-This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I claim no ownership over any of the characters, or the world of Supernatural, however grateful for them I may be, which is hella.
-I didn't hit underage for warning, because age of consent in Kansas is 16, and Cas is 17, but if that squicks you, maybe move along.
-No posting schedule, because I am a garbage person comprised of garbage, and cannot commit to anything but my husband.

"Get your ass back here!" his mother screams as Cas flees the rickety backdoor and into the chilly night.

Fat chance, he thinks as he runs through the backyard. He hops over the fence with the ease of a healthy, if kind of scrawny, teenager, and slows himself down to a more maintainable jog once he's on the sidewalk. He curses himself for taking his hoodie off before dinner. He was hoping that Naomi's good mood would hold out, so he shrugged the jacket off as an internal sign of good faith.

Didn't take his sneakers off, though. Cas never takes his sneakers off. He doesn't have that much hope.

He slows again until he's just walking, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, left bare by the thin band t-shirt he's wearing, and glares at the houses he's moving past. It's an okay neighborhood once you get off of his block. These homes are well kept but worn, with front yards littered with toys and bikes and wild flower beds that were one-time summer projects, started with promises that they would be diligently tended. Now most of them are riots of colorful flowers and tall weeds because those promises weren't kept.

In Castiel Novak's experience, promises are never kept.

His own neighborhood is a reflection of that, of people who know better than to accept promises, much less make them. The yards are mostly packed dirt and scraggly grass, a few filthy toys on the ground, and half-dressed children running and screaming. Cas doesn't have any real feelings one way or another toward the people who live in those houses, except for maybe a pang of disconnected sadness for the kids, because the likelihood of them getting something better is slim to none.

Cas wants to think he'll get something better than this slum of a place in Lawrence, Kansas, but he's not holding his breath. Leaving means you need good grades, and Cas gets good enough grades, but not only does he not particularly care about classes that leave him bored and restless, the teachers wrote him off as a loss years ago. He was doomed as soon as they heard about his mother, about who his brothers are. It wasn't the wrinkled hand-me-downs or torn backpack that did him in, no. Cas' last name might as well be a sign on his forehead. "Worthless Nobody Doomed To Be A Delinquent Who Barely Graduates High School, If He Does It At All."

It doesn't really bother him anymore, but at ten years old, the slow realization that he was already not worth any effort whatsoever, for his teachers or his classmates (and he'll never be sure which is worse), that knowledge stung. He tells himself that he's over it, that it doesn't hurt anymore.

He's lying, but if he says it loud enough and long enough, surely he'll start to believe it.

A shiver alerts him to the fact that he's going to need to find at least partial shelter for the night, and the cold does nothing to dull the ache on his left cheekbone. He knows it will swell and darken overnight, and when he goes to school tomorrow, it will look like he got into a fight. He'll let everyone believe that Worthless Nobody Castiel Novak got into a fistfight, because as bad as Naomi is, getting taken away would be worse. Besides, he's seventeen, and will be eighteen soon. There's only a few months between Cas and freedom, and he's not going to fuck it up now by snitching.

Shelter… Shelter… This is where if Castiel had any actual friends, he would go to them. Their mom, maybe, would be understanding about his predicament, and wouldn't call the police, but would just pull him into the house with warmth and acceptance. She would feed him and wrap him in blankets and make sure he did his homework and…

And wow, I really must be losing it. He brushes off the daydream and pretends he doesn't have it damn near every day. Cas knows it's not going to happen. The only person who's even sort of a friend is Meg, and not only is her mother a raging bitch, Cas isn't one hundred percent sure that Meg would give up her glass of water if his ass was on fire, much less put him up for the night. They just trade cigarettes and bitch about school together during lunch (which Meg refuses to eat and Cas doesn't generally have money for). The word "friend" is stretching it.

He heaves a sigh and takes a left on Oak Street. This late at night, there aren't a lot of options. During the day, he can go to the library, where it's warm, at least, and he can read until his eyes cross and ache and no one will bother him. He thinks the librarians suspect why he's there, but they never say anything about the fresh bruises or split lips or the memorable summer when he held his arm against his side gingerly for three days until he finally showed back up with it in a cast and another black eye (earned by asking Naomi to take him to the doctor).

Castiel has learned that no one will ask you about that kind of thing, especially when you're a Novak.

