He ran through the woods. The air was heavy, the trees bare and gnarled. Thick mist hung all over, obscuring things, curling around his ankles.
It was dark. Dead tree limbs and thorns scraped at his skin. But he ran.
Someone was calling his name.
'Dean...'
A woman. It wasn't a voice he recognized and yet something in him knew it somehow. The young man stops, panting, eyes wide and wildly darting. His breath is burning in his throat and there's a slight stitch in his side. How long has he been running?
"What...?"
He's not sure if he should run to or from the voice. He's never run from anything, but he might run now. He can't remember ever being this afraid.
'Dean... can't you find your way?'
Sweet, that voice is. Kind, concerned. Like a mother to a child. Most of him doesn't trust it anymore than he trusts anyone or anything else... but part of him can't help but.
"...'m lost."
That was sure true. He had no clue where the hell he was. Just damn trees and fog everywhere.
'You certainly are, boy. But don't be afraid, don't worry. It's alright. You won't be lost for long.'
There's a light in the distance, through the wood. A woman stands in that ray. He can't make out if she's old or young, ugly or beautiful, but he knows- knows by that part of him that trusts the voice, the part of him that knows its sound- that it is the woman calling to him.
A flock of large dark birds fly above, forms black winged shilouettes against the dark purple sky, voices harsh.
'Just follow the buzzards...'
-
Dean Ambrose bursts awake, gasping, face slick with a sheen of cold sweat. He's shaking.
He'd had his share of bizzare dreams. That wasn't anything new, it was the product of having a mind like his. But that was different. It was so real. So real he wasn't even sure of the moisture on his skin was sweat or condensation from that misty forest.
His heart felt sick. Without thinking, he fumbled for his phone and opened it to his contacts.
A grand total of one. It used to have two, but the other'd been deleted for some time. Staring at the sole name left, his finger hovers over it. Tap it. Call him. Talk it out. He'll...
He'll say you're being stupid.
This is stupid.
It was a dumb dream, that's all. Born out of a brutal match with a weird ending and a half-crazy brain. You do not need to call Roman for that. Just because you only have one friend does not mean you should bug him for everything. Especially things that aren't anything but sleeping brain movies.
He tosses the phone aside.
Forget it. Just go about your day. Take a shower. Have a bowl of Crunch Berries. Throw the non-berry pieces at people who bug you. Follow the buzzards. Maybe go for a run. Punch Rollins in his stupid fucking face if you see hi-
Wait. What?
Dean shakes his head. Get that stupid dream out of your head.
That's all it is.
A shepherd needs sheep. That goes without saying, man. A shepherd without sheep is just some person standing in a field with no purpose. No. A shepherd need sheep to watch after, to protect, to guide and lead.
And a lost lamb? He needs a shepherd. Otherwise he is lost, he is vulnerable to the wickedness of the world. And what lamb needs a shepherd more than one who has been cast aside by his own flock?
I see that lamb. She has too. He's seen the signs but he doesn't know what they are. Not yet. But he will.
Come on home, little one.
Don't stray.
