And this was supposed to be the easy part!
He'd been on the stand for hours, had already outlined his personal history and his relationship with Naomi and Adler. In graphic detail, he'd discussed how it begun, how it ended, and highlighted some of the things that had happened during those endless five years. His skin was clammy in the over-chilled air, his heart beat erratic, and only a white-knuckled grip on the wood barrier before him prevented Castiel's hands from shaking.
"Yes, I remember the incident pictured."
Castiel, Alastair, and the Dallas District Attorney, a strange fellow named Fitzgerald, had gone over Castiel's testimony repeatedly over the past few months, yet nothing prepared him for sitting in a court room staring a projection of himself naked, starved, burned and bloody. Among the items found when Naomi's home was searched by police were album after album of photographs of her subs post-scene. She had more of Castiel than any other sub. Seeing them, working with the two lawyers to choose which to share with the jury, had been awful. Sitting before a room full of people gawking at him felt worse still.
"Will you please describe what happened that led to the taking of this photograph?"
No, no I won't, I don't want to.
Eyes flicking to Naomi, Castiel caught a faint upturn of her lips, the subtle self-satisfaction that only one who knew Naomi intimately would recognize hiding behind her cold eyes and impassive expression.
She's gloating. She knows exactly what she did to me. She knows precisely how difficult it's going to be to convince a jury that I didn't want the things she did to me. She's even got her current sub to come here and tell them it's all a mistake, a misunderstanding, that's she's a perfect angel.
I have to stop her.
"During the summer of 2000, I suggested to Naomi that I would like to return home to visit my parents for a few weeks since I hadn't visited them for over a year," Castiel said. He kept his voice clinical, detached, his expression neutral. He was in control of himself. He could say what needed to be said. Flickers of panic tried to eat away at his calm, images of the past returning to him so powerfully that he could feel the gnawing emptiness in his stomach, the dizziness of dehydration, the agony of his torn rim and channel. "Not only did Naomi deny me permission to visit them, she deemed the mere request an inappropriate imposition. Though I conceded to her wishes and indicated that I would remain in Urbana-Champaign as she had asked, she was still displeased and thus she enacted the punishment you see. At the time that picture was taken, I had spent two weeks locked in her basement. She denied me food and gave me minimal amounts of water. She told me that I could earn forgiveness if I entertained her friend. I agreed to do so, at which point Mr. Adler had anal intercourse with me."
"So, you consented to have sex?" said Mr. Fitzgerald in his relaxed, slow way of speaking. With his open smile and bright tone of voice, he seemed like the last person to prosecute violent offenses, the last person who could sanguinely stand before a room of people and discuss rape and murder like most people talked about the weather. Castiel wondered if that upbeat attitude was the secret to Mr. Fitzgerald's success. Wondering about that was far more pleasant than thinking about Naomi and Zachariah.
"I did," Castiel said. There was no point hedging. Fitzgerald and Alastair agreed that in order to convince the jury, the 12 people who theoretically were a panel of Castiel's peers needed to understand the extent of the duress that Castiel had been placed under. Every person in the jury needed to recognize that while Castiel had agreed to serve Naomi that wasn't the same as allowing her to cut him off from his family, isolate him, torture him, rape him, or starve him into compliance when he dared to protest her treatment of him. "Earlier that same year, she'd locked me in her basement for a month. I was afraid she'd do so again. I was starving, my muscles atrophying, and I was beginning to suffer from hallucinations. Naomi knew that I did not enjoy being penetrated by other men and frequently used that to punish me. I did not want to have sex with Adler but granting my permission ensured that I would be fed, I would be allowed to walk around, I could see sunlight again." Shuddering, Castiel turned to face the jury, taking a moment to make eye contact with each. Alastair said that Castiel's testimony would go over better if he could make a personal connection with the jurors. Looking at them now, Castiel wanted to hide from the aggression and distaste and disgust he saw painted over their faces. Some wouldn't even meet his eyes.
They think I'm repulsive. They think I deserved what Naomi did to me. They think that I wanted to be treated that way, that I enjoyed it…didn't I deserve it? Didn't I want it? Didn't I enjoy it?
Another shudder rubbed the ropes twined about his midsection over his nipples, jolted him with a burst of unexpected, unwelcome pleasure. They don't know I'm wearing bondage gear right in front of them, they don't know I'm so twisted I need this. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably, the rope rubbing at his ass, and reminded him of all the reassurance and support that Dean had lent him. Dean believed in him. Dean would take care of him – was taking care of him. The ropes didn't bind his torso to punish him, they were a reward, an embrace, a way for Dean to be there with him though Dean couldn't actually be in the court room.
No, no I didn't enjoy being with Naomi, and they don't all think so negatively of me. The old woman in the back row looks sympathetic. The 20-something sitting on the end is glaring at Naomi and Adler, not me. The woman in the red hat is blushing and keeps look at the naked picture, then back at me. They're embarrassed, they're disgusted, they're angry, but not necessarily with me. I didn't do anything wrong.
