, in a concerned tone, static breeching through and making his words robotic.

Of course, Jensen heard the other man. Somehow, he always could.

He snatched the phone from her grip with the simplicity of two swift fingers, closing it over with a sharp clasp.

Jack's voice was gone. He was no longer there.

There was only Jensen.

The killer.

The murderer.

The slaughterer.

Tru laughed. Soft and gently. Like the entire ordeal was a pitiful scenario her brain had pitted against her. She shrugged it all off and fell into Jensen's waiting embrace, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close to her. She breathed him in, his sweet scent of musk drifting to her. She tasted the salty sweat of his neck as she kissed him softly, her lips pressing gently into the hollow where his neck gaped. She hugged him tighter. She felt him rise and fall with every breath he took. Her fingertips laced around the side of his neck, towards the base of his head where she gently fingered the small tufts of golden curls.

He didn't resist. Didn't pull back, Didn't repel.

Was is not the previous night when they had made love?

He loved her.

And yet he didn't understand her. He didn't know her. He didn't trust her.

And time would only tell.

The sick pounding in her head nauseated her. The classical music played resounding throughout the hall, the polished walls glistening with supremacy. The haunting chandelier spilled its flowing crystal waters over its rim, the golden light streaming from it drawing patterns around her. Voices whispered harshly, drowning out her sense of clarity.

The room was spinning around her. She felt the pressure building up, tightening its grip around her temples. She felt like passing out. She very well might have, if not for the greater purpose looming ahead of her.

And loom it did.

No, loom was not the right word. It was too simple a word for this; too easy. Too sound.

She couldn't even think of a word that would describe in intricate detail the pain constricting her chest, or the violent shaking on the inside of her hands, or the cruel pounding in her head. No word would fit the devastation for such a reverberation.

He pressed a gentle hand to her arm, gripping it lightly and turning her to look at him.

Tru tired to smile. She really did. But what came out was a small twist of her lower lip at its very edge. Even the ruby red lipstick could not bring her justice.

Although, he had to admit, she did look flattering.

The same cobalt cocktail dress worn the previous night, the same split sides, and the same plunging neckline.

The same dappled arms lined with a light tan, the same mysterious eyes that were rimmed with thick liner.

He was reminded suddenly of the dream the two of them had shared. The one in which she stood before the mirror, her eyes bleeding black mascara, and his touch so light and frivolous that he thought the mirror would shatter in anticipation.

Her eyes brought him back to reality.

She took him in; everything about him was wrong. He looked all wrong. The black tailored pants rested just above his polished shoes. His perfectly pressed white shirt was flawless; it bore no creases. His jacket slipped over him effortlessly, embracing him, making him seem just part of the crowd of lawyers and businessmen. His navy tie completed the attire; it was straight and perfectly placed; nothing was out of line.

Except maybe he, himself.

He had accepted her offer of ending Jensen with no real hesitation; but rather, he harboured an unnatural sadness when he heard her whisper those words.

Help me, Jack.

Those words lingered even still. He doubted they would ever go away.

Tru ignored the irritated looks Harrison kept throwing at her, seeing them all already. She was well aware her brother disapproved of Jack's closeness to her as of late. She knew he felt a little out of the loop; a little rejected.

It would have to suffice because the clock was running down the minutes.

Roaming her eyes around the unfolding scene, Tru noticed a glamorous Avery collecting a drink from one of the tables. She was dressed nicely in a peach-coloured dress that cut off somewhere just below the knee. Her golden hair was flowing freely around her face and shoulders.

Tru smiled, but it was short-lived. She hated having an ulterior motive for inviting her friend along. It saddened her that she should have to lie to keep her friends safe. What was that saying; it is a gesture of love that I deceive the ones I care about.

Something like that.

Tru knew Tyler wasn't an issue. Not in this instance. Yes, Jensen and Tyler were friends. Yes, they had known each other for a long time. Yes, Tyler would be affected by Jensen's sudden death.

But Avery had to be kept somewhere safe, somewhere away from what was going to happen. Avery noticed things; she noticed Tru's patterns, the way she knew things were going to happen, or past things that she was never present for. Tru knew things. And Avery noticed this.