So the library is out because it's closed, same for the only grocery store in reasonable walking distance. The post office has a little room up front that's never locked, the one with the post office boxes, but people come in at all hours, and they'd give him the side-eye for sleeping in there. Normally it doesn't bother him, but tonight, he's just tired enough that Cas doesn't want to deal with it. He just wants to sleep somewhere that he won't be stared at, or woken up by a slap or a kick.

It really only leaves one place.

He gets to the park in just a few minutes, but his teeth are already chattering, so he clenches his jaw stubbornly as he makes his way to his destination.

The park is pretty standard. There's a swingset and a couple of standalone slides and a fairly huge jungle gym that's pretty much a little kid's wet dream, if they could have them. The only thing that stands out as abnormal is the Tunnel.

Castiel has no idea who thought a metal tube with a seven foot diameter was a great addition to a playground, but that person was wrong. Castiel is grateful, because the Tunnel is usually pretty isolated and it keeps the wind and any rain or snow away, but it's a fucking death trap. Kids get hurt all the time, either by cutting themselves on the edge (which isn't even dulled), or by falling on it, because metal has no give at all. It's total insanity not to move the damn thing.

That doesn't stop Cas from slinking into it, moving to the middle (the thing is like fifteen feet long, what the fuck was it?), and hunkering down. It's already a little warmer in here than out in the elements, and Cas breathes a soft sigh of relief at the lack of wind.

The park is empty because of the hour, and the small part of it that he can see from his position is dark and shadowed, more like a nightmare than a playground. Cas draws his legs up, wraps his arms around them, and rests his chin on his knees. It will take a while for him to fall asleep like this, but at least it's sleep. If he was at home, he wouldn't get any at all.

He shoves the thought away from him, too tired to deal with the implications, the unfairness of his life. The unfairness that he has to live in the dark shadows of his older brothers, both of whom left scars in the community and in their mother, too many scars for either to accept Castiel. The unfairness that his mother seemed to use up her love on Lucifer and Gabriel, and had nothing leftover for her youngest son, who at ten years old was bookish and quiet, undeserving of the harsh words and increasingly harsh hands he was dealt. The unfairness that the only way out seems to be to graduate high school, which Castiel is set to do, barely, to the surprise of his teachers. Cas knows he's smart, though, and none of his fellow students care enough to know anything about him at all.

A few months, he tells himself again. Just a few months, and I'm out of here.

He drifts to sleep on that thought.

"Shit!"

When Castiel wakes up to a boot in his ribs, it honestly gives him a little bit of nostalgia. It is, after all, how Luke used to wake them up for school.

That, however, is not his brother's voice, and he is not, in fact, an eight year old being woken from a warm, if threadbare, bed. Castiel is seventeen, sleeping in a cold metal tube to get away from his harpy of a mother, and there is now a stranger in the tube with him.

He turns onto his back and glares up at the person who woke him up. The man is cloaked in shadow and breathing heavily. It looks like he's wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, which Cas would judge him for, but it looks warm as fuck, so he's really just jealous.

"What the fuck?" The man is whispering, which makes Castiel suspicious, because who whispers in an empty park?

"What the fuck, indeed," Castiel says dryly, refusing to lower his voice.

Which sends the stranger into a panic. He immediately drops to his knees next to where Cas has propped himself up on his elbows and puts his hand over Cas' mouth, which, rude.

"Would you shut the fuck up?" the stranger hisses, his face close to Cas', where a beam of light from the streetlamp outside illuminates his face.

Three things happen at once.

The first is that Castiel realizes that the man in front of him is one of the most incredibly beautiful human beings that he's ever seen. His features are lovely, bordering on delicate, but Cas can see that even now he's starting to lead more toward ruggedly handsome than feminine. Dirty blonde hair, green eyes, freckles dusted over his nose and cheekbones. He's magnificent.

The second thing is that Castiel realizes that the person kneeling next to him, glaring down at him with those stunning eyes, is Dean fucking Winchester, of the Campbell-Winchester family, as in the fucking mob. He's currently at the mercy of a literal gangster.

The only reason Cas knows this is because of the library. He browses the newspapers sometimes. It's because he's bored, and certainly not because he likes the way they change almost every day, the way they all tell stories that are constantly evolving, the way that the stories are told impartially, to an audience that's a sea of blank faces. When Cas is reading the newspaper, it's like someone is talking to him, someone who doesn't know or care how many people Luci has hurt, or how many scams Gabe is currently running, or what a bitch Naomi is.