Yes I did. I did so many things wrong.
But that still doesn't mean that I deserved to be treated that way.
"Mr. Novak?"
"I'm sorry, can you repeat the question?" Castiel tore his eyes from the jury, sought Fitzgerald where he'd been standing before beside the projection screen. The courtroom was surprisingly small and cluttered, the area before the judge's bench a mess of tables for the prosecution and defense, a stand of flags, the bailiff, a stenographer, a TV on a rolling stand, a projector, and more. Fitzgerald stood before him as he had throughout the questioning, giving Castiel something near on which to focus so that his gaze wouldn't take in the huge number of observers packed into the seats. Though hundreds of eyes were on him, Castiel had concentrated on Fitzgerald, Alastair, Naomi, and the jury. He'd hardly noticed the existence of others in the court room. Ignoring them was essential to his sanity. If he had to consider what all of them thought of him…
"Would you please read aloud the contract that you signed when you agreed to submit to Naomi Tapping as your dominatrix?" Fitzgerald repeated, tapping a finger against a pile of papers he'd placed before Castiel while Castiel had been looking at Naomi. "As a reminder, these documents have been submitted for the court to review as Exhibit F."
Taking a deep breath, Castiel took up the papers. He'd read them repeatedly over the past few months and recalled how he'd felt when he'd first signed them, how hopeful he'd been, how bright the future had looked – Professor Tapping is beautiful, she cares about me, she's devastatingly intelligent, and she wants me, she wants me, she wants me, and she's going to help me, provided I adhere to her training regimen. I can do this. I can do this for me. I can do this for her. I'm going to become so much better than I ever was. " 'Let it be written that Naomi Tapping, hereafter referred to as the dominant partner, agrees to take on Castiel Shurley, hereafter referred to as the submissive partner, for training to better enable him to be a successful, satisfied adult.' "
She broke me and broke me and broke me.
Yet, I think I am a more successful adult, for all that. And now I'm even more satisfied.
After a fashion, she satisfied the terms of the contract.
With a shudder, Castiel continued, "' The dominant partner agrees to: 1. Outline specific rules for the submissive partner to obey. 2. Enforce these rules in all aspects of daily life. 3. Implement appropriate punishments when the submissive partner violates these rules.' " And that was it. That was all I agreed to. The problem was, the rules were in her head and the goal point always changed, usually without warning. " 'The submissive partner agrees to: 1. Obey the dominant partner at all times. 2. Submit to the will of the dominant partner in any and all regards. 3. Do their best to anticipate and conform to the dominant partner's wishes in all respects.' " Reading it aloud, Castiel shuddered. He had agreed, but what flimsy language! He'd been so grateful that she wanted to help that he hadn't cared that his end of the agreement amounted to three reiterations of 'I will do whatever Naomi asks me to without question.' " 'The undersigned have reviewed this contract and are in agreement on its terms and stipulations.' " There was just enough legalese that, at 19 years old, Castiel had been easily duped. " 'Signed, Castiel Shurley and Naomi Tapping, November 5th, 1997.' " Ashamed that he had agreed to be used, ashamed that he had signed himself over completely, Castiel stared at his hands. The air in the court room was so cold that the veins of his hands were visible as purple lines against the pale skin. A pair of old scars made puckered circles on the back of his palms, white against the purple, where Naomi had driven thick nails through his hands. Grimacing, he kept his eyes lowered.
He'd been a fool to sign that contract, a fool to agree to be hers, and now it would probably be why she walked away from this court room a free woman.
"Mr. Novak, how old were you when you signed this contract?" Fitzgerald gave him a reassuring smile.
"I had recently turned 19," said Castiel. Someone in the juror's box gasped but he refused to look up to see who.
"How old was Ms. Tapping?"
"I'm not sure," Castiel admitted, "but I believe she was in her late 30s or early 40s."
"Why did you change your name from Shurley to Novak?"
"When I left, I was scared she'd try to find me." There was no keeping his voice clinical as Castiel made the admission. He hated owning his fear but Fitzgerald said it was critical that the jury understand how terrified he'd been, how terrified he still was even after so many years, so he let his horror leak free. "I was scared she'd try to make me go back. I was scared that she'd use the contract I'd signed to convince the police to help her recapture me. I was scared I was doomed to be her slave for the rest of my life. I thought she might kill me. Leaving her was the most difficult thing I've ever done. I knew exactly what she was capable of when she was angry, and it terrified me. So I changed my name and moved across the country and hoped she wouldn't find me. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't think anyone would help me."
No one did help me. No one until I met Dean.
"Thank you, Mr. Novak," said Fitzgerald. "That will be all."
Taking deep, slow breaths, Castiel tried to regain some strength and calm as the judge announced, "Defense, your witness."
