(no subject)

[always_enduphere]

It helps to know the place is there.

Dean's been standing outside of it for the better part of an hour. Not close, and not where anyone who might recognize him might see him. Just near enough to see the small, nearly invisible sign, hanging there for only willing eyes to notice.

He won't go in. But it helps to know that if he had to, if he really needed to, he could.

Shuffling deeper into his jacket despite the warm night air, Dean looks down at his boots, tongues at the blankness between his ears, the cotton stuffing up his chest. He can stay here, still and quiet, and not think.

It only lasts a moment more before he hears feet beating hard against the pavement, turning the corner and moving fast.

Comments

[triskehale]

Derek doesn't mind being in Darrow, for the most part. It's nice to have a bed to sleep in and a kitchen with food in it. Hell, it's nice to have electricity even, but his favorite thing about the city is probably not having someone try to kill him all the time.

But still, there's part of him that's always antsy, waiting for a fight that now never comes. He takes to jogging, both to try and blow off some steam and familiarize himself with the city. It's strange, no longer having his own land, but he got by just fine in New York.

He picked up some sneakers and sweats to run in, but forgoes a shirt because it's simply too hot. His jog is more like a run, feet slapping the pavement as he looks around with a lazy curiosity. Soon there's a familiar scent, just as he rounds a corner, and he stops so they don't smack into each other for a third time.

Dean looks - well, not good. His heart has taken on this quick, erratic pace and he reeks of anxiety. And his face, well. Derek has seen that look in the mirror one too many times. It would be easy to run past Dean, who's simply standing there and staring straight ahead. Dean's a hunter and Derek shouldn't want anything to do with him, but he can't help but to feel some sort of kinship. And Dean said he had no plans on killing him, heart beating slow and steady as he met Derek's eyes, so he believes him. Cautiously.

"Uh. Dean?" Derek turns his head to see what he's looking at, taking a sniff and wrinkling his nose. It smells... questionable, to say the least, and Derek turns to raise an eyebrow. "Not like it's my place, but Castiel didn't seem like the sharing type."