A/N: In this Chapter you will see why John Ryder is so hell bent on coming after the Winchester boys. (Just my take on him.) Just one more Chapter after this...hope you are enjoying it!! Just let's keep the farming implements at bay, shall we?? LOL

Disclaimer: Blah Blah, yada yada, sis boom bah. You get the idea already.

The front end of the Impala looked like someone had grabbed it from the right, and twisted it too hard to left. The front bumper was bent under the body of the car, and locked into the wheel well. The axle had snapped and the wheel had popped out. The wheel well had pushed back into the driver side door, locking the door in place. Both headlights were smashed and the grill was pushed inwards and the windshield was gone. The speedometer only read 30 mph. It was surprising anyone had lived at all

Dean leaned against the chainlink fence in disgust. This was going to take a lot of work to fix, but that was for another day and time. He just hoped he could open the passenger side door.

Forcing open the passenger side door, the owner of the impound lot grunted and groaned.

"You do realize that whatever's in here probably ain't no good now dude, right?" He pulled again, and the door popped open with a loud creak. Dean shook his head, then searched the car for his gun. A few minutes of looking through scattered metal and broken glass, he found it under the seat next to his flask. He slipped his flask back into his coat.

"Dude is that an Eagle? Sweet." The young punk leaned over the broken door to steal a glance at the weapon in Dean's hand. Ignoring him, he rechecked the cartridge. A full load. Putting the gun once again in his jeans, he thanked the kid and left.

Outside the lot, Dean gritted his teeth, held back even more tears that threatened to fall. Sammy was all he had and now he was on the urge of falling apart, breaking like the Impala itself. This was so foreign to him, and it made his chest hurt more than it was already. He coughed, trying to remove the tightness in his throat, but it was impossible. He slowly opened the door to the taxi, staring back at the Chevy, then slipped into the backseat. He told the driver to head back to the motel. He knew John would be there, and Dean was ready for him.

XXXXX

As he walked into the bar, John set his glass of scotch down. He paid Joe and stood to come face to face with his opponent. Dean smiled, one hand behind him on the butt of the Eagle, tapping it lightly. He was willing to do whatever it took to take this son of bitch out, even if it meant a bullet to the brain right here and now. John smiled back and motioned toward the doors. Dean pursed his lips, but took the man's lead. He wanted this over as quickly as possible.

"So my boy, you've come to kill me?" John stood next to the '87 Cadillac. The land yacht did not seem like a very practical vehicle for John Ryder, but when sources are limited, you takes what you gets. Dean chuckled in spite of himself at the site of the boat in front of him. It was more suitable for a blue haired old bitty than a knife wielding maniac, but hey.

"I guess along with being a psychopath, you are also psychic." Dean leaned against the vehicle next to John, paying close attention to his hands. He didn't want any surprises. John smiled broadly and lifted his hands into the air.

"Well officer, as you can see, I am unarmed!" He laughed loudly, and Dean groaned, wanting to take Ryder out at that very moment. His sarcasm and annoying little quips were enough to drive any man to murder. Dean still had his right hand behind him on the Eagle. He wanted to be ready, just in case.

"So, uh, nothing up your sleeves then? Not gonna pull a Lance Burton on me or anything?" John smiled again, but shook his head. He stared off for a moment, then looked back at Dean, an entirely different look to his face. He seemed darker, more sinister. Dean's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his cool for the time being.

"You see kid, playing with you is the best part of the job. I don't want to go whole hog and get my hands all messy just yet." He slipped a hand into his pocket, and Dean gripped the .357 hard. John closed his eyes, then continued.

"Your brother was my best work. I simply needed someone pissed enough, with a fucked up enough history to pull that off for me. You picked me up, and little did I realize the skeletons hidden in your linen closet." He turned fast on his heels, eyes wide open now. He had the knife in his hand, and before Dean could even think, it was pressed to his jugular. John's other hand was pressed against Dean's back. This man was so much quicker than he had assumed.

"Losing your mommy so young, then just months ago you lost daddy. I mean you have a majorly fucked up past my friend." Dean's hand slipped from the gun. This man, he was no longer just some stranger, some raving lunatic. He knew things about Dean and Sammy, and that made him sick. The emotions flashed on his face before he could stop them, and John relished in it.

"I know more than you could possibly imagine Winchester. Mary was a beautiful woman, so young and innocent, and the fire destroyed it all. You were just a small boy holding little Sammy on the front lawn there with John by your side. It would have been such a Hallmark moment, had it not been so sad." He dug the knife into Dean's throat, making him gasp. He felt blood slip down his throat again. Christ, this man had been there, seen everything, knew everything. The tears he had been holding fell and mixed with the blood.

"It wasn't a chance meeting then, me picking you up?" Dean spit out between tears. His back was now up against the caddy, the gun pressing into the glass of the driver side window. John nodded.

"I had been tailing you for years Dino old boy, just waiting for the opportunity to fuck with your pretty . . . little . . . head." He slipped his hand from behind Dean's back and gripped his throat. The mixture of the sting from the cut and the pressure caused his knees to buckle. He grabbed for John's arm, but felt a warmth in his right arm. Through creased eyes, he saw the knife slice his wrist. Blood dripped heavily from the open wound onto the cement parking lot. Dean felt woozy and lightheaded, but he kept his composure. He had to stay up, keep fighting, for Sammy.

Dean pushed at John with his left hand, knocking the knife from his hand sending it skirting under a nearby car. John scowled and took a swing at Dean, never losing his grip on Dean's neck. Dean blocked it, and twisted John's arm, hearing his wrist snap. John howled, and let his hand fall from Dean's throat. He hacked and spit, bending at the waist. John cradled his wrist, screaming in pain. Dean stood slowly, and grabbed his gun, spinning in John's direction. Seeing the business end of the automatic, he grinned.

"So, I see you did come to kill me." He let go of his wrist and stood to his full height. "Killing monsters is easy boy, but do you have what it takes to kill a living, breathing human being?"

Dean looked at the gun, the metal glistening under the lot lamps. John was partially right, and damned if Sammy hadn't told him the same thing. So many memories flashed before him, he could have sworn he was dying all over again. But the memory that was the most pristine, the most vivid, was him revving the car, and slamming down on the gas. That son of a bitch had just casually stepped out of his way and there sat his only living relative, a look of terror on his face, knowing that he was about to die, and Dean was his murderer.

"John, the only thing in life we can be sure of is death. And I will have the greatest pleasure in insuring yours!" Dean cocked the gun and pointed it at John's head. His hand was steady, and he was no longer dizzy and lightheaded. Blood still dripped from his wrist, but he paid it no never mind. John closed his eyes.

"So, the student surpasses the teacher. Well, then thy will be done!"

Dean stepped closer to John, the barrel of the gun pressed tightly into John's flesh. He gritted his teeth once more, then hesitated.

"Oh, by the way John . . . " Dean leaned into John's right ear and whispered the last words he would ever hear.

"I lie in the heart of my brother."