For the first time, Castiel allowed himself a view of the court room. A sea of faces stared at him, most impassive or judgmental – no, I'm projecting again, I'm always projecting – but before he could scan the crowd his view was arrested by Naomi's lawyer standing. He was a broad shouldered black man, head shaved, expression stern and agonizingly familiar. The precious steadiness that Castiel had gathered in the moments since Fitzgerald sat shattered. Eyes wide, he stared and tried desperately to keep his breathing under control.
The lawyer for the defense was Naomi's friend Uriel. How had no one told Castiel that? How had he not noticed before? In the harsh lighting of the courtroom, in his blocky suit, Uriel was even more intimidating than he'd been on a dark July 4th night all those years ago. Castiel's eyes flicked to the picture of him, still projected for the court room to see.
…get a new pet…
When that image had been taken, July 4th was two weeks past but the wounds from it had scarce healed thanks to the abuse heaped on him since.
…he does look pretty scarred…
His chest was raw and leaking puss, the burns weeks old but untreated: the constellation on his chest, the raw injury left where Adler had pressed a coal to his shoulder, the angry bruises scattered on his thighs and waist and ass, left by powerful hands as Naomi had let first Adler, then Uriel, then many of the other guests have a go at Castiel – so many he'd lost count. It had hurt, it had hurt so much, and he hadn't even gotten hard, hadn't come. That was why Naomi had locked him up afterwards.
…thank you for giving me the chance to show him proper discipline…
He hadn't been good. He hadn't earned forgiveness.
…I see why you like him, he takes a cock so well; he weeps so prettily when he's obeying a command he doesn't like…
Forgiveness was unachievable.
Bile rose in Castiel's throat. Frantic for some kind of support to strengthen him, he sat up straight to rub the ropes against his back, but all they did was remind him of how filthy he was, spiking pain through the new cuts Dean had made the previous night. His eyes scanned the courtroom – what else had he missed? Who else from his past was here to haunt and intimidate him? Had none of the submissives who'd been on the stand said anything about Uriel? Was it even legal for Uriel to question him, given their past together? Was Castiel allowed to speak up? Your honor, before the questioning begins I think you need to know that the attorney for the defense repeatedly raped me. Fitzgerald and Alastair had insisted that Castiel must not speak out of turn, must not get angry, must not rise to any challenges that Naomi and her team threw his way. They'd warned him that if he violated the courtroom rules he'd be found in contempt of court. Fitzgerald sat at a desk for the prosecution, an assistant whose name Castiel didn't know sat beside him. Alastair lounged behind them, managing to appear at complete ease despite being crowded by strangers on both sides, eyes narrowed as he took in everything that happened. A sea of faces surrounded Alastair, none familiar, all judging, all harsh. No, no, that's not… Naomi gave Castiel another secretive, gentle smile. Adler smirked. And behind them…
Castiel blinked.
Have they been there the whole time?
Red hair framing her lovely, kind face, Charlie gave Castiel a half smile and a covert thumbs-up. Beside her, Gilda's head was tilted to the side, her eyes wide and liquid with sympathy.
Oh God, they heard everything, they saw the pictures, they know…they both know…
"Permission to treat the witness as hostile?"
Castiel's attention snapped back to Uriel. The attorney gave him a predatory smile and Castiel tensed his muscles to keep from cowering into the uncomfortable chair on which he sat to testify. Body taut, one of the cuts on his back tore open with a burst of welcome pain; ropes dug into his flesh.
What did I do wrong?
"Mr. Novak, will you answer the question?" The judge leaned over the bench to give Castiel a steely look. There was something pinched to her expression, though, and Castiel dared to hope that behind her impassive eyes, she wasn't unsympathetic.
Uriel he hurt me too. He raped me too. Is this legal? Is he allowed to question me, intimidate me, threaten me? Can I say something? Can I stop this?
"I'm sorry," Castiel stammered. He gulped a deep breath and seized control of himself.
Alastair said to adhere to the rules of the courtroom. Alastair said that while I was being cross-interrogated I must speak only when questioned, I must answer honestly, I must make it clear that I was a victim and they the aggressors.
"Can you please repeat the question?"
Uriel quirked an eyebrow, shot the jury a theatrical, skeptical look, and then said mildly, "Mr. Shurley," he gestured at the picture, "did you leave Ms. Tapping in the aftermath of the incident you described, the incident that led you to appear like that?"
"No," Castiel said. "As I explained—"
"Yes, thank you, we heard your earlier allegations concerning the nature of your relationship with Ms. Tapping," Uriel interrupted harshly. Castiel flinched and cast his gaze towards Fitzgerald and Alastair. Is he allowed to interrupt me like that? Fitzgerald looked mildly troubled; Alastair's eyes were even narrower than before, but neither objected. Are they angry at me? They look like they're angry at me… "Why didn't you leave?"
