Chapter Text
Dean hated clocks. Today especially, he was irritated by the incessant tick, tick, tick, that emanated from dozens of the circular objects on the walls surrounding him.
The shop was eerily empty today, and the sky was a melancholy grey that seemed to cast a shadow on the whole town. Dean didn't mind the quiet, or the fact that the shop was probably colder than the outside air. What bothered him was that he recently realized how he'd unintentionally signed up to take on the family business.
A week prior, Dean hadn't given any thought to what he wanted to do with his future, he'd always sort of pictured himself exploring the world, landing in a big city, maybe settling down eventually and having a couple of kids. Being only 27, he figured he'd have plenty of time in the future to pursue these dreams.
But then his brother Sammy got married. Of course he was happy for his brother, so happy he shed a tear after they said their vows. Sam loved Jess with all his heart. The two of them made the perfect couple, and Dean could see great things down the road for them in the future.
After the wedding, though, Dean began to realize that Sam's marriage was the beginning of a new era. And that, since Sam announced a few days ago that he's moving upstate, he's not going to see him much anymore. Dean knows how hard this is going to be, because his brother already left him once to go to Stanford, and now he's heading back to go to law school, and residing permanently this time.
So now he sits, on a gloomy Saturday afternoon, holding down the family shop so his dad can help Sam pack up the remainder of his things from their childhood home. He's slumped behind a dusty counter, next to a cash register that needed to be upgraded a generation ago. He aimlessly plays with a few of the trinkets before him, just trying to kill time. It's not unusual to have no customers over the span of a few hours, especially on a day like this one. He decides it is unlikely there will be anyone entering the shop anytime soon, so he goes to the back in search of something to entertain himself.
He wanders about until he reaches a wall of books about as tall as he is, all of which look as if they've passed through multiple hands. He selects a tattered copy of The Shining and meanders back over to his slightly uncomfortable chair behind the counter.
He sighs loudly, as no one is there to hear him. He knows that, since he is practically the only one who runs this shop, he is pretty much destined to work here for at least the next decade. He hasn't the money to travel, nor can he leave his dad all alone to run the shop.
So here he sits.
At least there's plenty of books.
Da-Ding Ding. The bell attached to the door wakes Dean from his almost comatose reading trance. He peers over the edge of his book, lingering just a little bit too long before interjecting monotonously, "Good afternoon, how can I help you?"
The customer, blinking a couple of times to compensate for the sudden decrease in lighting inside the shop, replies shyly, "I'm just browsing."
"Okay, well let me know if you have any questions," Dean's words sound rehearsed, probably because he's said the same thing to so many customers so many times before.
"I will," the stranger doesn't look at Dean when he responds, he speaks directly to the floor, and then shuffles to the side of the shop.
Dean watches him curiously, for lack of anything better to do. The stranger has this mysterious air about him, and his blue tie stands out among the assortment of browns and beiges in the store. Dean pretends to read, but continues to watch the brown-haired, trench-coated man out of his peripheral vision. He notices the man continually glancing in his direction. He looks nervous or maybe even guilty, like he is trying to steal something but he's so obvious he's just giving himself away. D
Dean accidentally chuckles once out loud. The man immediately whips his head around at the sudden noise.
"Funny part in the book," Dean comes up with a quick excuse and a half smile.
The man nods and continues to browse, then he finally approaches the register with one of the clocks that was driving Dean crazy a few hours before.
"This is a nice clock, but I must warn you, if your house is quiet the noise might keep you up at night."
"Oh," the brown-haired man looks down at the counter, "which one would you recommend?"
"That one... right there" Dean leans over the counter to point at an oval clock across the shop.
The man grabs it off the wall and returns with it, checking the back for the price as he approaches.
"You would have to put the thing right next to your ear to even hear it tick at all," Dean explains, "also, I like it because it's more subtle, and that auburn-brown color on the rim looks really nice."
"I'll take it," replies the customer.
"We have it in other colors as well if you don't like this one... if you want to see some," he adds.
"No, this one is the one that I want," he assures Dean.
"Alright, that'll be thirty-seven dollars and eighty cents"
The man hands Dean a credit card.
"Sorry, we only take cash."
"Oh, sorry," he begins to clumsily fumble around for enough money to pay Dean. He pulls out some crumpled bills from his back pocket, and roots around in his trench coat for change, "I only have thirty-five fifty."
Dean sees the man's eyes for the first time as he raises his head to look straight at him. They are a crystal blue, which Dean now realizes almost matches the man's tie. They are a shade or two lighter though, and are much more intricate than the monochrome tie. They are like a spiderweb of many interconnected shades of blue, fitting perfectly together to create a glossy, shining, almost glow. Dean then observes the rest of his face. It is quite serious, almost concerned, looking at Dean with a childlike gaze, trying to anticipate what he'd say next.
"That's fine," Dean replies nonchalantly, beginning to reach for the money.
"Are you sure? I can come back tomorrow," the man assures.
"Nah, don't worry about it!" Dean insists, a little too much enthusiasm in his voice.
"Thank you," the man replies, his lip twitching slightly, forming something resembling a smile.
"Have a nice day," Dean watches the man as he exits the shop.
Dean let the sight of the stranger linger in his mind for a few moments, wishing he'd asked for the man's name, but returned to his book, realizing that it was not likely he'd ever see the man again.