TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS STORY: PROSTITUTION, SUICIDE ATTEMPTS, TORTURE, RAPE/NON-CON, CHILD ABUSE, AND FLASHBACKS TO ALL OF THEE ABOVE. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS STORY I FAY OF THESE THINGS TRIGGER OR UPSET YOU. I WILL POST SPECIFICS ABOUT EACH CHAPTER IN MY AUTHOR'S NOTE.

Chapter 2 warnings: mentions of underage prostitution and child abuse.

Chapter 2

Dean showers in the motel room. He figures that he helped pay for it and they weren't supposed to be leaving until nightfall anyways, so he has a good few hours. Before the maid comes to clean the room, Dean sneaks out with wet hair and a fresh pair of jeans, and all of his meagre belongings in a plastic bag from Target.

He doesn't know where else to go, so Dean starts walking in the direction he vaguely remembers running in earlier. John hadn't planned on staying in Flagstaff long, just enough to take a look at some old cars his old mentor had brought in, so the only reason Dean was out of the motel at all last week was to get some food. It had still been enough time for Sam to sneak out, and even if John hadn't come home early, Sam might still have been gone when he got back.

Soon enough, Dean reached the Roadhouse, the bar in front of the alley where Castiel lives. It's fairly busy for three on a Tuesday, so Dean figures that it must double as a restaurant, but who is he to judge the people sitting in stools and nursing beers? Places like this are where John Winchester spends most of his time, and Dean would be lying if he said he'd never used his fake I.D. to get in one and try to earn something to feed Sammy. Dean walks around to the back, where he spots the familiar dumpster. This time, he walks around it, and is pleased to see Castiel curled up underneath a few ratty sheets and a jacket, with a bag of clothes stuffed under his head. Dean sits down slowly, trying not to wake the sleeping boy, and leans his head against the building behind them. Exhausted by the events of the last few hours, Dean drifts off to sleep.

When he wakes up, it's considerably darker and Castiel is staring at him with a force that makes him slightly uncomfortable. He's about a foot away from Dean and is sitting with his legs crossed and hands folded. His dark hair is flat on one side and sticking straight up on the other, and Dean can't help but let a grin work its way across his face.

"Hi," he says stupidly, and mentally slaps himself. He's gate-crashed what passes as this kid's house, and all he has to say is 'hi'?

"Hello, Dean." Castiel's eyes don't stray from Dean, who clears his throat and glances around the alley uncomfortably.

"Um. Personal space, Cas. It's a thing, you know?" Castiel blushes faintly and glances down at his lap.

"Sorry. I haven't had much social interaction in my life." Dean glances at his clothes, the ripped black skinny jeans that look like they're just a few wears away from falling apart and the painted-on shirt that frames the boy's chest and raises an eyebrow. Cas's blush deepens. "That-that's not what I meant."

"Sorry," Dean offers. Cas nods, still mostly looking away from Dean.

"So," he says, after a moment of silence. "You came back." Dean nods, and finally Cas meets his gaze again.

"Yeah."

"May I ask why?" Dean shrugs.

"My dad left me. I've got nowhere else to go. Chances are I would've ended up somewhere like this anyways." Dean sits forward and rolls out the kinks in his neck, cursing himself for falling asleep upright. He takes in his surroundings slowly, neither him nor Castiel saying a word. The alley is lit by the faint glow of street lamps on the corners of the block, even though it's clear that the sun has just recently gone down. People are walking in and out of the Roadhouse, some obviously drunk and others just heading home after a nice meal.

"When do you start working?" Dean asks abruptly. He knows what Cas most likely does for a living; he's been doing it for years to keep him and Sammy on their feet. Cas shoots him a wary look, like he's not sure what Dean's going to do next.

"Usually about an hour from now. Why?" Dean lifts one shoulder and lets it drop casually.

"Just wondering if you wanted to protect your territory or something." Castiel visibly relaxes.

"Not really. You've worked a corner before, then?" He unfolds his hands and places them on the ground, lifting himself up and moving so that he and Dean are nearly shoulder-to-shoulder.

"More times than I can count. Someone had to keep me and Sam alive while my dad was off getting drunk." At that thought, Dean's stomach rolls. Will John be able to provide for Sam like Dean did, or will he just let the kid take care of himself while he gets pissed? Dean always made sure that Sam always had clothes that fit and food he liked, and he never resented the kid for anything he had to do to get the money. What will John be willing to give up to keep Sam happy?

"A long time? How old are you?" Cas inquires.

"Eighteen, if anyone's asking," Dean replies with a wry grin Cas readily returns.

"Ditto. What a pair we make, huh?"

"Yeah. So if we're both going to be hooking tonight and you still want me to stay, how are we gonna do this?" Dean asks, getting back to the point he was trying to make earlier.

"You can take the other corner if you like; a lot of the Roadhouse's patrons leave that way. I've switched back and forth before, but I have a few regulars that come this way consistently." Dean thinks that over. Cas is giving him a place to stay (although technically it's neither his nor a legitimate dwelling), and he's offering to give up a regular spot to him.

"You must be really starved for human contact if you're willing to let me crash your party," Dean marvels.

"I'm not normally, although I've probably spoken to less than a hundred people in my life if you're not counting customers," Cas responds seriously, and Dean just about chokes on his own spit.

"Less than...you know what? I won't even ask." Cas laughs and knocks his shoulder into Dean's.

"Shut up. Asshole." Dean grins. This is the kind of playful banter he'd had with Sam on the good days when John had been gone for a while and wouldn't be back for a few days yet. Dean had made sure to fight with Sam as little as possible when their dad was gone because Sam and John never got along and could hardly be in the same room for five minutes without disagreeing on something or other.

A moment later, Cas's eyes fix on a man coming out of the Roadhouse door and stands quickly.

"Guess that's my cue," Dean says, accepting the offered hand and pulling himself upright.

"Good hunting, Cas," Dean tosses over his shoulder as he walks away, and grins when he hears Cas laugh.

"You too, Dean."