"I…what?" It wasn't the question he'd been expecting. During the preparation he'd been given, Fitzgerald had said that the defense's lawyer would attack Castiel's consent, discuss the contract, attempt to convince the jury that regardless of the harshness of his treatment, Castiel had agreed to belong to Naomi. That was why they'd discussed the contract, broached the topic, seized the initiative before the defense – Didn't Fitzgerald say that his name was Wisdom or something? – could spin the contract against him, use it as a bludgeon to convince the jury that Castiel had consented to do whatever Naomi wanted no matter how unreasonable, no matter how it threatened his life.
"If you were unhappy with the situation in 2000, why didn't you leave until 2002?" Uriel repeated, rolling his eyes dramatically at the need to clarify himself.
"I've already told the court, I left because—"
"Please, your honor, the witness is clearly dodging my questions. If I may treat him as hostile, it would greatly facilitate getting at the truth of this matter."
"Request denied," said Judge Mills. "Mr. Novak, I remind you that you have sworn oath to answer the questions put to you honestly and directly."
"Of course, of course, I…" Why didn't I leave in 2000? "I didn't leave in 2000 because…" I don't know. I was miserable, I was terrified, yet I stayed. Can I say that? He looked to Fitzgerald and Alastair and saw nothing to help him. Glancing to Charlie and Gilda, he grimaced. Both looked so earnest and encouraging. With a shiver, he looked back to the expectant Uriel, who projected angry impatience for all to see. I'm not actually being difficult, but he clearly hopes that if he pretends I am and screams it loudly enough he'll be able to convince the jury that I am resisting his questioning, that they'll think I have something to hide. I can't let him mislead them like that, can't let him use me. I have to…I have to… Ropes nudged against his sides. I have to get control of myself, tell the truth, and do my best. Dean believes in me. Charlie and Gilda believe in me. I can do this. "Honestly, I am not sure why I didn't leave in 2000. I was scared and unhappy, but I feared the consequences of trying to escape. Further I…I think I thought Naomi – I mean Ms. Tapping – cared about me."
"You think you thought?" asked Uriel sarcastically. "You aren't sure why you didn't leave? Sounds more like you didn't actually want to leave until later – until you found out she'd lied to you. You didn't leave because you found her treatment unpleasant, you left because of deception – a perfectly ordinary reason to leave, and unrelated to your absurd allegations that you were raped or abused in a relationship that you gave full consent to."
"Objection – is there a question in all that conjecture and badgering?" Fitzgerald said mildly.
"If you're done with the witness…" Judge Mills trailed off and looked to Uriel expectantly.
"I am not," Uriel replied. Sauntering casually up to the projector, Uriel picked up the remote and scrolled through images before settling on one that made Castiel's blood run cold. Naomi was dressed in an attractive, well cut pants suit, as usual, this one a rich rosy gray; Castiel knelt before her, naked save for a collar and a long chain binding cuffs on his wrists together. The angle of the camera hid his penis but showed the ragged tears on his back, blood pooling in the crack where he his legs met beneath him. More blood splattered his face, and the bottoms of his feet were torn open. The look on his face as he stared at Naomi was pure adoration, unmistakable: eyes wide, pupils deep with lust, lips parted slightly around a loving smile. "Mr. Shurley, do you remember this day?"
"Yes," Castiel whispered. God, where had all the pictures come from? How had so many photographs been taken of those days without his even knowing?
"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you," Uriel snapped.
"Yes, sir, I remember that day," Castiel said with what strength he could find.
"Do you intend to share that memory with the court?" asked Uriel dryly.
Panic flickered through Castiel, tingled unpleasantly through his skin.
Was I supposed to say? But he didn't ask me to explain – I answered his question, I answered it exactly as it was asked, what did I do wrong, what did I…
No one was speaking. Everyone was staring at him, waiting.
"Mr. Shurley?" Uriel said. "Your honor, this is ridiculous!"
"Mr. Wisdom, please stop trying to turn my court room into a circus act and allow Mr. Novak time to answer," advised Judge Mills mildly.
It's not just me – Uriel is playing up his replies. Okay – okay, I can do this.
"We were celebrating my graduation from college," Castiel forced out each word, tone clipped, emotionless. If he let himself feel, if he let himself express those feelings, he'd break. "Naomi asked me what I wished from her by way of reward for my hard work. I asked her to…" He trailed off, quavering. Naomi's eyes glittered malevolently as she gave him an affectionate smile. "I asked her to whip me and then make love to me, and she did."
I was happy that day. For once, I was happy. Briefly, I was good enough.
"You asked her to whip you?" said Uriel. "That implies that you enjoyed it."
"I haven't hidden that I'm a masochist and submissive," Castiel replied. "It's different when—"
"Excuse me, none of that answers my question," Uriel said.
