The Bats and The Wolf

Run (Brin)

Brin stared listlessly at the crowd gawking at him not ten feet away, tail curled around his ankles and knees to his chest. His breath clouded in the air, whipped away again and again by icy gusts that whistled unimpeded down the Freak Lane, cutting through his patchy coat of fur like a guillotine.

Kids chucked popcorn and peanuts at him like it was target practice, the small food bits bouncing off his arms and head more often than they rolled to a stop at his feet. He never bothered to react anymore, didn't care to look to the parents to rein in their heathens, there wasn't even a flinch in his claws; Brin was so tired of it, and literally anything sounded better than occupying a corner 9 hours a day.
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Mar left a door open. Brin hadn't realized it at first, but there was no denying that vertical sliver of light coming from the beat to hell doorframe. His feet moved before he could make up a plan, and his hand was there and gone in a blink, flinging the door as his heart started to thud in his chest. There was nobody outside the camper except the crowds, and adrenaline gave him no room to second guess as wood stairs became shoe-tilled dirt under his padded feet.

Cold turned unbearably hot as he wedged through the first crush of bodies, avoiding tails and narrowly tackling several small children. It was too much new at once, an awful swirl of texture and sound and scents, but his legs wouldn't stop carrying him away from the closest thing he'd called comfort. It honestly felt more like Brin was just along for the ride as he weaved down the wide dirt walk of the food alley.

So caught up in his fearful, giddy flee, he failed to avoid the one person standing still, slamming face-first into a brown leather jacket. He bounced backwards, eyes watering and right hand reaching for his stinging nose, and made to bolt again; right until a gloved hand closed around his free wrist.

The hostile scent of sour roses was strong enough to taste, and Brin immediately cowered under the harsh blue glare of an angry Omega, finding a particularly interesting rock to focus on instead.

"I don't know what you took, but drop it." The stranger snarled, and Brin's ears took hiding in his dark hair.

"I-I didn't take anything!" The grip around his wrist tightened, and he yelped: "I swear!"

"Uh huh." They scoffed, unconvinced as they loomed over him. "Do your parents know you're out here? Because, if not, I'm taking you to the nearest ticket vendor and they can figure out what to do with you." A rat-like tail lashed in and out of Brin's view, twisting in an odd way before flicking out of view.

"No..." It distracted him enough that the Omega's words took a minute to process, and then they dropped a fearful pit in his stomach. It was over, he was done for. If this stranger took him back, there was no telling if he'd ever get a second chance, and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out where he came from. "No no no, please don't, please!"

There wasn't anything remotely "normal" in his short grey fur, long ears, or fanged underbite; Brin couldn't play the lost kid card, even if he wanted to. He could bite his way free, but it seemed unlikely to get him anything but scruffed, given how cold it was. Cold meant thick jackets, and the stranger's seemed bomb-proof in the moment. Brin hissed at the Omega all the same, bristling and puffing up in a rather unthreatening display.

"Kiddo-" They sighed and leaned down to look him in the eye, a few dark strands of hair flickering over their forehead. "-you runnin' from someone?"