This plot bunny attacked, and I couldn't get it out of my head. It's probably been done before, but nothing's ever truly original, is it?
Please let me know if it's interesting enough to continue.
Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada, yada.
Dark Side of the Glass
Dean awoke, jolted out his restless slumber by yet another nightmare. He sat up, heart pounding, and nervously glanced around the dim interior of the shabby motel room.
Just a dream. Not real…
He looked over at Sam's unoccupied and still made bed and groaned inwardly. On the upside, Sam hadn't been around to witness another one of his nightmares, but his absence never boded well in Dean's world.
"Better not be off with that bitch Ruby again," Dean muttered. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, searching the room for evidence of Sam's whereabouts. Dean's own bag lay crumpled in the far corner next to the door, but the room was otherwise empty of their possessions. The laptop and Sam's duffle were gone.
Dean felt a rush of anger quickly followed by guilt. After he had told Sam about his time in Hell, when the truth had finally come out, he had half expected Sam to walk away. Dean wouldn't have blamed him, after the things he had done, but Sam assured him he understood, or at least would not condemn Dean for his acts in the Pit. Now it appeared that Sam was unable to fulfill his promise. Dean considered this possibility for a few moments, and finally shook his head.
Get a grip, Dean. He's probably just out loading the car.
He walked over to the door and opened it, blinking in the bright sunlight. The parking lot was empty.
OK, so maybe he went to get breakfast…
He checked his watch and saw that it was 4:30.
So, not breakfast. Dinner? I seriously need to LoJack that kid. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and came up empty handed.
Right, probably on the nightstand. He turned back towards the interior of the room and looked, but the nightstand was bare save for a tarnished brass lamp. No alarm clock, either. He wondered if it had always been absent, or was just hidden away. He had noticed Sam's aversion to such devices on several occasions, but had decided not to ask.
Dean walked over to his duffle and started rummaging around and immediately drew back. His duffle, aside from a few articles of clothing, was empty. No phone, and more importantly, no weapons.
"What the Hell, Sam?" Had his brother decided that he couldn't be trusted? He went back to his bed and checked under the pillow for his knife, but it too was gone. Dean cursed in frustration and threw the pillow across the room.
"What the fuck?!" He searched the rest of the room and came up empty. Finally he stormed out the door to the parking lot.
He stomped to the edge of the lot by the highway, barely noticing the burn of the blacktop under his bare feet, and looked both ways. There wasn't a car, or a person, in sight. The area was utterly silent.
Wait a minute…
He turned back towards the motel, expecting to see curious faces at the window, other patrons witnessing his rampage, but the place was deserted. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to prickle as his eyes swept the exterior of the motel.
Definitely not right…
Quickly he strode back to his room and shut the door, latched the chain and turned the lock before he searched the room one more time. Finally he sat back on the bed and tried to calm his rapid breathing and heartbeat.
It's just a dream…another nightmare…or maybe it's that fucking Trickster and he's decided to take me on this time.
"It's not going to work, you know," he called out to the silent room. "I'm not falling for it. Just let me out of this…loop or whatever it is and maybe I won't stake your sorry ass."
His comment was greeted by more silence.
"This is getting old. C'mon…you son of a BITCH!"
He slammed his fist against the nightstand, hoping to break something in this illusion, but it remained solid. With a sigh, he stood and stomped into the bathroom. He'd just have to wait until the Trickster got bored and let him go.
He turned on the cold water faucet and bent down to splash his face, hoping the shock of the frigid liquid would wake him up, but when he straightened up and looked around, nothing had changed. He turned back to the sink and looked into the mirror.
His reflection was staring back at him with the same freaked out expression, but something was different. His eyes snapped downward to look at the clothes he was wearing and snapped back up, the unbelieving expression still there. He was wearing a plain grey t-shirt. His reflection wore black.
"What in the Hell…?" He started to ask. His reflection remained still, unspeaking, as its eyes narrowed in suspicion. Its expression quickly morphed to anger.
Dean took a step back, away from that not-mirror image as it finally moved, drawing a gun from behind its back and pointing it directly at him.
A/N: The title comes from a song used in an old episode of a TV show I used to watch, Forever Knight.
This story has nothing to do with vampires, though. Sorry.