"Yes, it does," Castiel's temper rose. He was doing his best. "You asked me if I requested her to beat me, and I did, I haven't attempted to hide that I enjoy—"
"Please contain yourself, Mr. Novak," Judge Mills said. With a shaky breath, Castiel tried to calm himself, but his heart raced, his hands shook.
"Mr. Shurley, please show the courtroom your back," Uriel said.
"No! No, I can't," Castiel stammered.
They'll see – they'll see everything!
"Objection. Your honor, what can possibly be the relevance of asking Mr. Novak to reveal himself before those who have abused and hurt him?" Fitzgerald finally, finally came to Castiel's rescue. Castiel struggled to keep a grateful look off his face.
"Mr. Wisdom?" Judge Mills looked the question at Uriel.
"The jury has been shown a small selection of highly prejudicial images and told several stories that are supposedly meant to demonstrate abuse that Mr. Novak sustained over the course of years," Uriel explained. "Our point is, obviously, that there was no abuse. Not only did Mr. Shurley enjoy what was done to him, he even requested such treatment as a reward. The scars on his back will make it clear how sustained the treatment was and allow the jury to understand that had Mr. Shurley truly not desired—"
"Mr. Wisdom," Judge Mills cut in sharply, "save the exposition for your closing statement. I'll allow this, but if this becomes an excuse to harass Mr. Novak…"
"No," Castiel whispered. "Please, no, I can't—" Desperate for further rescue, he scanned the crowd but there was no help in Fitzgerald's sympathetic half-shrug, in Alastair's hard stare, in Gilda's horror-struck gasp, in Uriel's victorious smirk. A juror wearing a full suit as if he was the lawyer was watching Castiel with undisguised hunger and Castiel's stomach churned.
"Mr. Shurley, please remove your jacket and shirt and show the court your back," demanded Uriel.
…I take it all back, your Cassie is such an obedient boy when he's properly disciplined…
…bend over and take my cock you little bitch…
...bet Naomi wishes she had a dick so that she could fuck you, too…
Panting, trying desperately not to make a spectacle of himself by vomiting in front of the court room, Castiel unbuttoned his jacket slowly. He tried to make every movement deliberate but it was hard; his hands trembled so badly he could scarce manage. Shrugging out of the jacket tugged at the ropes binding his torso.
They're going to see, oh my God, what will they think? Why did I let Dean do this? Why did I think this was a good idea? I always make the worst choices, this is why I can't be a sub, this is why I can't be with Dean, no, no, I can't give him up, I need him, I love him, he doesn't hurt me or mistreat me, he isn't Naomi.
"Anytime now, Mr. Shurley," growled Uriel. Castiel had frozen, he realized abruptly, with his hands on the knot of his tie.
"Mr. Wisdom, please restrain yourself from pestering Mr. Novak, this is clearly difficult for him," reprimanded Judge Mills.
She…she just pointed out for everyone that I'm not okay. She's trying to help. Is she even allowed to do that?
Is Uriel allowed to question me? Is my rapist – yes, he's my goddamn rapist – allowed to force me to bare myself in a court room? Obviously I don't understand how any of this works, I should accept what kindnesses I can find and hope that the jury isn't too prejudiced against me when they see…
Castiel tugged off his tie. Button by button, he undid his shirt, revealing the rope down the center of his chest and stomach, the pale spots left by the burns he'd sustained. He kept his gaze on what he was doing. If he watched the courtroom react to his reveal, he'd shatter. When he had the last button undone, Castiel tugged the cuffs over his hands and took his shirt off and exposed everything: scars and ropes and skin tanned during the time he spent swimming and the bandages over his shoulders and the broken fragments that still, barely, could be understood as the letter carved over the small of his back.
Uriel chuckled darkly and Castiel's insides twisted into knots.
"My, my. Isn't that interesting."
"Mr. Wisdom," the Judge snapped.
"My apologies, your honor," Uriel said smoothly. "Mr. Shurley, thank you. Care to explain to the courtroom what you're hiding beneath those bandages?"
"Objection!" Fitzgerald actually sounded angry, the most moved Castiel had heard him since they'd met. Castiel refused to look, refused to see everyone staring at him, but he heard a chair shrieking over the tile floor, hard-soled shoes stepping forward. "What Mr. Novak does now has no bearing on this case!"
"Yes, it does," said Uriel, implacable. "What Mr. Shurley chooses to do is the entirety of this case! What about the ropes, Mr. Shurley?" Castiel expected additional questions, more badgering, but there was nothing but silence so deep he could have heard a pin drop if not for the pounding of his heart.
"Please answer, Mr. Novak," said Judge Mills, not unkindly. It didn't matter how nice she sounded – she'd permitted this, encouraged it, and now Castiel was trapped, as trapped as he'd been in Naomi's basement.
"My…" He licked his lips but his mouth was so dry. "My current dom…" He chanced a single look up, only to see Charlie and Gilda, only to get permission and reassurance from the most sympathetic people in the entire room.