(Interestingly enough, if one were to ask Castiel if he was lonely, he would be surprised, bark a laugh, and say, "No, of course not." Because he's been repressing that feeling of being alone for almost ten years now, and he doesn't really recognize the emotion that hollows his chest and burns the backs of his eyes sometimes, not anymore.)

So it's because Cas reads newspapers (because they're interesting, there's no other reason) that he recognizes Dean's face from the front pages. He's been suspected for any number of crimes, though as far as Cas knows, never murder or rape. Just some assaults, which looked to the teenager more like bar brawls than any sort of organized crime. Dean has a reputation for being a bit of a wild card, although that's just what Cas has gleaned from between the lines of the articles he read, it's never actually been said outright.

It's because of the second thing that the third thing happens, really. The third thing is regrettable, done in a moment of adrenaline tinged with fear, an action executed before Castiel's brain has a chance to really process everything that's happened in the last forty-five seconds.

The third thing is that Cas bites the ever-loving shit out of Dean Winchester's hand.

To his credit, Dean doesn't cry out. He does yank his hand away and hiss in pain, shaking it out gently. Then, cradling the injured appendage against his (admittedly, very nice) chest, he glares at Cas. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asks, still whispering. "Are you up to date on your shots?"

Cas rolls his eyes. "Rabies joke, very original." He's still not whispering.

It still makes Dean's eyes widen in panic. "Will you shut up?"

Another eye roll. "Why?

"Because, in case it's escaped your notice, we're hiding. As in, someone is in pursuit."

Cas shakes his head and cocks an eyebrow. "I'm not hiding from anyone." He's started whispering, if only so the handsome man in the tunnel with him won't have a coronary.

"Well, I'm hiding, and since you're in here with me, now you're hiding, too." Dean grins. "Plus, I'm guessing from the fangs you sunk into my hand, you recognize me, so you're definitely hiding, too."

A little chill winds its way down Cas' spine. "Excuse me?"

"Well, it's either keep you here with me or kill you, and I don't really dig murder."

The word choice makes Castiel frown, even as the intent makes his heart thud in his chest. "You don't 'dig' murder? What are you, thirteen?" Dean snorts, but Cas continues. "And what are you hiding from, precisely?" Because if it's the police, if Cas makes enough noise, they'll come find them, and he will no longer be trapped in a giant metal tube with a crazy mobster (and what even is his life now?).

Dean scowls and wags the finger on his good hand (Cas notices with interest that there's already a pretty hefty bruise on Dean's other hand, which makes him smug, even as a little bit of heat curls at the base of his spine, because oh, oh yes, he would love to mark this man up with teeth and tongue).

"Now, before you start damselling in distress, I'll have you know that I'm not currently running from the cops, so get that idea right out of your head."

Cas frowns harder. "I don't know what 'damselling' is, but I'm fairly certain that I've never done any such thing."

Dean blinks, then chuckles. "Babe, you kinda scream 'save me.'"

"I most certainly do not."

A casual shrug. "Whatever gets you through the day." Dean looks around. "I'm not real familiar with this area. Are they gonna find us here?"

Cas glares at him. "Who is 'they?' It depends on if they're from around here, honestly."

"Don't worry about 'they,'" Dean says evenly. "Just tell me the likelihood of us getting caught."

"Or what? You'll kill me?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Jesus, are you always this difficult?"

Cas considers the question or a moment. "Probably, yeah."

Dean blinks again, then snickers with his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the noise. "All right, all right," he says finally, "It's the Walkers."

Nonplussed, "Who the fuck are the Walkers?"

Dean snorts. "Uh, sort of a rival gang? I dunno, though, we're not really on the same level. They do some fucked up stuff. We just do guns."

"And drugs."

Dean nods. "And drugs."

Cas sighs. "Okay, what did you do to the Walkers?"

Dean's eyebrows go up. "What makes you think I did anything to anyone?"

"Because I've known you for seven seconds?"

Dean hmphs. "Okay, whatever. It's nothing, it's just this girl."

A little spear of disappointment makes itself known in Cas' chest. Of course there's a girl, of course Dean Winchester is straight. He ignores it to wave his hand in a "go on" motion.

"One of the Walkers, kid named Gordon, little older than me, he's hasslin' Lenore because she's a working girl, and he thinks he should get whatever he wants for free because he just got initiated." Dean starts to scowl, and his voice starts to get a little louder the angrier he gets. "So Lenore tells him to buzz off, because shit, she's got a little sister to take care of, she can't afford to be giving it away for free, and Gordon doesn't like that too much, so he hits her a couple of times, smacks her around pretty good. What he didn't know, though, is that Lenore and I had a dinner date, see. So I come around the corner in time to stop him from hurting her too bad." At this point, Dean looks down, almost sheepish. "I got kind of a temper, you know, and Lenny's good people. So I beat the shit out of him, and now they're out for blood."

