Dean slumps down onto the steps leading to the upstairs room he and Sammy has rented for the next few nights because he's tired, and he just wants to have a moment of peace and quiet to try and figure out what the hell was going on. Sammy's upstairs, in the room, talking to the Doctor who's brought his companion with him.
The older hunter doesn't even notice as the said companion – a sassy woman who had as much sarcasm as Dean had – sits beside him. He was startled as he caught the sudden movement in the corner of his eyes and he thinks – he knows –that he's getting rusty.
Or tired.
Oh sotired.
He blinks his eyes repeatedly as he swears he sees Alistair with his knife raised up to pierce Dean's chest. He feels that familiar scream welling up in his chest like a growl, and he has to press it down with all his might. To make sure it doesn't come back – because he knows he's stronger than that.
Alistair disappears as the companion – Donna was it? – clears her throat.
Then he remembers he's not in hell.
He's safe.
He's made it out alive.
Some freak angel saved him.
Dean's eyes shift over to look at Donna, who's staring at him intently, with eyes that remind him of Sammy.
God, everything seemed so, so wrong.
Sammy.
Himself.
The World.
"Are you alright?"
Her voice startled the Hunter from his thoughts, and Dean looks at her again. Actually looks at her instead of looking at her through a misty haze, as if he's remembering something.
They've talked once or twice – argued, actually.
Dean licks his lips.
Are you alright?
He can hear the question ringing in his head, and he nearly scoffs.
Alright.
What a joke.
He was definitely notokay. But of course, Dean was far too stubborn and untrusting to tell someone, who was almost a complete stranger, that he was not okay.
Actually, he was just plain too stubborn. He was sure of it.
So he tells her what he's told everyone else for as long as he could remember.
"Of course. I'm fine."
His forced smile didn't convince Donna at all.
The red head gave him a pointed look, as if to say 'oh really?'
"Is that Winchester for really not alright at all?" Donna asked, cocking her head to the side ever so slightly. Her hair sways in the slight breeze, loose strands falling into her face.
"What?" He raised an eyebrow, appalled.
"'Cause then I'm alright too." Her tone of voice reminds Dean of himself. It was full of grief, and pain, and guilt. For what, he was uncertain, but it was slightly comforting to know he wasn't quite alone.
Yet, there was still something different.
She wasn't quite empty as he felt – as he was.
He turned his head away from her, chuckling slightly, as if she was being a ridiculous person and just reading into his words. But they both know that she'd not. They both know that he was indeed not okay.
He stared at the window next to him, at his own reflection.
He looks normal.
Health.
Like the old Dean.
"Dean, let's go back up stairs," Donna murmurs, placing her hand on his shoulders.
"Yeah, I'll be right up there," he muttered, pulling himself up into a standing position as he heard the companion return to their room.
His eyes were still locked onto the window, at his own reflection.
He flinched away, blanching. His eyes widened a fraction, and his jaw loosened, letting out a small, almost inhuman noise of terror.
His reflection was smirking at him.
Speaking to him.
"This is what you'll become,"it said, almost sadistically.
Its voice was ringing inside of his head.
But that wasn't what terrified him.
No.
It was his reflection's eyes.
They were black.
Pitch black.
Just like a demon's.
This is what you'll become.
Dean let out a sharp yell, and fell to the floor.
He held his head in his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp.
He was going insane.
No, no.
He was fine.
He was supposed to be just fine!
Dean screwed his eyes shut, blocking out the image before him.
He couldn't block out the sound of his own demonic voice whispering to him though.
It rang out through his head – loud and clear.
This is what you'll become.