Disclaimer: Aww crap, I didn't realize that writing another one shot meant I'd have to think of another way to say no so soon.

A/N: Yar… so just popping in with a quick one shot. One of my ones that I legit got the idea, sat down, and wrote out all within the course of… maybe 30 minutes? I was watching the Dark Side of the Moon on season 5 where at the beginning Roy and Walt shoot Sam and Dean and Dean makes the promise that when he comes back he's going to seek vengeance on them. Well… here it is! Just a small little warning (not even enough of one to warrant me putting it in bold, haha)… this story is kinda dark. I'd actually venture to say it's possibly one of the darkest stories I've ever written. Maybe. At least when it comes to either Sam or Dean. I mean I've written stories to do with school shootings and suicide, and other serious things like that, but this one… well, just read on and you'll see what I mean. Enjoy and don't forget to click that review button (if the 800th reviewer leaves their name in the comment I'll stick ya into a story! See if that bribery works, haha!).

Title: Unfinished Business
Genre: Suspense and angst
Summary: Dean finally catches up with Roy and Walt to deal with some unfinished business…

Unfinished Business

"Yeah Sammy I'll be back some time in the morning," Dean awkwardly cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear while simultaneously opening his trunk, "I told you man, her name is Becky. I met her while working a job with Dad and she has the most amazing—" Dean laughed, "Just check out more on the disappearances, and see if it matches up with the Sheriff's report… Okay Sam, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Dean hung up the phone with his brother, his demeanor suddenly becoming serious as he looked into the trunk of the Impala. Sam didn't know the real reason he was currently parked outside the Fast-Sleep Motel, and there was no reason he should in Dean's opinion; it was just unfinished business. Carefully the hunter selected out three separate handguns, sticking two into the rim of his pants and one into a side holster. Next he grabbed a six-inch blade he'd made sure to sharpen the evening before and put it into a waist sheath, and a fifteen-inch machete that he clutched tightly in his hand, adjusting the weight. With a final check to make sure he had his lock-picking kit on him, Dean Winchester headed to room A108 of the Motel.

"It's payback," a small smile curled at the corner of Dean's mouth.

He hesitated only a fraction of a second at the door. He knew it was the right one; he'd been monitoring the hotel and keeping tabs for over a week now without Sam's knowledge and narrowing down the perfect day to pull this off. The rusty brown Honda Civic that sat in front of A108 confirmed that they were, for now, sleeping soundly inside, and Dean made quick, quiet work of picking the cheap motel lock.

No games were going to be played tonight.

"Wakey-wakey!" Dean flicked on the light.

Dean knew they were hunters and was ready for the hunter instinct, but also knew his angered flexes would be a lot quicker. He was right as Dean had the machete out and to the neck of the man in the closest bed and a pistol aimed at the man in the further bed before either comprehended the extent of the situation.

"Morning Roy… Walt."

Roy shifted slightly in the furthest bed, causing Dean instantly to threateningly cock the gun, "Dean? No… no, we-we killed you! We shot you man."

"Well surprise! It didn't take," Dean pressed down just hard enough on the machete to cause a stream of crimson to crawl down the now trembling Walt, "And I told you I'd be pissed."

"I'm sorry," Walt swallowed, "I didn't… we just… you gotta understand. Your brother—"

"I'd stop talking if I were you," Dean's voice was low and threatening, "You see the second you shot my little brother your life was over. And your time is up now."

Weeks later Dean was still having nightmares replaying the moment over and over again seeing his brother being shot in front of him. No warning. Nothing he could do. Sam laying on the bed next to him dead with blood pooling on the sheets and Dean could smell it; the copper blood smell of his little brother's dead body. Swallowing hard, Dean could feel his insides shaking once again with anger as he looked at the people who caused this.

"Dean listen—" Roy tried.

"No," Dean simply shook his head, "No, you see this time you guys do the listening. And it's going to be quick. Because honestly you two are not even worth the air that you're breathing right now. So Walt…" a small, twisted smile came to Dean's face as he looked into the tear filled ones of that the man which continued to lay on the bed in front of him, "Remember this in your next life… you shoot my brother. And I will kill you."

With a quick and fierce movement Dean pulled the machete down; the weakening guttural sounds escaping Walt oddly satisfying as Dean then turned to a remarkably quiet and stunned looking Roy.

"No smart comments this time either Roy?" Dean sarcastically questioned as he rounded the bed to the other hunter, "Last chance."

"You don't know what you're doing Dean," Roy feebly tried to reason as he sat in the bed.

"Oh that's where you're wrong," Dean holstered back up his gun and idly wiped the machete of Walt's blood on the bedspread, "I'm just returning the favoring. Because if I recall right, it was you Roy, who killed me."

Roy simply swallowed.

"Goodbye Roy."

Once again the machete made quick work of the job, and Dean stayed only so long as to make sure both men were for sure dead and that he left no obvious prints. Once back to his car Dean unloaded his gear, changed to clean clothes and made his way to the nearest twenty-four bar.

Sammy would be waiting for him in the morning.

The End.