I wish Dean was here.
A sudden vision of Dean – calm, in control, clear-eyed and confident – came to Castiel. Dean wouldn't be angry with him. Dean wouldn't judge him. The differences between Dean and Naomi was so obvious to Castiel. If he had to speak about Dean in front of everyone, then he had to be sure that the differences were as obvious to his audience. "My boyfriend, Dean, tied this around me this morning as a way to help me through this ordeal."
"And what are the bloody bandages covering?" Uriel's tone made it clear how little he thought of Castiel's careful word choice.
The blood shows through? They know it's fresh, they know I'm still broken…no, those cuts are fixing me, not like Naomi claimed to fix me. Dean is not Naomi, Dean will never be like Naomi.
"Dean cut me yesterday, because I—"
"I didn't ask you why Mr. Shurley," Uriel interrupted. "You enjoy being cut?"
Why shouldn't I?
"Yes."
I wanted this. I asked for it. Dean wanted it. He accepted my request.
"Those scars – you enjoyed receiving those as well?"
I never asked Naomi to scar me. Yes, I requested some whippings. Those I enjoyed. Those are not why she's being prosecuted.
"Some of them."
I didn't ask to be burned. I didn't ask to be raped. I didn't ask to be imprisoned. I never wanted that. I had no choice.
"So you say."
Had she asked me then, I would have told her. When I tried to tell her, she ignored me.
"Objection!"
The jury knows that. I told them about her punishment when I used my safeword. I told them about the times I begged her not to let Adler use me. I told her how upset she became if I wasn't aroused by her abuse. I told them everything.
"Sustained," Judge Mills said. "Please don't interpret the witness, or put words in his mouth."
They've heard from experts on BDSM who have, Fitzgerald assures me, explained to them the difference between consensual and nonconsensual kink. They've got the framework for judging my actions, Naomi's actions, Adler's action. I have to trust the jury to help me.
"My apologies, your honor. Mr. Shurley, this Dean you mention, is that the same Mr. Dean Winchester who assaulted Mr. Adler?" Uriel asked.
Naomi didn't help me. None of her friends helped me. None of the strangers who saw my bruises ever helped me.
"Yes, sir."
Other than Dean, Charlie and Gilda, no one has ever helped me.
"Sounds like a dangerous fellow…"
How am I supposed to trust the jury to do the right thing?
"Mr. Wisdom," Judge Mills said ominously.
How am I supposed to trust that Naomi and Adler will receive the punishment they deserve?
"When you break up with him, do you intend to prosecute him as well?"
I wonder if anyone has ever punished them for anything.
"Your honor, this is absurd – objection!" interjected Fitzgerald.
Fitzgerald is helping. Alastair is helping. It's not just Dean and Charlie and Gilda.
"Sustained. That's enough, Mr. Wisdom."
Even Judge Mills is helping, and she's never met me before.
"I think I've made my point," Uriel gave Castiel a predatory smile that Castiel did his best to ignore as he tugged his shirt back on. "And Mr. Shurley, who was responsible for the attack on Ms. Tapping?"
Judging by his superior, triumphant expression, Uriel clearly thought that he had the upper hand by asking that question, but Alastair, Castiel and Fitzgerald had been over this and agreed that should Castiel be asked directly, under oath, who was responsible for hitting Naomi with the computer monitor, he should not lie.
"I did," Castiel said calmly. The jury already knew how she had imprisoned him against his will, in the past and at Sandover. There was no point in beating around the bush.
"Even though Mr. Winchester told the police he had done so?"
"Yes, he was trying to protect me," Castiel spoke in a rush before Uriel could cut him off with another of his pointed I didn't ask that statements.
"Please instruct the witness to stop answering questions I didn't ask," Uriel snarled.
There was a tense pause.
"Please desist from instructing the bench on how best to do our job," Mills replied with icy calm.
In the front row, Charlie broke into astonished laughter. Several other observers followed suit, and the fraught atmosphere that had reigned since Uriel began his aggressive questioning shattered. As Castiel got the last button done on his shirt, Uriel scowled, shot Castiel an unpleasant look, and said, "No more questions."
"Thank you, Mr. Wisdom."
"Your honor," Fitzgerald leapt to his feet and approached the bench. "Permission to redirect?"
"Be my guest," Judge Mills replied with an inviting gesture. Castiel managed a wan smile, trying to recall all the advice he'd been given on how to behave in order to appear most sympathetic to the jury. Nothing sprang to mind, though. Uriel resumed his seat and glowered at Castiel. Charlie pantomimed strangling him.
"Please describe, briefly, your relationship with Mr. Winchester."
"Objection," Uriel said as if bored of the entire affair. "How is that relevant?"
"You opened the door to a discussion of Mr. Novak's current relationship," Judge Mills said. "Please continue, Mr. Fitzgerald."
