#darkdimensionstarter

Laying low was relatively easy when no one thought to look for you. For the better part of two weeks, Klaus appeared aimlessly and unexpectedly to old faces. Instilling fear, and the dread of possible hallucinations became his own sick, twisted game. There were a few places Klaus could venture without being seen. And believe it or not, the Red District (where he lived) happened to be his private haven. The natives could be compelled to forget him if any discovered that he was more than a simple apparition drawn up from inner-cast paranoia.

He was sitting alone in a local pub when the last empty stool beside him was overtaken by someone he may or may not have recognized.

     Castiel spent the first two weeks trying to shake off the disorientation.

     It was a strange two weeks; he spent it wandering aimlessly, trying to get a feel for this city in this place where the sky didn’t shine the right color and the stars were stars he had never seen before.  He asked people questions; some answered kindly and some not, but both were educational.  He learned at least some of the laws of this place, and traded old coins as novelties for local currency, which didn’t amount to much, but at least was something.

     Two weeks later, though, and the angel still felt incredibly lost.

     Still, one thing had gone in Castiel’s favor: He inquired about a ‘help wanted’ sign and secured employment as a day laborer for a construction company.  The job foreman seemed to be amused by him, though not in the unkind way, and even lent him a set of clothes and gloves to wear to work the next day.

     The past two weeks, he had been resting in alleyways, something he’d learned during his time graceless.  His strength was not what it had once been; his wings were healing, but what was left of his grace after the Metatron’s spell left him at a great disadvantage, even if the core of him still burned.  Therefore, having a job and perhaps renting a place to rest seemed to be his first priority; at least then when his vessel demanded of him that he allow it sleep, he could do so without wondering when he was going to be attacked.

To the world around him, he was a blur, a blip in their periphery, but Pietro could see it clearly. His entire body seemingly designed for speed, no outside source or power was needed for him, it all came from within, part of his very DNA. It made him practically untraceable. 

Stopping for a breath, he waited for a sign of friend or foe until he caught a glimpse of one approaching. “You work here?” He asked as he motioned to the sandwich shop behind him. Though intended as an icebreaker in order to not draw suspicion, Pietro did sort of hope they did.