Sigh The final chapter. The end. Do not fear, though, fpr the sequel has been finished and will be put up on this site soon, so keep your eyes open. Thanks for all the reviews on this story, I'm really glad so many people liked it :)
"Finally," Dean muttered, sliding in behind the wheel of his car. Just trying to walk to the hospital, which wasn't too far from the house, had taken a lot out of him. Taped to the wheel was a piece of paper with 'To Evil Dean' written on the front. He laughed and opened it.
'Dear Evil Dean,
We took your car. Aren't we clever? Knowing you, you want revenge right about now. Who are we to stop you? We'll be waiting in the hospital, just follow the clues, find the room, and then we're all yours. Good luck,
Sam and Good Dean'
Dean smirked. It was just like them to lure him out with the car, but they had no idea the kind of primal rage they had invoked. He would find them both and kill Sammy as slowly as possible, relishing the moment and torturing his better half. It was a good plan, if he could find them.
The trail of peanut M&Ms started at the car door. Finding the brothers Winchester would not be difficult at all.
Sam crouched outside the room behind a gurney. He hated leaving Dean alone to face the freak that had mercilessly tortured them both. Footsteps echoed down the empty hall, undoubtedly following the trail that Dean had left. Sammy gulped.
The person, clad all in black, came around the corner. His shirt was sticky with fresh blood and he appeared pale and weak. Something burned in his eyes, though, an anger that Sam had never seen in his brother before, and it scared him greatly.
Dean sat on one of the two small beds in the room, his feet swinging slowly back and forth, deep in thought. He had given his brother permission to kill him, strike him dead if anything went wrong. Lots of things could go wrong.
The three lone oxygen tanks the boys had found in a store room were old, maybe even empty, and if the bullet didn't do it's job and ignite the gas there would be no explosion. No explosion meant no more togetherness time for Dean and his evil half.
He heard the footsteps and hoped that Sam had gotten himself hidden well enough. The moment of truth was upon them. If anything went wrong, if anything happened to Sam, it would be his fault. Dean wasn't sure if he could live with that.
"Hello me."
Dean looked up into his face. It was pale, cruel, heartless, and once again harboring that somehow sinister smirk. The eyes blazed with a cold, devilish fire.
"Been waiting for you," Dean replied, slipping off the bed, "how've you been?" He smiled.
"Better," the other nodded, entering the room and taking a look around. "Oxygen, huh? Gonna try Sammy's little explosion theory? You realize that if he's wrong we'll both be blown to bits, right?"
"I trust him."
"I wouldn't if I were you, which I am. Does he have any research to back this up? No. This is a one-of-a-kind problem. Who knows, maybe it was meant to be? Maybe this is all for the best."
"This is wrong and you know it," the two were circling the room, staring each other down, "things aren't supposed to be this way."
"Do you have any idea how long I've waited to get free? I'm more than the little voice in your head, Dean, I'm you. I'm the one who wanted to kill LeGrange. And Max. I'm the one who threatened the Benders after you got us tied up. I'm the one who wanted Cassie. You're the one who let her live after she broke up with us. You're pathetic."
"That's pretty deep," Dean said, "but I don't believe it. You tried to kill Sam. I'd never do that."
"But you've thought about it," the other him countered, "you've thought about it a lot. Wouldn't it just be better for you if he was gone? Wouldn't daddy love you more? Treat you like he's always treated Sammy? Make you his new favorite? What if they were both gone?"
"Shut up! You don't mean that!"
"Of course I do. Admit it. If you didn't have to save his butt, if you didn't get punished for every scrape and scab, bruise and blister in his childhood, your life would be perfect. That's what the real Dean Winchester thinks."
"I am the real Dean Winchester," Dean yelled, running at the twisted version of himself, something vile that had crawled from his subconscious, and slamming him against the wall.
Pain erupted in the back of Dean's head as his evil half connected with the wall. He fell off, the room spinning slowly before him. His defenses were down just long enough for his opponent to aim a punch, which hit him square in the face.
Dean regained his balance and looked at the other him. Blood ran down over the man's smirking lips, cascading from an injured nose.
"Anytime, now, Sam," Dean called, hoping that his brother hadn't been found by the other man.
