Sanders Sides Oneshots and Short Stories

The Mirror

Not requested.

Ship: None

Category: eh just a drabble really

Warning(s): um none

Summary: This really has no plot, so just imagine a plot will ya

have a nice day

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Blink blink.

Patton was sprawled out on the stairs. How did he get there? Wasn't he just in the kitchen?

His head throbbed, his vision blurring as he tried to sit up. The house groaned around him.

"What do you want?" Patton whispered.

Blink.

His legs ached from his position in the doorway. He was lying in an awkward spot halfway into the bathroom, cheek pressed against the hardwood floor. When he closed his eyes, he saw stars.

Breathing heavily, he wiggled his hands beneath him and pushed himself up. He slumped against the doorframe. He hadn't had such bad headaches in months.

It's getting worse.

Slowly, he got to his feet, stumbling into the bathroom and clutching the sides of the sink to keep his balance. He raised his head and stared at his reflection. He scrubbed his right hand down the side of his face, then frowned.

The reflection raised it's right hand. Mirrors were supposed to show the equal and opposite image of you, so if you moved your left hand, it would move it's right.

He waved slightly with his right hand, and watched his reflection wave it's right. Equal... but not opposite.

Exhaling sharply, he took several steps backward, and gaped in horror as his reflection moved forward.

"I'm going crazy," he whispered. "Wake up. Wake up, Patton. You're dreaming again."

Before he'd even closed his mouth, he saw that his reflection did not copy his actions. It's face remained blank, mute, dull.

"What do you want?" Patton pleaded. "Let me go, House. I don't want to be here anymore."

Then, something peculiar happened.

His hand twitched and jittered, bouncing at his side. He frowned as his fingers began to lift, raising the rest of his arm with them, free of his influence.

"Don't," Patron whispered hoarsely. "Stop."

His hand jerked towards the mirror. His reflection did the same.

He tugged at his arm uselessly, watching in utter terror as he fingers pressed into the mirror.

The cool glass then buckled and rippled under the pressure, giving way to his hands. It was like sticking his hand in ice water. His skin crawled as he felt the chilled flesh of his reflection grip his hand.

"Please, House," Patton begged. "I-I'll take my meds, I'll go to the therapists, just please don't-"

Then his reflection grabbed his wrist and yanked, cackling maliciously in silence behind the glass as Patton tripped forward, tumbling head over heels into the pulsing, rippling, inky silver mirror.