12: Mirror mirror on the wall
Dean woke up feeling miserable, fever wreaking havoc with his body. Yesterday's trip down the mountain hadn't done him any good. But stronger than the fever was Dean's will to get up and try again. He wanted to get out, away from this place. He needed to see if Sam was okay, he had to find out what happened to him, the uncertainty drove him crazy. He missed his kid brother. They could really drive each other nuts from time to time, but all in all Sam was just about the only one who kept Dean together. It was a two-way street. He had to be there for his brother. Sammy.
How long had he been here? Weeks on end, that was certain. His arm must be healed by now. He got out of bed, grabbed his jeans and searched for his pocket knife. Clumsily he cut through the fabric that held the makeshift cast in place. Molly had done a thorough job. Small wooden planks were tied closely together, stabilizing the broken bones and limiting its movement, but once Dean had cut away the bandages the rest was easy. A collection of gauzes seemed plastered to his arm, and when he peeled one off, a neat line of stitches showed. Molly had told him he had lost a lot of blood, so that must have been from all these cuts.
His arm was stiff, but now that the hindering cast was gone, Dean felt a lot more mobile. He knew it would take a while before he could use it properly, but getting rid of the thing was a good start.
He got dressed and checked himself in the only mirror in the house, a small tile that was attached to the door of the closet. His skin was pale, the tiredness in his green eyes told the story of a long-running, serious injury. A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead. 'Come on Dean. You still look hot, chicks dig guys with scars. Get your ass out of here,' he said to himself, hoping the pep talk would give him the energy to see this through. He was shaking slightly, the fever had a firm grip on him. There was a jar of aspirin on the nightstand, but for once Dean decided against it. He was already kinda fuzzy in the head, those things would only make it worse.
'Hey. You're up? And… what have you done… you took off the cast?' Molly's voice made him look up. He hadn't seen or heard her coming in.
'Yeah, it feels fine now.' Dean couldn't look her in the eyes. He felt guilty for doing what he was about to do, but he had to leave. He turned and scanned the room for his belongings.
'Going somewhere?' Molly asked.
'To Winchester,' Dean said. 'You don't need to drive, I'll do it myself.'
'Oh, is that right? Did I miss something? Were you not the man sitting in the car next to me yesterday, urging me to pull over, being sick by the side of the road?' Molly said sarcastically. She took a step forward and ever so lightly touched his forehead. 'You're running a fever. No way you are going anywhere, let alone drive my car.'
'Molly, I'm leaving,' Dean said.
'You can't.'
'Watch me.'
'Why? You're not fit, even though you say you are.'
'I told you, I have to find my brother. Sam is the only one I have in the world. I can't stay here.' Dean stashed what little he had in his pockets and put on his coat. 'I don't want to be rude or anything Molly, but it's been enough. My brother needs me. He must be going out of his mind with worry.'
'Frankly, I think it's you who's going out of his mind,' Molly said coolly.
The change in her tone made Dean look up. It sounded very different from all the patient and kinds things she had said to him over the past weeks.
'Look Molly, I'm not trying to be ungrateful but…'
'You can't leave,' she said. 'I won't let you.'
'Molly?'
'You can't leave! The doctor will be here to check you out, that fever is not good!'
'No more freakin' doctor! I'm outta here!' Dean raised his voice. 'You hear me?'
Molly approached him. The smile on her face was still there, but her eyes had a weird, unearthly glow to them. 'I'm sorry Dean. You have to stay.'
There was something in the corners of his eyes. Just a split second, and it took a moment to register but then he felt a prickling sensation in the back of his neck. The door to the closet was still slightly ajar and Dean saw himself in the tiny mirror.
When Molly came closer, she didn't notice the mirror.
Despite his head and the fever and the upcoming dizziness, he was absolutely sure that he was not dreaming.
There was no reflection of Molly in the mirror.
'Get. Back. In. Bed.' She ordered.
'What are you? A ghost?' Dean shrieked, taking a step back. No gun, no rock salt, no silver knife - there was nothing to defend himself with.
'Don't you worry your pretty head about that,' she said and with one movement of her hand, she send him flying against the back board of the bed.
Just a split second before the lights went out, Dean knew it. He was in real trouble.
(to be continued)