"Yeah, Sammy, hurry it up! I've always wondered what it's like to get blown up and spattered all over a hospital room! Get a move on, college boy!"
"You shut up," Dean muttered, punching blindly at his opponent and hitting him in the mouth. He felt one of his own teeth wiggle uncomfortably.
"Make me," the other replied, still smirking, eyes blazing as evilly as ever, "I dare you."
Both men stood in the center of the room, swaying slightly on their feet, both taking the same beating. Their eyes locked, neither blinking.
They ran at each other and went down on the floor, a tangle of identical appearance and skill. One fought for protection, the other for the simple thrill of murder.
Sam looked carefully in the room to see his brother in the middle of a brawl on the white tiled floor. Their hands were locked together, their eyes both blazing. Teeth were bared, both were muttering. They were identical, the only way to tell them apart being the coloring of clothing visible under the blood that soaked them both. The battle was becoming intense. It was a battle for control, a battle for his life.
Sam pulled his gaze away from the struggling men on the floor and found the oxygen tanks. Aiming carefully, he pulled the trigger, praying that his plan worked and he came out with one brother.
The bullet hit the tank head-on, causing a massive blast of heat to erupt from the room, knocking Sam backwards into a whitewashed wall. He squinted toward the door, unable to see what was happening in the room due to the large amount of smoke billowing from the doorway.
"Dean?" he cried, his voice seeming weak compared to the roaring noise of the fire that had started.
The bullet whizzed passed their heads as they knelt on the floor, engaged in an odd sort of hand-to-hand combat.
"It'll never work!" the evil Dean yelled, "we're equally matched and we will-"
Dean had to assume that the next word from his mouth would be 'die,' as the explosion issuing from the corner of the room drowned out all noise. Both were thrown back by a blast of intense heat.
Dean was thrown back against the wall and felt the other body connect with his only seconds later. He felt crushed, suffocated, and then a thought occurred to him, spoken clearly in his mind in a familiar, acidic voice: "Kill him now."
"Dean?" Sam yelled as the dust settled. Gun held before him as a precaution, he approached the smoldering doorway.
"Don't shoot," Dean muttered, staggering from the room, which was only half there anymore.
Sam lowered his gun. "You OK?" His brother was bleeding badly. His nose may have been broken, his lip was split, there was a visible lump on the back of his head, and the old bullet wound had reopened. He was wearing the bloody white shirt under his prized leather jacket, like the two personality's outfits had been somehow combined.
"I'm fine now, Sammy," he answered, raising his head and smirking. He ran at his brother, pinning him against the wall, attempting to strangle him.
"Dean," Sam choked, chocked, "I-I'm your brother!"
Dean's eyes locked with his. Something vicious swam beneath them, something evil.
"Fight it," Sammy muttered as blackness crowded into his vision, "please. I know you're there. You can control it. Please, Dean."
As his world faded to black, Sam noticed the coldness within his older brother's eyes melt. Dean took a step back, his head hung low.
"You should have killed me, Sam," he whispered, falling to the floor, "should have killed me when you had the chance." Both brothers passed out.
The Impala drove down the highway towards the Winchesters' next destination. Sam was, for once, in the driver's seat. The car seemed eerily quiet without the radio blaring loud rock music. Everything had been quiet since Sam had come around in the motel room to find his brother standing over him, concern apparent in his deep hazel eyes.
Dean had barely spoken since the brothers had left Onyx, though Sammy had tried to strike up conversations.
"We are going to need to talk about this, Dean," he said quietly, looking at his brother. Dean just sat staring out the window, lost in thought.
"Come on. I know you don't like to, but-"
"I remember everything, Sam," he said suddenly, "everything both of them did. I'm not sure whether I should be embarrassed or disgusted."
"I thought the good you was cute," Sam replied, hoping to get a smile, "kind of like a little lost puppy."
"I remember everything both of them thought," Dean continued, apparently not hearing Sammy or not wanting to, "all those girls, all those murders," he closed his eyes, "all those breakdowns. They screamed. All of them."
Sam sighed. "Everyone has a little bad in them, Dean. It's human nature."
Dean just kept staring blankly out the window. "Killing seven people isn't a little bad, Sammy. It's a lot of evil."