"Thank you, your honor." Fiztgerald's easy smiles and calm demeanor were back in full force. "Mr. Novak?"
"Mr. Winchester and I met last summer through an online relationship site," said Castiel.
"The same forum through which Mr. Adler found you?" Fitzgerald interjected.
"Yes – SextersAnon dot com," Castiel agreed. "We engaged in a long distance relationship for six months and met in person two days before my encounter with Ms. Tapping at the Sandover building. Since then, we've been dating, and recently we have resumed a dominant/submissive relationship."
"Congratulations, Mr. Novak," said Fitzgerald with a genuine grin. Uriel managed a single syllable of angry retort before Fitzgerald held up a restraining hand. "Sorry, sorry. Do you and Mr. Winchester have a contract?"
"No."
"Then how do you determine what is and is not acceptable behavior?" Fitzgerald played up his mystification.
"Dean and I have spoken extensively about our shared interests in kink," Castiel explained for the benefit of the jury. "We have not done a single scene together – that is to say, a planned sexual encounter in which Dean and I engage in consensual dominant and submissive behavior – that hasn't been discussed and vetted. The entire basis for our relationship is consent, by which I mean specific explicit consent for each type of activity in which we engage. Dean once told me that I was a masochist, not a doormat, and I think that's an apt description – just because I have agreed to be hurt does not mean that every single day, every single moment, I have the mental and physical strength to be controlled or be hurt. My relationship with Dean reflects that reality. Acceptable behavior is determined by mutual consensus."
"And your relationship with Ms. Tapping was not?"
"Leading the witness," Uriel snapped.
"It's just a follow up question, your honor," said Fitzgerald innocently.
"Agreed. Mr. Novak?"
"No," Castiel replied to Fitzgerald's last question, "after I signed the contract, Naomi required that I move in with her and submit to whatever she wished. I did not understand that those would be her expectations, but I wanted to be a good submissive for her, so I obeyed. There was no time in our lives together that she asked me if I was comfortable with something she planned to do to me, if – for example – I was willing to submit to her expectation that I have sex with other people. When I expressed to her that I did not like doing that, her reply was that if I did not like then I should behave better – that if I behaved, she wouldn't need to punish me, but as long as I didn't behave she was under no obligation to refrain from doing things I did not like. I—"
"Your honor!" Uriel interrupted. Blinking, Castiel cast about for some indication of what he'd done wrong, but no one offered anything.
"Thank you, Mr. Novak," Fitzgerald said graciously before Judge Mills could speak. "That will be all."
"You are aware that we are in the men's bathroom, right?" Castiel said hoarsely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The room was dark, overcrowded with small stalls, and smelled of feces and lemon cleaning detergent.
"Who gives a shit about some dicks?" Charlie replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm worried about you."
"I'm…"
It was Uriel, and I said all those things in front of everyone! There were members of the press there! It's going to be in the newspaper! Oh God, what if they print my picture? What if people recognize me after this?
Stomach heaving, Castiel leaned over and retched throat-searing bile in to the already reeking toilet bowl. Charlie made a sympathetic noise and squatted beside him, patting him on the back. Flickers of pain radiated out from where she touched, triggered spasms from the cuts that Dean had made. Breathing raggedly, Castiel longed for something to wash the taste of vomit from his mouth. As if on cue, Charlie offered him a water bottle.
"You did fantastic, Cas," she said reassuringly. "Everyone could see what a douche bag Mr. Wisdom was being—"
"Uriel," Castiel interrupted. With a groan, he leaned over and threw up again, sick yellow mixed with the fresh water he'd barely had a chance to swallow. Charlie patted a line down his spine, pressing the ropes into his skin. "His name is Uriel."
"What?" Charlie said, startled. "I thought it was…the newspapers said it was R. U. Wisdom. It was such an absurd name, I remembered it."
"He's a dom," explained Castiel. "He's one of Naomi's friends."
"Oh," she said. "Oh! Wait, did he…Cas…no, you don't have to tell me anything, I'm sorry, but…I mean…shit, I don't know anything about the law…lemme just…"
Nodding weakly, Castiel slumped against the cool porcelain as Charlie rose and went to the door. "Gilda, can you get Alastair?" he heard her say, though he didn't hear the answer. In moments, she was back at his side, cradling him gently, offering him more water. "Dean will be here soon, okay? That's good, right?"
"Yes," Castiel agreed, "it's great. You don't need to be so careful of me, Charlie, I'm better now – really."
"Yeah, I can tell by the way you're throwing up in the courthouse bathroom," she replied bitingly. Castiel flinched. "Dammit, Dean is rubbing off on me. I'm sorry, Cas. That was uncalled for. What you did today was, like, insanely brave. It's alright that you're upset now."
