Moonbeams at Twilight

Chapter 1

Dean looked around the room trying to remember why he was here. It was like the reason hung at the back of his mind, but he could not seem to bring it to the surface. He knew that he arrived at this location a few hours before, walked stealthily into the abandoned house, and quietly searched each room for victims. That was the last thing that he remembered, until he woke up about 10 minutes ago. However, as he looked around his surroundings, it did not appear to be the same house that he had entered. The basic structure was the same, but the inside décor was definitely different. Where once had been rooms in total disrepair and cobwebs lining the corners, there now stood elegantly decorated furnishings. The once cold, dead fireplace, now had a blazing fire sending light dancing throughout the room; and windows that had appeared smudged and smeared with dirt and filled with the carnage of bugs littering the sills, now shone brilliantly clear as crystal.

He awoke to find himself lying in a bed of down-filled comforters and soft, cotton sheets. He knew that he was Dean Winchester, brother to Sam Winchester, and that they were hunters. Not the kind of hunters that one associates with deer, bears, and rabbits, but the kind of hunters that most people didn't even know about. They hunted creatures that most people thought were only real in the minds of macabre writers and story-tellers. Hunters of werewolves, vampires, witches, and other heinous workers of evil. Sam and his lives had been riddled with pain, anguish, and death, but that had made them the men that they were today. Men of determination, unwavering strength, and unfailing character who would give their very life for each other.

Upon waking, Dean had looked around the room curiously taking in every inch of it. It was an average sized room with simple furnishings, but it was neat and orderly. Dean carefully arose from the soft bed and walked over to the oval mirror that stood above the dresser. As he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he noticed that he was in different clothing. No longer was he wearing the flannel shirt and jeans that he customarily wore; he was wearing a pristine white t-shirt and plaid sleep pants. He looked around the room for his clothing, but he didn't see them laying anywhere. He noticed the closet in the corner and slowly walked over to the wooden door and slowly turned the handle to the left. He heard the door squeak as he timidly opened the closet and looked inside. Hanging there were various colors of oxford shirts all neat and tidy with the hangars all facing the same direction and all fronts facing to the right. On the bottom rung, there were several pairs of dress pants all folded neatly across the coat hangers. The pants all hung at exactly the same distance from the floor as if a ruler were used to measure it. Dean couldn't help but sarcastically think, "A little OCD maybe?"

Dean chose a blue oxford-cloth shirt and a pair of blue pants and quickly slipped them on. He ventured into the hallway looking carefully both directions of the hallway before going any further. He was not sure what or who he was expecting, but it was better to be safe than sorry. As he walked down the hallway, he stopped and looked into each room. He couldn't help but notice that each room seemed to be simply furnished, but the housekeeping was immaculate. Every bed was made in such a way that even his late father, a former marine, would have been impressed. There was no sign of clutter or anything out of place. He could not remember a time when he ever saw a house this orderly.

Dean crept silently down the stairs, keenly aware of his surroundings and the tense muscles of his neck and forearms. He had trained for so long that anytime he sensed danger of any kind, his muscles immediately went into action. He was like a jaguar on the prowl. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, he stood assessing his current situation. He knew he was looking for victims, but he couldn't remember what he was hunting that would cause victims. He knew that he had entered an abandoned house, but he was now standing in a well-maintained home. He knew that he should call Sam and ask for back-up, but he couldn't seem to remember Sam's phone number, and he didn't remember seeing his cell phone anywhere in the room in which he awoke. There was obviously something wrong, but Dean couldn't seem to decide on the cause of the problem. He didn't really feel like he was in a dream, but he was so aware that there were discrepancies that it really didn't seem like he was in a trance like given by a djinn. At this point, he was just confused; it was almost like the time that he and Sam had been shot and killed and found themselves in heaven, but this place was not made up of his memories. He knew that he would need to investigate further if he was going to gain any answers.

Dean began to go through each of the rooms, noticing the upholstery, the furniture, the curtains, and the room arrangement. He had no idea if any of that information would help him, but it was a beginning. He had been trained to observe his surroundings, make mental notations, and make life-and-death decisions at a moment's notice, and Dean Winchester was the best there was at completing those tasks. His father, John Winchester, had never been satisfied with anything less than perfection, and Dean, in his desire to please his father, had trained tirelessly until he could meet John's expectations. He knew from experience, that whoever lived in this house was a perfectionist as well, and that helped him eliminate several suspects.

Dean continued his progression through the house, when suddenly he heard a slight noise coming from one of the other rooms. He stood completely still and listened trying to determine the source of the sound. There was something strangely familiar about the sound that he heard, but he couldn't quite place it. It was so faint, but yet it made Dean feel calm. He slowly began moving toward the noise as if being drawn to it. He knew the next room was where the sound was emitting, and so he kept moving in that direction. As he began to move into the kitchen, he realized that what he heard was a humming of a tune that he had heard, but not for a very long time. He suddenly stopped in his tracks, as he saw a woman standing at the stove. It was at that exact moment that she looked at him, flashed him a beautiful smile, and said, "Good Morning, Sweetheart"!