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The phone's ring made John jump out of his skin. He stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over the covers in his fatigue. He rubbed his eyes as he left his bedroom and blearily made his way to the kitchen.
How long had it been since he'd last slept? A day? Two? No, he'd drifted off for a couple hours two days previous and before that, there was a day he'd gotten as many as five! He was completely fine, he told himself. A dozen hours in a week was fine!
He picked up the phone with shaky hands. "Hello?" he asked, unsure who was on the other end.
"John, hello, I hope I didn't wake you," Garcia said back.
He felt waves of relief crash over him at the sound of his friend's voice. "No, no, don't worry!" John reassured him. "I was already awake." Since two days previous, he didn't add.
"An early bird, are you?" Garcia asked.
"Y… Yes," he lied.
A pause followed before the other priest continued. "I'm just checking that you're set to come over to my apartment, remember? You told me you had something we needed to talk about face to face."
Despite the impending doom of his friend seeing him in his disastrous state, he was as reassured by his calm, warm tone. Finally, he wouldn't have to lay awake in his bed, suffocated by his anxieties until he forced himself to get up.
After working his way into his clerical attire, John went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. There was really no reason, as his nervous thoughts had all but tied his stomach into knots; he couldn't remember the last time he got down something besides for a cup of coffee. But the habit helped him calm his nerves and feel ready to go.
Toothbrush in hand, he looked into the mirror above the bathroom sink. He was taken aback by his appearance; there were dark, purple circles under his eyes. His hair was messy and his skin was dull and pale.
He ignored the reflection, giving his teeth a brush and his face a wash before making his way out to his car.
As he pulled out of the driveway, he wondered absently if it was even safe for him to drive. But it was only a short distance to Father Garcia's house, so he deemed it more or less fine. Even as his eyelids felt heavy and his hands struggled to grasp the steering wheel.
Eventually, he arrived at his friend's apartment door, and gave it a light knock. His limbs felt like lead. The door opened, and the expression of the man behind it changed from friendly, to surprised, to deeply concerned.
"Dios mio, are you feeling alright?"
John managed a weak smile. "Yeah, yeah. I just got up a little earlier than normal today."
Garcia gave him a doubtful look as he stepped inside. He closed the door and locked it– it was always a good practice with demons milling about the town– then stepped closer to the younger man.
"I don't know if I believe you." He reached out to touch him, a calloused hand resting gently against his friend's thin and tired face. His fingertips traced the sunken, almost bruised-looking skin under the other's eyes.
John brushed the hand aside, ignoring how his empty stomach flipped up and down at the man's display of care. "I'm just a little tired. It's okay."
The doubtful look stayed. "Go sit down on the couch. I'm going to make you a warm drink, to get some colour back in that white sheet of a face…"
He obeyed, approaching the piece of furniture that had been squeezed beside the kitchen table. There hadn't really been space for it, but since John came over from time to time, Garcia hadn't wanted him to be confined to one of the uncomfortable wooden dining chairs.
It was an pretty aged couch, with broken-in cushions that the priest's tired body sunk into with ease. It definitely didn't hurt that it had the deep scent of its owner, one he had grown to associate with safety and comfort.
The older man picked up a blender whose contents he'd been preparing a few minutes before, and poured them through a fine sieve into a hot saucepan. He added milk and stirred it as it cooked, glancing over at the couch repeatedly as he did so.
John rubbed his eyes and yawned. "What are you making? It smells nice."
"It's a horchata. Usually they're served cold, but you look like you need something warm," Garcia explained.
John barely processed what he was saying; he was trying to stay awake, but could only rest against the back of the couch and fight against the pull of unconsciousness.
After a minute or so, the drink was warm enough to be served, and Garcia poured it into a mug, then brought it over to the couch. He sat down next to the younger man and offered it to him.
It was pretty hard for him to take the mug, because his limbs were feeling increasingly like noodles, and his eyes kept wanting to close.
Not wanting to accidentally spill it, the other priest set the drink down on the adjacent table. Then he felt a weight against his side. He turned back to see John fast asleep, slumped over with his head resting on his friend's shoulder; finally relaxed, finally safe enough to let go of the conscious world.
"You were really tired, eh, hijo?" Garcia remarked softly. He eased him back onto the couch and placed a blanket over him, tucking it loosely around him to make sure he was going to be warm but not accidentally rouse him.
After thinking for a moment, he sat back down next to him and put an arm around him, and resolved to stay like that for however long he needed to feel rested. He didn't want him to wake up alone in an unfamiliar sleeping place. Though, the priest thought to himself that he wouldn't mind if John came over more often; he had been through the worst of the worst, and if he could do something so small to help him in such an important way, he absolutely would.