"So, they're angry because you beat this Gordon person up, which you did because he was beating up a hooker?" So Cas is a little incredulous, sue him, because gangster with a heart of gold is a little bit of a leap for him to believe.

Dean shrugs a little. "Yeah, and I mean, I went to my old man, but he's kind of a dick, and basically said, 'I'm not starting a damn war because you're a damn fool,' which is bullshit, because it's not like I meant to, it's just that he was hitting Lenny! And Lenny's got enough bullshit to deal with without some dickwad like Gordon sniffin' around-"

As Dean quietly rants, Castiel considers his options. Dean is younger than he originally thought, probably twenty at the most, which surprises Cas. His list of 'dastardly deeds' is a bit long, but if Dean's telling the truth about Gordon and Lenore (and Cas is decidedly ignoring the little twinge of jealousy he gets when Dean calls her "Lenny"), it means that some of those assaults may be more innocent than they seem, if they're in defense of someone else.

Cas has also stopped being afraid of the person in front of him. He has serious trouble believing Dean wants to hurt him, he's just too… Open. Honest? Earnest. He's defending himself to Cas, who he doesn't know, insisting that Gordon deserved what he got, and God help him if Cas doesn't believe it.

"They won't catch us in here," he whispers, trying to both remind Dean that he needs to shut the hell up, and almost wincing when he says "we," because he does not want to be a part of this, right? "It's hard to see in either end of you're not standing directly at the entrance, and that side backs up to the hill, so they'd need to be pretty much right on top of us to see in." Cas shrugs. "And I doubt they saw you come in. They'd be in here already if they had."

Dean nods. "Good, okay. So we're good for now."

"Yeah."

An awkward silence ensues, but Cas doesn't mind awkward silences. In his experiences, if someone's silent, it means they're not berating him, so he almost prefers it, awkward or no.

Unfortunately, Dean seems to be one of those people who can't deal with the quiet.

"So, uh, I kinda… Gotta take you with me," he says quickly, like he wants to get it out before he loses his nerve.

Cas is back to frowning. "Take me with you?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I can't leave you here, you recognized me, and I got warrants out this way."

"I don't suppose assuring you that I won't tell anyone about this will help?" Who would I tell?

Dean shakes his head. "No dice, I can't have you runnin' off, tellin' all your friends that you saw Dean Winchester here. Even if you just tell one person, that's too much risk, and I'm in too much hot water with my old man already to chance it."

Cas snorts before he can stop himself, then casts his eyes away from Dean so he doesn't have to look at him. "I can assure you, not only do I have no one to tell, even if I did, no one would believe me."

Dean chuckles. "Yeah, I guess it's a little bit crazy, huh? Me runnin' into you while you're…" Cas hears the frown appear in his words. "Hey, why are you sleeping in here?"

"Don't worry about it."

Dean, it appears, has no intention of doing that. "I mean, you're not homeless, your clothes are clean." When Cas looks back at the Tunnel's other occupant, he finds himself the object of pretty intense scrutiny. "You are kinda skinny, but you've got that vibe, you know, the kinda kid who can eat a horse and still weigh eighty pounds soaking wet." Cas opens his mouth to object (or correct Dean, because Cas can't properly remember the last time he had a real meal), but he's overridden by Dean's rising curiosity (or concern, it's hard to tell).

"I mean, your shoes are kind of shot, but isn't that the look these days? I dunno, I don't keep up with that crap, I'll have to ask Sammy. And you need a haircut, but isn't that the look, too?"

"Dean, shut up," Cas says easily. "It's no big deal, I can go with you."

Dean ignores him, which Cas is learning is par for the course. "You're rocking some stubble, which means either you don't shave on purpose, or you can't, because, what? You can't afford to?"

"Dean," Cas says severely. "Drop it. You can take me with you."

Dean huffs. "Like you had a choice," he mutters darkly, eyes still scanning Cas. "Look, babe, we gotta hang out here until I think we're safe, anyway, you may as well tell me why you were in here."

"I may as well not," Cas snaps. Not his most clever retort, but he's tired and cold and he doesn't want to talk about this.

Dean rolls his eyes and rearranges himself so he's lying crossways in the tube, his head near Cas' feet. "Touchy," he comments easily.

