"If you keep falling asleep in here, they are going to kick you out." The waitress poured the coffee into the chipped cup on the formica table.
"Sorry." Dean muttered as he shook away any fatigue from his body.
A final rush of fear ran it's course through his sturdy limbs and he finally untensed. He noticed the waitress staring down at him with a blank expression and then she looked down at the table.
"What's that?" She mumbled at something hidden underneath Dean's hand. He pulled it away to see a small puddle of blood pooling on the fake wood grain. He stretched his hand open to feel the sting of pain as he saw his palm was cut right open. "That looks nasty."
He looked back up at the girl and she had her features twisted up on her face in disgust. He immediately closed his palm again feeling a little embarrassed for the scene.
"I'll get you something to clean that up with, I think we have a first aid kit." The disgust disappeared from her face and concern was there now. "I'll be right back."
"Thanks." The girl swiveled her hips around and back behind the counter heading towards the back kitchen.
Dean let the air out of his lungs and opened his hand back up to inspect the cut better. It stung, and the blood oozed out a deep, dark red. But it proved something that he feared, it was proof that he wasn't going crazy. It had happened in his dream and now it was right here on his hand. The nightmares were real.
A flash of red crossed his vision and the waitress had come back and took a seat across from him. She had a towel, a glass of water, and a box he assumed was for first aid.
"Give me your hand." She politely reached her own clean hand out to grab his bloody one.
"Why?" His first thought blurted out of his mouth, almost feeling bad when she looked pissed.
"Does it look like I have anyone else to attend to?" Dean looked around the Springwood Diner and saw that he was the only customer in the place and it looked like she was the only employee working there. "Besides, that looks terrible."
"OK." He responded and the girl rolled her eyes before taking his hands. He looked down at her name tag which read NANCY on it in bold, black font. "Thanks, Nancy."
"You're welcome, Dean." She gently wiped his palm, the blood saturating the white towel. Dean looked at her then as if he was suppose to place her from somewhere. As if she was a friend that he knew in elementary school but magically forgotten because she wasn't cool enough to hang with anymore. "You'd think I'd learn your name since you've been in here every night this week. Not to mention, we've gone to the same schools since we were kids."
"Sorry." He mumbled and laughed weakly. "I just..." There really wasn't much for him to say to her and he rather she just fill the silence. Women love to talk and they certainly would reconcile awkward moments better than him.
"So, why have you been in here every night pass midnight?" She opened the kit and pulled out disinfectant and bandages. "Hold on, this will hurt." She sprayed it on the open wound and it burned but Dean just bit into his lip. "Guess all that tackling on the field makes you impervious to pain."
"Yeah." He smiled and she just lifted one corner of her mouth. She looked better when she didn't look so unhappy. He wondered if she knew that too. "You certainly know very much about me."
"Nothing the general public hasn't picked up on." She began wrapping his hand with the bandage tightly. Her fingers were softer than his rough skin and he could feel her warm breathe as she leaned in to make sure the bandage covered the wound good.
"So, why are you working the late shift on school nights?" She finally met his eyes as he asked her the question. They looked blood-shot and tired probably similar to his own.
"I don't like sleeping." She replied running a finger across the bandage and then setting his hand back where it had been on the table. "I think you know why though."
"Nightmares." He silently read her mind and she nodded back at him. A feeling of hope leaped inside him when he could recognize the fear on her face. It was the same fear he saw every morning when he got out of the shower and wiped down the foggy mirror in the bathroom. It was permanent and hiding right behind his pupils.
"Let's hope that's all he gets." She looked down at his bandaged hand and squeezed his arm before getting back up to put away the things she pulled out.
"Wait..." Dean reached out for her hand and she stopped in her tracks. She looked back at him, pushing a strand of her brunette hair away from her face. "Uh, thanks."
"If you ever need to talk or just stay awake, don't be afraid to reach out." She dropped her hand on his before pulling away from him and walking back to her job.