NaNo 2012 chp 3Dawn was a bright blip in the distance, the sun pouring out over the horizon as it attempted to take over the sky, a battle it was always destined to win. Sanks was heading back to The Lion's Hole, his hood over his head. He didn't like the sun but at this point it wasn't high enough in the sky to be too much of an issue.
Callous was asleep at his desk, his coins and gold hidden away. He had to have watched all night, what with Grimm upstairs. Sanks readjusted the bag on his back and tapped the ghoul on the shoulder. He woke slowly, a string of yellowed saliva attaching his lip to his hand.
"Whuh?" he asked. There was a small amount of rot showing around his mouth and eyes.
"You're glamour's fading." Sanks warned him before pointing upstairs, "How's pretty boy?"
Callous yawned, there were teeth missing and his breath was acrid, "Grimm? He's still up there."
"You can't tell me you thought I meant Grimm."
"Hmm? Oh pretty boy. You mean the guy who came in here last night. The one with the
NaNo 2012 chp 2Theat wasn't even a town, not really. It would have to have more than stragglers staying there for that. There were maybe fifty residents, the rest just stopping on their way to someplace better. There were a few farmers and innkeepers and Abel ran the tavern, but there weren't any merchants or police. They had no city hall or places of worship. Sure, people had their faiths in their Gods, but they praised him on their own and did not bother one another with their personal beliefs.
Theat was a place where the nonhumans prospered. As there were no police, there were no NHPF, the NonHuman Police Force, although there was always the fear that they could come at any time. As long as they kept quiet, didn't hurt any humans, they were fine and safe from persecution. Some of them would still try to do petty crimes, thinking that their thicker skin or uncommon abilities would protect them, but these were mostly pick pocketing, and never amounted to much.
Theat understood their needs though and
Hurt Makes It BeautifulDean hated this, hated seeing the man beside him, not the angel but the man, hide things from him. Every touch he gave was rewarded with a flinch and terror in his friends face. Every word confused him, made him stare at Dean as if he didn't know exactly what he meant. He found himself checking every word, every touch, every emotion that showed on his face. Cas was showing emotions now, plain and easy to see, but there were only two that Dean had the opportunity to see: fear and, very rarely, sorrow.
Sorrow was hidden and confined, Cas hiding away in the bathroom or leaving the motel room at night to cry into the night. Dean didn't like it when he went out there alone, a new human, vulnerable for the first time, but there was nothing he could do to stop it and the mortal needed his space.
Cas rarely slept, lying on his side and shivering in the bed beside Dean's. The hunter wanted to crawl into bed with him, wrap his arms around him and hold him tight. Now that he was human he wasn't a
response to doya-G"You know what's really weird?" Sam was drunk and laughing and telling Cas a lot of things that he thought was weird. Most of them hadnt been that strange in the angel's mind. "When I was a kid, I dont remember this, but Dean told me about it, pretty soon after he met you. He said that when we were little he got lost in a big supermarket and some guy in a trench coat, like yours, found him, and helped him find us. He was really embarrassed because of it and our dad was really harsh about it. Even years later he would still make fun of him about it. I guess Dean took it really hard. He always wanted dad to see him as perfect."
Cas thought on that. Dean had a way of trying to be the best, no matter what, and sometimes it didnt work out. He looked back into Dean;s life, something that he hadnt tried to do as Dean had always told him not to dig around in his head, but the hunter was asleep on the opposite side of the room, already having drunk more than his fill. He found the moment and wa
NaNo 2012 chp 1Cedar and wood smoke, lager and meat, these are what taverns are supposed to smell like. If he paid close enough attention to the smell, he could also smell iron and blood and sweat and dirt. These were things he smelled in all places, but to lesser degrees. Taverns and drink seemed to draw those things out of people, make it easier to find and to smell.
He sat in the back, his hands behind his head, as he sat, legs outstretched before him, in a leather bound chair. It was faded in places, where his back and buttocks rubbed the color away, but it was comfortable. It was pretty much his chair, his sitting in it for so long and so often that it had molded its shape to his muscular frame.
As he sat, his hood pulled over his face even though this pace was already so dark and smoky it would be close to impossible to see his features, he watched. There were the regulars, laughing and joking as they drank at the long wooden tables, as opposed to the others which sat at the bar drinking