Supernatural Oneshots

Your Worst Nightmare

*** Basically just  my favourite scene from 3x10 "Dream a Little Dream of Me" written in my own words. I threw this together in like, twenty minutes so pardon any typos and grammatical errors. I was too lazy to edit this thoroughly. And damn, it's hard to write two Deans.***

Trees rushed past Dean in a whir of green and grey as he bolted through the forest, in search of the little son of a bitch 'dream god',  or whatever. The kid had been running around, killing innocent people in their dreams, and it was Sam and Dean's duty to stop him... 

Suddenly, the trees just ahead stopped rushing towards him, and he blinked. He slowed to a stop, and squinted forward, letting his eyes focus on the road ahead. The trees were gone, but in their place was a cheap, tacky wallpaper design of a forest, identical to the one he had just been running through. No doubt he was cut off from Sam.... Son of a bitch. 

Somewhat bewildered, Dean turned around to face what lied behind him. There was nothing but old, run-down walls of what he assumed used to be a shitty-ass motel. The walls were grey, leeched colourless by what Dean assumed must still be the moon. They were riddled with moss and rust, and were obviously very, very old. 

"Okay..." he murmured in confusion, eyes flicking around in search of some monster, or demon. The coast looked somewhat clear, so Dean sauntered forward. Door after door lined the hallway, but the nearest on to Dean's left echoed with a soft "click.... click.... click". He shrugged. Might as well face whatever son of a bitch was in there and get it over with. 

Dean reached out and grabbed the rusty doorknob with a strong, confident hand. With a deep breath, he pushed it open slowly, stepping cautiously into its dark depths. The  now louder clicking continued, and as Dean walked inside, he noticed a broad, dark figure stooped over the desk dead ahead of him, flicking the lamp on and off. The light would blaze up, illuminating the figure just long enough that Dean could get a small sense of it before the light flicked off once more. The room was lit with a few, red tinted lamps, giving it an eerie, yet warm feeling. 

"Can you hear me?" Dean asked aloud, stepping even closer with his usual confident stride. The man sitting at the desk flicked the light on once more, before cocking his head to the side just long enough for the light to outline his features. His eyes were dark and familliar, and they releacted a cold, dim light of their own. Dean swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and set his shoulders back, determined to show this asswipe he meant business.

The familiar man slid the chair back, ignoring the low creaking noise it made, and got to his feet. The way he carried himself was very arrogant, and somewhat feral. It sent a low, subtle shiver down Dean's spine, but he ignored it. As the figure faced Dean, he pressed his lips together in a tight, fine line. Immediately, he regonized the face, and it took almost all his self control to hold back the small prickle of fear that was rising in his gut. 

He was staring straight back at the cold, empty face of himself, as if there were a mirror placed in front of him. Well, shit. 

"Hey, Dean." The other said. His voice echoed slightly around the empty room, and for a few moments, Dean just squinted at himself. He shifted his weight, and took on a slight defensive stance. 

"Well, aren't you a handsome son of a gun." He responded flatly, looking himself over with a feeling of disdain. 

"We need to talk." His reflection repsonded almost immediately. Ah, right. Of course. Dean nodded sarcastically.  

"I get it." He said, quirking his lips in his typical, nonchalant manner. "I'm my own worst nightmare." A small, sarcastic smile spread his lips. It was the exact same smile Dean always wore whenever he was about to gank whatever it was he and Sammy were hunting. It was the face of Dean in his 'predator' mode.