Seeing The Light In Your Eyes

1- Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall

Dean Winchester stood by the doorway of the house where he and his brother, Sam, were living. His hand gripped the door handle waiting for his, 'I'm perfect' brother, to finish getting dressed.

The two weren't wearing suits, like he imagined many going to the party would be.

His family didn't have money for things that they would wear once a month, tops. He wore fancy causal. A plain white button up shirt. Though, he didn't have much option on the pants. Dean had jeans only, so he wore the only pair that wasn't messed up in someway, many had holes, and the others had visible stains.

His coat was just his normal jacket that his father had given to him, not fancied up at all. He was going to take it off as soon as he got there, so what did it matter?

His shoes were his normal shoes, he had done his best with a wet rag trying to wipe off the dirt that had gathered on the edges over time. He hadn't done as good of a job as he would have hoped for.

According to Dean's watch they were already ten minutes late.

"Sammy!" He called.

Sam walked in a few moments later, "yeah, what?"

He buttoned the last button on his blue button up shirt making it as perfect as humanly possible, probably some sort of world record.

Sam's long, brown hair was pulled back behind his ears and tangle free. Sam was also wearing a pair of jeans, due to lack of choice.

"Let's go," Dean told his brother as he twisted the door handle and pulled on it.

Sam grabbed his jacket quickly and put it on trying not to ruin his perfect, wrinkle-free shirt.

The cold of the winter of 1959 nipped at their exposed skin sending a synchronized shiver up both of their spines.

Dean stepped--or more like skipped based on the mood of the walk, an interesting half stepped, half skipped hybrid, I guess--down the three stairs that led up to their poor excuse for a house. Dean's not the best paying job, and Sam going to Stanford, and not working, were to blame for that.

Sam locked the door with his key, then followed the other Winchester down the steps.

Dean knew the party wasn't far. A block at most. He and Sam had walked much further for less. It would save money on gas if they walked, and they were already--he glanced at his watch again--14 minutes late.

What could walking do to harm them?

The car wasn't even that fast anyway, and it was tiny. Sam being 6' 4" the last time they measured him, had to duck while he was sitting in it. Dean's hair grazed the ceiling of the car when he was riding inside as well.

"Let's walk," Dean suggested to his brother.

Sam didn't respond, just shifted his gait to be walking toward the road, instead of the car.

The Winchesters walked without a word. Dean hadn't put into account that it was cold and walking would make them colder. He kept his hands in his pockets and tried to keep his fingers from going numb. His breath billowed up in front of his face, the white air was only visible because of the extreme freeze of the area.

Dean held his jacket a little tighter around him, making his shirt folded into more wrinkles than it already was.

A building came into view, the one the party was held at. A few cars were parked around the parking lot in various places. They walked around the cars and stepped up two steps. Dean, reaching the landing first, grabbed the door handle, swung it open, and went inside.

The two felt the warmth of the building's heating system engulf their freezing bodies. Dean had said he was going to take off his jacket, but at the moment it was too cold.

He walked into the crowd like he had spontaneously gotten absent-mindedness, losing Sam in the process. Though, all that Dean had to do to find him, was jump up and look for the tall, long haired man's face sticking up above the others. It wasn't hard.

Dean walked over to the bar that the party had been so kind to supply the guests with, and ordered a beer for himself. The bartender,--Dean glanced at his nametag--Dennis, nodded and turned around, getting a glass.

Dean turned his head to the right for a moment or two as Dennis prepared the beer. The crowd bustled along with their lives. People talking about stuff Dean couldn't give a crap about, and some were out of their minds drunk. He was sure at least 90% of the crowd couldn't walk a straight line with out falling over.

Dean turned back to where Dennis was making the beer for him. Dennis slid it over in front of him. Dean took it, nodding, and pulled a few coins out of his pocket. He tossed 60 cents on the counter and Dennis scooped the coins up.

The Winchester muttered a, "thanks..." to Dennis as he took a sip from the tall glass.

He placed the beer back down after he got a good swig. He wiped the foam mustache with the back of his hand.

Dean didn't see what Dennis did with the money, for something--or rather, someone--caught his eye in the mirror that was behind the bar.

It was a man. Dean would have left it at that, he was a man. No one special, except something stood out about him to Dean. Dean took some sort of an interest in him for a reason Dean wasn't sure of.

The man had either dark brown or black hair, it was hard to tell based on the lighting, angle, and the distance between the two, not to mention it was only a reflection. His skin was pale with a pair of black metal framed glasses resting upon the bridge of his no--

A crash interrupted the word nose in his thoughts.

Someone had dropped their glass of wine somewhere across the room.

Dean decided not to care all that much, (waste of wine, though).

He focused his attention back onto the man. Dean turned his head for a second wanting to get an actual look of the man, not just the reflection.

He of course looked the same, only mirrored of course. Why would it be anymore than that? What did Dean expect?

Dean took a few more drinks of his beer so that if walked with it he wouldn't spill the drink. He picked it up and stood walking to the man.

He greeted him, regretting the awkwardness of his tone, "hi."