Disguises

by Abajugungi

Dean muses on the different ways to hide something, whether it be a monster, a hunter, or something else. A response to a prompt I found on superficfriday's livejournal, which stated simply "disguises". Done in 0.5 seconds and not edited in any way shape or form. Just some raw introspection. I've never claimed to be a good writer.

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Disguises

Sometimes they're obvious, blatant, in-your face. Thick burlap and ski-masks. Black sunglasses, hoods pulled up to cover eyes. The sort of disguises people see. The sort of disguises people look at and think golly gee, doesn't he look like he has something to hide. The one's cops want to arrest, because hey, it looks suspicious, so they might as well. The disguises monsters wear, because they don't quite understand how to be human.

They don't do human's justice. We find the monsters, all the same.

Disguises.

Sometimes they're softer, greyer, blurred around the edges. Dark jeans and a sweater. Tennis shoes and plaid shirts. The sort of disguise that's invisible, blends a man in with a night sky, blends a killer in with a crowd. The one's people see and don't see. The sort of disguises two brothers might wear, because sometimes they want to fit in, too.

But people know, deep down, it isn't what we really are. We fit in about as well as the monsters.

Disguises.

Sometimes they're not really there at all, not cloth or paste or plastic or tangible. Suppressed sighs. Smiles instead of frowns. Hidden agonies. The sort of disguises that people look at won't ever see. The sort of disguises that don't slip, that don't break, that blend in seamlessly with life because they are life. The sort of disguises that a broken man might wear, because how else can he hide the cracks?

And I find that, usually, they're the only disguises that really works.