Cas ignores him to lie back down and glare at the top of the Tunnel. The wind is making the trees rustle and the swings sway outside, screeching softly carrying its way to the two hidden men.

Cas is irrationally angry, he knows. It's certainly not Dean's fault that, should he disappear tonight, no one would miss him. Oh, maybe Gabe would notice, but he certainly wouldn't worry. He's too busy scamming people and chasing his completely insane girlfriend to notice Cas. The thought that Luke or Naomi would notice almost makes Cas chuckle. Ridiculous.

"Sorry," Dean says eventually. "I, uh, sometimes I don't know when to stop."

Cas leaves the silence be, because he doesn't know what to say, really. This is probably the longest conversation he's had with another person for weeks, at least, if not month. God knows he and Naomi don't talk, not anymore, his brothers are in the wind, and the only person he talks to is Meg. Their conversations are pretty limited to "Got a smoke?" and "I hate this place."

"Don't apologize," he says finally. "My 'people skills' are 'rusty.'" He raises his hands to do the air quotes, though he's sure Dean is staring at the ceiling just like he is.

Dean huffs a laugh. "Sweetheart, I'm kidnapping you from a tunnel in a playground. As far as manners go, you've got the upper hand."

"Stop calling me pet names."

"Well, I don't know your real name, what do you want me to call you?"

"Ideally, you wouldn't call me anything, and you'd just let me go home."

He sees in his peripherals that Dean sits up to look at him, but Cas doesn't let his eyes leave the point on the ceiling of the Tunnel that they're looking at. "Look, if I could, I would, but I'm trying not to be as stupid as my father thinks I am," Dean says gently. He seems to think for a moment, then, "Here's the plan. I'm going to take you with me tonight. A few towns over, maybe, or in a couple of days, I'll drop you at a bus station with enough cash to get back."

Cas considers that for a moment, then shrugs. "All right."

"And listen," Dean says, earnest again, his green eyes shining in the paltry light still getting in when Cas looks up to meet his gaze. "We can leave a note for your parents, or whatever, so they're not worried. It'll be like a vacation, really, 'cause I got no plans, just me, the open road, and my Baby." His grin turns rakish. "And now you."

Cas ignores the part about leaving a note for Naomi, because she won't care. "Baby?"

"Hell, yeah. My '67 Impala. Best damn thing that ever happened to me."

His words are light and even, like he doesn't have a care in the world, and Cas just doesn't understand that. What's happening here? Dean is a gangster. He should be intimidating Cas, or hurting him, or restraining him. Instead, they're lying here like they're… Like they're friends. Or, like Cas assumes friends would act, anyway.

"Dean, what would you do if I tried to run?"

"I'd catch you." The words are easy, confident. Dean has no doubt that he could catch Cas.

"Would you, now?"

Dean chuckles. "Well, I mean, yeah. Again, you're kind of scrawny, and no offense, but you smell like an ashtray. That shit kills your lungs."

Cas doesn't bother to point out that the cigarettes Dean smells are from Naomi, not himself. Cas hides his habit better than his mother does.

Cas is good at hiding things.

"I don't know, I've got long legs, and I'm familiar with the area. I might know of some hiding places that I could use to get away."

He feels Dean shrug. "Maybe, but I think you could have done that already if you were going to. I dunno, babe, I think that you don't have anywhere else to be."

The words send chills through Cas' spine. "Excuse me?"

"In my experience, people who wanna go home try to fight their way there. You haven't been fightin' me all that hard."

How dare he? How dare he pretend he knows Cas? How dare he act like he has any goddamn idea what Cas goes through, what Cas lives with, what Cas has lived through.

"Fuck you," he says softly, vehemently, trying to inject as much poison as he can into the words.

Dean sits up, but Cas stares at the ceiling stubbornly, fuming. "Look, sweetheart, I got no idea what's goin' on with you, I really don't. What I do know, is that when I crawled in here and kicked the shit out of you, not only did you not hunch over like it hurt, you just glared at me like I ran into your bedroom and took the blanket."

By this time, Cas' eyes have drifted down to meet Dean's, outside of his own volition. Dean's eyes are searching, still earnest, and soft. It's just this side of too much, and Cas almost looks away. He doesn't, he manages to keep eye contact, but it's a close thing.

"What's your name?" Dean's words are gentle, reverent, almost lost in the ambient noise of being outside at night.

"Cas," he replies. "My name is Cas."

-Feedback gets my motor running.