For the better part of the year, you wake up too late. You don't know why, since you don't tend to stay up late. It gets on your nerves; and, to be honest, also affects your work. Work at Sandover is bad even on the best days, so the lack of sleep really doesn't help. Your alarm beeps, and you groan and roll out of bed. You decide to wear the same jeans as yesterday. It's not like anyone is going to sniff your crotch, anyway.
And even if they do, you smell like a goddamn man.
At least it's not far to Sandover. At times you're sad you can't take your car – you get so little opportunities to drive it, lest perhaps for a drive out to Sam. With the lack of sleep; it's likely for the better that you cut through the park. You have to hurry, because you almost fell asleep brushing your teeth. Maybe vacation time is in order. But even then, you doubt you're going to get more sleep. You can't tell Sam. He would kick you to see a doctor, and that meant a needle, and that meant no. Just a phase, or something, and it would be over before you could blink.
You rush past the playground without a second thought.
The weather forecast said rain.
You get to work a tad bit late, but you keep quiet and hope nobody notices or even better, doesn't even care. Nobody says anything to you during the morning so you decide you're safe and you breathe. You're still tired, though. Hopefully you don't doze off while you're on the phone with clients. Not picking up is one thing – but snoring right in their ear? That wouldn't be good… probably. You groan as you look at your schedule. A meeting at noon and a dozen calls to make. Damn, you wish you could quit and go do something else. But you feel uncomfortable quitting without having any other option in sight; and you wouldn't want snoozing off Sam. So you stay loyal to this stupid company and groan very, very silently.
The meeting is boring, just as you suspected. You're not even required to take notes or pay too much of close attention – it's just a plain PowerPoint, and it's not even good. But it's required you to be here – sadly – so you suffer through. At least Charlie is waiting on you with lunch. It's the best part of your day, hands down. Going home has its perks, too.
You clap at the end of the presentation. Even now, if someone asked, you'd have no clue what the guy had been talking about. Charts, probably, or some boring statistics. You don't think you need o concern yourself with that. You're not even sure why you had to be here, but boss demanded it, so you obeyed. You hurry out of the room without seeming rushed and take off towards the cafeteria. At least Charlie is easy to spot, with her red hair.
You plop next to her and collapse on top the table. You're still so tired, and that meeting did not help. Charlie pats your head, but you know she's not really looking up from her phone. She scored a new girlfriend and they're texting non-stop. You feel a bit left out – mainly because you don't have someone to text with. "Don't sigh, handmaiden", she says eventually and you groan. "I'm tired", you complain and she giggles. You suspect it was a text from Girlfriend Gilda. She puts her phone away and you internally gamble how long it will be until she picks it back up again. "Why don't you sleep? Do you have nightmares?" You shake your head. "I just wake up", you say and you wish it would be as simple as having bad dreams.
"There might be a guy who could help you." You growl. "I'm not going to see a doctor. I'll deal with it!" Charlie gives good bitch-faces, too, you find. "Not a doctor, you pansy. There's a guy in the park, on a bench, who has super-cool crazy powers. He can heal you with just one touch! Maybe you should go find him? It could be like a quest!" She looks very excited, while you frown a little. That sounds like bat-shit. Heal someone with just a touch? Sounds like these fake Faith Healers on TV or on carnivals. "I dunno, Charlie. Sounds like crap, if I'm honest." She punches you in the shoulder. "What's the worst that could happen? Nothing happens. Best case scenario, you get to sleep. What's there to lose, Winchester?" You shrug. "Money? I guess I gotta pay the guy, yeah?" Charlie shakes her head. "From what I hear, no, he doesn't want any money. So! So, no worries, right? Stop moping and let's go find the guy!" She jumps up at the challenge and promptly falls back down again as soon as her phone chirps. "Ooooh, Gilda." You sigh and slump back onto the table.
It rains after work and you don't have an umbrella. Great. Charlie doesn't have one, either, and besides, Gilda is going to pick her up in half an hour. You sigh and steel yourself.
"Here", someone says and presses an umbrella in your hand. And before you realise what happened, they're already gone. You're baffled, and confused, and glad at the same time. You hate getting wet, and you're not a fan of drying off either. You wonder blatantly, how you're going to return it.
Maybe it's a gift.
You get to keep gifts.
The next day, you oversleep again. But curiously, you don't feel as bad as the days before. Ha, that just proves your theory that it's just a phase that you'll get over soon. It's still a struggle to get out of bed and get ready for the day.
It's raining still and without thought, you grab the stranger's umbrella.
You didn't notice yesterday just how brightly blue it is.
"Did you go looking for this guy yet?" You try to snooze on the lunch-table again – perhaps a bad idea, who knows how many germs are here? – and Charlie is, again, mostly on her phone. "No", you tell the table because it's the only friend you have left in the world it is clearly the only one who still holds you upright.
Charlie moans. "You totally should. I'm even going to reward you EXP and nice useless junk you can sell to the next-best vendor. Come on, Dean, what've you got to lose?" Your pride, mostly, although it's already pretty flawed. Sam's never gonna give up the scented water you drunk once. Once and he doesn't let it go, that bitch. "What does he even look like", you say and you don't bother making it sound like a question. "I'm not sure. I think he's about your age, maybe a bit older? He might wear a trench-coat. Likes the playground, maybe?" You pull a face. That sounds like a creep and you're not sure you want to go look for someone like that.
"I bet he's dreamy", Charlie sighs and you pull your head up to look at her. "It's still a dude, right? Not a chick?" She punches you again. You'd get a bruise from the constant punching if she were just a bit stronger. "Guys can be pretty too, stupid. And he's, like, super cool and stuff. He's got magic powers! Just go look for him, okay? Pretty please?" You groan and let your head fall back onto the table. It hurts, but you're a man, so you breathe through the pain.
Still, it rains and you stand just outside with the umbrella above your head. Maybe you're waiting for the mystery guy to come and demand his umbrella back. But there's no soul on the streets. It's eerily quiet and there's just the patter of the raindrops.
You think about what Charlie said and you know she's right. If you'd look for that guy, what's the worst that could happen? You take a deep breath and step out into the rain.
The umbrella feels like a safety blanket.
You walk rather quickly through the park, until the playground comes into sights. But with that rain, there's not gonna be any kid playing here. Maybe you should try coming back when the sun's actually out. You have to pass it to get home, regardless, so you could just look. No harm in that, after all.
You slow down even more when you are directly in front of the playground. You even stop completely, but you can't tell why. It's uncomfortable in the rain, even with an umbrella. Yet, here you stand. Something's got to happen, right? You feel like something should happen.
"I could go with you."
The voice comes out of nowhere and it shocks you so much you let the umbrella fall. It's not so bad, though. The rain stopped, now. You turn towards the benches and until you look, you don't know what you were expecting.
But you see now, and nobody else could be there.
It would never be anyone else.
"Hello, Dean."