A/N: Written by debatable. I'm pretty sure all that needs to be said has, well, already been said by the wonderful writer in chapter 1, so I'll cut to the chase.
Prompt no. 66, "Rain". Takes place a few months after the events of RotJ-- Ghoul and Woof, being the geniuses that they are, have broken out of jail and are living on the streets as they make their way on the run from Gotham, towards the bright streets of Metropolis.
"I think we need to stop."
The words were careful in a way they usually weren't-- cautious and slow, without a hint of tiredness or complaint. They even, maybe especially surprised Ghoul when they came out of his mouth.
He gazed upon the approaching rainclouds forlornedly, past the tops of the many buildings and barely squeezing their way past the skyline. Anxiety twisted in his gut, but he pushed the feelings away, back to somewhere that he'd never notice them.
Instead he thought, cumulonibus calvus. Old lessons, like tales ingrained in his mind, floated to the surface of his conciousness. Rain clouds. Soft, pattering droplets, nothing dangerous, nothing new. He focused in on the clouds above, now dusty with heavy grey shades-- water ready to fall.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Woof look up at him questioningly. True, they'd only been travelling for a few hours after oversleeping that morning, but neither of them could afford to get sick.
Not in this city. Ghoul had caught sight of every dirty, ragged face that passed them by; every glance that looked, even for a split second, like recognition. They were still too close to Gotham. Metropolis was still a long way away.
He had no clue where they'd stay tonight, but that was half the fun, or so he told himself. He tugged nervously at the strap of his bag, slung carelessly over his shoulder, which contained essentially the last remains of the only true life he'd ever known.
The factory was gone. Breaking out of prison had been tough, but it wasn't the breakout that plagued his memories-- it was the days of walking those hollow halls, the emptiness.
Like bad dreams, he pushed those thoughts away, too.
He awoke from his thoughts only when he heard Woof's plaintive whine. Blinking a few times, Ghoul looked over to where the hyena hybrid had stopped next to a set of nondescript cement stairs, tucked neatly away beneath an overhang. The building itself looked next to abandoned, but he wouldn't risk trying the door. One night out of the cold wasn't worth a week in a cell. He'd been there already; he knew. They couldn't be traced-- not after getting so close to true freedom.
Silently, Ghoul thanked whoever might be listening that this neighbourhood, like many of the others they'd visited, was too seedy to care about a genetically-mutated dog and his lanky companion. Odds are they'd seen worse, and anyway, were probably too cowardly to report them.
Not like there were any 'wanted' posters to guide whatever supposed good souls might want to turn a couple of criminals in. The media had, blessedly, kept quiet about the escape-- whether for their own reputation or not, Ghoul didn't care. Maybe some fugitives were more trouble than they were worth.
He followed Woof around to the side of the stairs, where an empty space, much like where one might find a storage area of some sort, sat open beneath the stone steps. It would provide shelther from the rain, at least.
The air felt damp around him-- he was sure they didn't have much time before they were soaked to the bone. Storms came and went like the flicker of a streetlamp.
Soundlessly, Woof crawled beneath the stairs and laid down on the dry ground. Holding back a sigh, Ghoul crouched and slid his way in after him.
It was relatively clean, all things considered. Sleeping on the ground was something he could deal with. He'd pulled off worse.
Kneeling for a moment in what little room he had, Ghoul rifled through the bag at his side, pulling out a threadbare wool blanket and a beanie, which he promptly shoved onto his head. The temperatures were already dropping-- and besides, he hated waking up with cold ears. He laid down on the rough ground, being careful not to lean too heavily on the bruises adorning his arm. Awkwardly, he pushed the blanket around before he managed to wrap it around himself in at least a semi-comfortable fashion.
Within moments, Woof had shifted closer, and Ghoul wordlessly leaned back into the soft, warm fur. He was being selfish, he knew-- hoarding all the warmth to himself, but he, for the first time in ages, felt safe.
The rain pattered away just inches from his head. Ghoul let out a breath and closed his eyes.