"No need to be rude Dean" Alastair just stared at him through the broken mirror. He reached out to the reflective glass and touched it. As he ran his finger along the edge, it cut the flesh slightly. Causing Dean's finger to bleed as well.
"Sonovabitch!" Dean looked down at the deep cut along his index finger, the pain reminding him of exactly the sorts of cuts Alastair had inflicted on him in hell. It always started slow and small, and by the time the demon was done, there was no flesh left on your bones.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he demanded. The demon wasn’t here in the flesh, so he doubted that an exorcism ritual would work. And this appearing in Dean’s own image, it had to be a new form of torture. It worked. It showed Dean, reminded him, that he’d been just like Alistair. Just like him.
