Looking Glass Dreams
Summary: Twelve connected drabbles
No pairing, no warnings, no spoilers
and situations portrayed here are not mine, they belong to the WB. This
is a fan authored work and no profit is being made. Please do not link
to this story without appropriate warnings, disclaimers, and attributions.
Please do not archive this story without my permission.
Looking Glass Dreams
He listens to Sam breathing in the dark, and waits for the break he knows will come. When it does, he sets the bullet aside and sits on the edge of Sam's bed, lays his hand on his chest, feeling the too fast beat of his heart.
Sam says no, then don't, then sobs.
In the morning he won't remember what it was that kills him every night.
Only that he dies.
Drive at night, sleep during the day, he says and Dean taps the steering wheel, grins. And risk my car? Are you nuts?
Well, yeah, probably, Sam says and Dean snorts.
Sam stares out the window.
Dean taps two fingers against the back of his hand.
"Other people run in the dark," he says. "We don't. We stand."
John Winchester never played favorites with his sons, no matter what they think He played the odds -- long, difficult odds, but the payoff was worth it.
He knows what the demons are after, even if he doesn't know why they chose his family. Demons don't like to look in mirrors because their reflections trap them.
So he built a mirror. His sons are the frame.
Neither of them believes it.
When Sam's shadow disappears in the bright light of day, Dean only smiles and says. "Look, man. You're Peter Pan."
Sam grins back. "I guess that makes you Tinkerbell."
Dean is undisturbed. "She was small but she could kick ass."
He claps three times, and the fight is on.
When they are done, it's not Sam's shadow Dean uses needle and thread on.
Sam uses arnica and witchhazel and cortisone cream to repair the damage. When they walk up to the diner for food, Dean can see his shadow back again but only in his reflection.
Among other things.
Sam touches his shoulder and stares. He has no reflection at all.
"Dude. Did you become a vampire when my back was turned?"
Sam stares at Dean's face in the glass and wonders. "No."
In a motel in Des Moines there's a mirror over the sink and another smaller one on the door. Sam stares at it while Dean shaves his face and realizes he can seem himself as a reflection of a reflection.
They spend the day looking for second hand mirrors all over town. The shadows in the corners increase.
Seventy more years of bad luck are on the line.
Sam's got his curved blades in a sheath at his chest and spear of rowan smeared with the juice of holly berries. It smells like a florist shop.
The night is dark and so is the room. Dean presses his shoulder to Sam's. "Now," he says and the sheets come off.
"Negative images, Sam."
Sam says nothing but steadies and Dean holds up the first of the charms. Sam's doppelganger hisses then smirks.
"So not a good look for you, Sam."
Sam laughs. "I'll keep it in mind."
Sam watches the mirror in front of him, waiting for it to slip, to stumble. The mirrors rattle in their frames and the carpet is drying beneath their feet. One of the mirrors cracks.
Sam finally sees it, his own back in the mirror right in front of him.
The rowan staff passes through without breaking the glass.
The sharp point misses Dean by inches.
It doesn't miss Sam. Either of them.
Sam's got his one good hand curved around his knife until Dean drags him out of the circle. Dean tosses the rest of the charms into the writhing mass of dying demons and presses his hand to the hole in Sam's shoulder.
The last one to succumb is Sam's double. It glares at him, at them, while the rowan turns its body to ash.
For all that he's lost blood and his shoulder hurts like a son of a bitch, Sam feels less stressed than grateful. He keeps flipping the rearview over just to see himself.
Dean watches him and grins. "You are going to go blind, dude," he warns and flips the mirror back.
But he checks the mirror himself, just in case.
When it comes, Dean sits beside Sam and presses a hand to his chest. Sam's heart skips a beat, and he blinks sleepy eyes up at Dean.
Sam shakes his head and Dean moves to go. Sam clasps his hand. "No. Don't."
Dean lies down, their hands still clasped. The charms at their wrists mirror each other.
As do they.