LOS Drabbles

Frigid (Were-AU)

Garth trembled in the dark of the walk-in refrigerator, watching the shadows pass back and forth across the small window. At any moment, those shadows could stop and flick on the light, or lock the door and leave him stranded. Either way, it spelled Death for him if he couldn't find a way out.

He'd made the mistake of catching the wrong person's attention, of saying too much in too small a town, and word spread like wildfire. There'd only been so much his family could do, shunned as they were, and the town sniffed him out like they were the beasts instead of him.

They'd taken him from his bus stop, dragged to the slaughterhouse at the edge of town to be dealt with, and almost paid the price for opening his mouth before somebody managed to fuck up and lose him in the warehouse's labyrinth hallways.

Now though, his breath fogging in the air, all he could do was wait between frozen slabs of meat for something, anything, to happen. That "anything" was a scream, one so fearful and pitched that it reminded Garth of a caught rabbit between teeth. It was the scream of helpless prey.

More followed soon after, tacked onto with shouts, metal connecting with hard surfaces, and a wet ripping noise audible even through the door. It didn't take long for the other sounds to fade, leaving only the ripping and tearing behind to become the background.

Slowly, carefully, Garth uncrouched from his hiding spot, ignoring the protest of his knees as he crept towards the door. He didn't know why, didn't understand what was calling him to open the one thing between him and whatever was outside, or even how he got the feeling that nobody was gunning for his pelt anymore, but as his numb fingers hooked on the handle and turned it, he wasn't quite so scared anymore.

The taste of blood settled heavy in Garth's throat like hay dust, sharp and unyielding and even worse since he couldn't cough. It wasn't sweet and smooth like cow or pig blood, it burned and smoked like the whiskey Mekt had tricked him into trying once. Only human blood could taste that bad to the unrefined, and breathing through his nose did nothing when the source of the smell came into view.

It was one of the men that had caught him, sallow skin ripped throat to stomach, with organs spilling over his lap like a hastily field-dressed deer. Garth fought a noise that would've been heard above the buzzing fluorescent lights, tracking backwards from the dark puddle that threatened to lap at his boots. That turned out to be a mistake too, as his back hit something furry and his head collided with something sticky.

"They made all this fuss over a pup? Filthy cowards." Garth froze at the rumbling, foreign voice that spoke above his head, eyes trained downward at the reflection of the lights in slowly darkening blood. He stayed stuck in that way, managed by some hindbrain instinct he couldn't override, as large, clawed hands picked him up by the little bit of extra scruff he had even while human and turned him around in the air.

"Good lord, you're freezing. Were you hiding in the refrigerator?" Garth nodded hesitantly, staring at the twitching bottlebrush tail sitting cocked to one side, striped orange fur puffed. The other made a noise of sympathy and set him back on the ground, warm arm tugging him into a broad, squishy side that sat like a barrier between Garth and the body as they passed. "Where's your pack, son? Aren't they looking for you?"

"M'fam'ly don't know 'm gone."

"It's well past sundown, I guarantee they do, and want you home." The man rumbled, sound seeming to come from his round belly. "We need to get going too." He loosed a harsh, piercing whistle that bounced down the halls and stabbed at Garth's eardrums. "Sorry."

The two walked down the rest of the hall in silence, Garth guided by the broad arm around his shoulders, and he took the time to glance up at the man.

Fluffy, ruddy orange fur made him look like a cloud, but there was no mistaking his notched ears and scarred tomcat jowls. His snout was short and mustached, whiskers twitching in the air as he looked from side to side. He glanced down with a small smile, puffing a short laugh when Garth looked away.

"You know, you remind me of my own kid. One of them, anyways. Very quiet. Think you might like him." He opened the doors to the holding pen floor, hold tightening on Garth's shoulders. "Nothing you need to see, son." The man hummed at Garth's tiny protests, patting his arm. "Cham, time to go."

"Place was cleared anyways." A new voice rasped, far more nasally. "This the kid?"
"Mhm. He needs a walk home, can you do that?"

"Sure. C'mon kid." The orange stranger shuffled Garth out from the secure wall of his side, shooing him towards a spindly golden cat that was wiping dark streaks of red from his chin. "I'll get you home."