Tru thought it odd suddenly that she had distanced herself from Davis and Harrison. Because of this rewind, because of the people it affected, she knew she could only really rely on one person to keep things in line. To keep things the way they should be. To keep things sane.

To keep her sane.

Davis couldn't help. There was no help from such a man that could be accepted in this situation. Nor could Harrison help; he just didn't know what to do. They both didn't.

Jack did.

Tru did.

Tru felt her shoulder burn with a sudden sharpness. She looked over at Jack expectantly. His hand caressed her bare shoulder, a little longer than it should have, before she shrugged it off and glanced over at the large, overhanding clock on the wall.

Eleven o'clock.

Time to go.

Tru breathed in deeply, bracing herself behind nodding. "I'm ready."

Jack swallowed hollowly at her harsh whisper. "Everything will be okay. I promise."

He promised.

Everything will be okay.

"Okay," she breathed carefully. "Let's go."

The forbidding alleyway was already dampened with blood, stained to the foundations of the earth with crimson liquid. The gun left smoke pouring out of the lip, wisps of grey embers drifting away into the darkness.

He smiled quietly into the night, his hollow eyes surveying his work of art with satisfaction.

Jensen knew his father hadn't known a thing. He hadn't been suspicious when his son called hours ago, asking him to come to the diner. It had been a quaint meal; quiet and with little words spoken between the two.

Perfect for a last meal.

As the blood spilled out from behind his father's head, his cold eyes open and staring, Jensen stood back and watched.

He didn't notice when footsteps echoed down the narrow alley. He didn't look up from his work, his sacrifice.

Tru breathed in the grime, the garbage and the grunge of old snow. It didn't bother her. She didn't even place those smells. The only thing she could focus on was the ripe stench of death, the metallic taste of blood in the air.

She stood before Jensen, her lips frozen. They wouldn't move. She didn't mind. It was just something else she didn't have to face, speaking to a killer.

Jack fingered the raw metal of the gun that scraped against the firm skin of his lower torso. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it. Not just yet.

Jensen still held his own gun, the smoke lingering like a haunting enigma.

He held it defensively out in front of him, near Tru's head. She didn't seem to mind. Maybe she was so numb she didn't even realise it was there.

Jack pushed himself between the pointed gun and Tru's standing body. They didn't touch as he sidled in swiftly, however he could tell she was shaking. He could feel the erratic vibrations as she convulsed.

She's breaking, Jack thought with a grimace.

None of them had spoken yet; it was all too rehearsed for the need for words. Each and every one of them had practiced this same routine, the same scenario, over and over again in their minds.

Eventually, though, sound broke through that barrier of acute deafness. Jensen laughed. Softly. Sarcastically. Knowingly. Sadly. Painfully.

"I always knew it was you," he spoke with his teeth gritted, words aiming at Jack. His voice was strained and painful, soft resentment slipping in deftly. "Everywhere she went, you followed. Couldn't get rid of you."

Jack's eyes never left Jensen's; the same flame flickering in either body. That same burning fire Tru had witnessed in both. "I know what you're going through."

There wasn't time for Jensen to register the sadness, the relation in Jack's quiet words. "You can't possibly. There's this place, Jack, that I'm meant to be in, somewhere I need to get to. But I just can't."

"You crave death," Jack began again as he offered a slight flick of his head, "and yet you can't have it. So you kill. You kill because it's the closest thing. But it will never be the same."

Jensen clenched his jaw, gripping his head with his spare hand. He grimaced, hard, like he was trying to claw his way through his head. "No. No. No. You don't get it…!"

"Don't I?" Jack spoke softly, sadly. Ironically. "I died once." He watched the vague surprise flicker in Jensen's eyes. "It was sweet. To see my sister again. But it was bitter. Because I was pulled away, so violently that I could barely breathe when I woke up. They had to induce me into a coma because my body refused to be alive. I just wanted to see my sister again."

Jensen's hands were shaking, the gun twisting and being pulled every which way. "It's not the same. I…" His eyes changed. They became deep and gentle again, sad. "Have no soul."

Tru watched in a reverie as Jensen became cold again, his eyes pooling back into black, hollow orbs that absorbed nothing.

"…I kill to make sacrifices. The people living this life should share in the peace of death. They should not have to live in chaos. They should be free."

Jack stifled a painful laugh. "It would be so much easier, wouldn't it? To be able to choose who lives and who dies."

Glancing away from the frenzy of the shaking gun, Tru stared into Jack's heaved back, watching as it sunk inwards. She knew what he was talking about.

"…but we can't choose. Doesn't work that way. We can't play God; we can't just roll the dice and give somebody peace. That's not what's right. We have to let fate choose."

Jack stood firm, holding his ground. Jensen ceased to shake violently. Instead, he stood very still, words forming inside his mind. A retaliation.

The gun stopped moving about erratically and he looked at it pointedly before moving it across in the chilled air, focusing it instead on Jack's solid form rather than Tru's. Anger seeped into Jensen's mouth, snaking out venomously as he cocked the gun with a click, finger bent over the trigger.

"Is that right?" Jensen formed the words carefully, purposefully speaking slowly. "Then how come she chooses who lives and dies?"

Tru focussed her eyes for the first time as those words reached her. Chills spilled carelessly over her. She shuddered and she didn't care. She realised who Jensen wanted to kill. It wasn't those girls whose lives were gone now for nothing. It wasn't his father, the good doctor who had always pushed Jensen further into that abyss of irreverence and perfection.

It was Tru, herself. She was the one Jensen wanted to kill.

She had taken away his peace, his death. She had given him a second life without knowing it wasn't what he wanted. Jensen himself didn't even know he hadn't wanted to live. It was something else that Jensen's body harboured that blamed Tru for the destruction of its peace.

Without a soul, he was lost.

He ceased to exist. He wasn't real. He craved death.

He needed to hurt, as he had been hurt. The pain life caused him would be the pain others felt when they died. When they were needlessly stabbed or shot. When their bodies were mauled and slaughtered, their souls would cry out and seep away, weeping for their life.

Jensen had his eyes plastered to Jack's solid ones, however Tru could still see the glint of pure amusement aimed her way glistening in his black pupil.

It was all in slow motion, jerking and silent as Jack pulled out his own gun from its holstered cage within the seams of his pants.

Tru watched, her breathing the only pattern seeming to penetrate the deafening silence. Everything inside of her stopped. Her emotions cut off as if someone had snipped a wire inside of her. Her mind stopped giving thoughts. All that remained were her limbs, still against her sides.

Jack held up his gun with an effortless raise of his arm. He was so far gone himself that he didn't think about what was happening. He just knew what he had to do.

The bullet was caged, ready in its chamber. Jack's finger was pressed against the trigger lightly, the thrilling temptation causing ripples of anticipation spilling through his entire body.

Jensen hesitated. It was a split second's action, even less than that, but Tru caught it. Tru saw the horrified glint in his eyes. She saw that breech of the real Jensen, the old Jensen that loved and cried and smiled and cared.

The one she lost months ago in a hail of gunfire.

Tru lunged forward, caging her hands around the cold metal of Jensen's gun, wrapping her fingers around the handle, her index finger slipping easily into the chamber of the trigger.

She squeezed her finger, pulled it all the way back.

If there was a noise, a loud blast, a hollow ring, she didn't hear it.

She just saw the explosion, the bullet released from its cage and rocketing its way forward. It entered the center of Jensen's forehead with a splitting rip of skin, blood splattering in small droplets.

Though they are united, they stand apart, she crumpled on the ground, writhing in anguish, and he forced to watch.

The blood of a lost one stains the ground and their hands, tainting them.

They are awash in a sin few have ever touched.

They cannot go back from this; they can't rewind the clock or erase the picture. They cannot take it back. It is done.

It will be a long time before they move forth from this. Few ever do.

They are stained with the blood of death.

Together, divided, they are forced to deal with the aftermath.

A/N: The epilogue thing at the end was added to set up the sequel, which will be named Aftermath, appropriately ;)

One more chapter following this one and it kind of details how broken Tru is and how Jack can relate. This too will also set up the beginnings of the sequel. Should be up in a few days.

Peace.