There was a knock on the bathroom door; Charlie rose, opened it, and called to Castiel, "is it alright if Alastair comes in to speak with you?" There was a pause during which Castiel could hear the rumble of a voice but the words blurred together incomprehensively. "Alone?"
"It's fine," Castiel said. It wasn't fine. He neither liked nor trusted Alastair, not after the things the sadist had done to Dean, but he was spent for the day and couldn't face the prospect of arguing back or upsetting either Charlie or Alastair with an objection.
"I'll be right outside," Charlie said. Footsteps and the clatter of the door striking the jamb spoke to Alastair coming in and Charlie departing.
"Good performance today," Alastair said. He had a peculiar way of speaking that always made it sound like he was being sarcastic. "Very impressive job Dean did on your back, too. I didn't think he had the balls to cut anyone, not now that he's turned to rope as a surrogate for a knife. Did you really consent to let him cut you? Always seemed to me he preferred unwilling victims."
Oh, no – no no no no – that's not true, that's not what Dean is like. Dean is not Naomi. Dean is not Naomi, Dean is not Naomi, Dean is not Naomi…
Dean IS NOT Alastair.
Coughing and spitting, Castiel managed to hold back as his stomach roiled again.
"Well, hopefully he won't get bored of you too quickly," Alastair continued. "But he's a lot like me in that regard; he gets bored so easily. It'd be a pity if you ended up with even more scars you regret – especially now that you've said, under oath, that you consented to Dean cutting you up. That would make it might-y hard to press charges should you change your mind and decide you're not so fond of Dean's special brand of violence." Dropping to a crouch beside Castiel, Alastair heaved an overdramatic sigh.
This is what Alastair is really like. This is what he's been hiding all trial. Why now treat me like this now? Why not before?
"He was always one of my favorites, but he hasn't been the same since he ventured out on his own – left part of himself behind on my operating table, if you ask me."
Because Alastair needed me to trust him. He needed me to testify. For his own ends – for this favor that Dean has promised him – Alastair has agreed to help, has delighted in taking down two other doms, but underneath the debonair exterior he's still a sadist.
"I carved him into a new person."
He cut Dean? He cut Dean. Why didn't Dean tell me? Alastair cut him – Alastair tortured him! Oh, Dean…
"I could do the same for you, if you wanted." A hand came to rest directly over one of Castiel's bandages, fingers dug into the torn flesh beneath, and Castiel shuddered in pain and disgust.
"No," snapped Castiel angrily, rounding on Alastair. The narrow-faced man didn't react beyond a cold smile. "Get your hands off me! Get out!"
"Didn't you have something you wanted to talk to me about?" coaxed Alastair.
"It doesn't matter," Castiel forced himself to his feet and out of the bathroom stall. The stall was claustrophobically small. The room was claustrophobically small. His breathing quickened.
No, he can't hurt me. Charlie and Gilda are right outside.
But what if I'm locked in again? What if, even if they want to help, they can't? What if I can't get away?
What do Uriel's actions matter in comparison to the prospect of Alastair getting his hands on me? Or, worse, on Dean?
"If it's relevant to the trial, I'd appreciate you letting me know," Alastair continued to smile at him. Castiel edged closer to the door, ready to make a dive for the handle. "After all of this anguish and angst and melodrama, it'd be a shame if we lost. And, if I don't have all the relevant information, you never know – anything will happen. I imagine Naomi will be quite upset with you when she's fr—"
Castiel's hand darted to the doorknob at the same instant there was a resounding knock and Dean's voice, dulled through the wood, called, "Cas, you okay in there?" The door jerked open to reveal Dean standing on the other side, hand raised to knock again, Charlie and Gilda standing behind him with matching worried grimaces painting their faces. "Get out of here, Alastair," Dean said, wrapping an arm protectively around Castiel's shoulders and tugging him into the hall. Relief flooded Castiel and he pressed into Dean's heat.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Alastair shook his head. "I am very disappointed in you, Dean. Your new toy is poorly behaved, and the marks you left on his back? I credited you with more…professionalism…than that." Stepping into the doorway, he loomed menacingly until Dean took a step back to allow him room enough to pass. "Well, be seeing you."
Neither Castiel nor his friends spoke until Alastair had disappeared down the hall. "Did he hurt you?" Dean demanded as soon as they had privacy.
"No," Castiel replied. It wasn't exactly a lie and he didn't want to talk about the things Alastair had said, not then, not in front of Charlie and Gilda.
"I'm sorry, Dean," Charlie said. "I had no idea that there was anything like…whatever I just overheard…between you."
"It's not your fault, Charlie," Dean shook his head. "It's mine. Alastair is one hell of a lawyer but he's also the most sadistic son of a bitch I ever met. He taught me everything I know."
"He said he cut you," breathed Castiel, soft enough that only Dean would be able to hear. "He said he hurt you." Dean's arms around him stiffened, tightened painfully, and Castiel couldn't stop a whimper.
"Sorry, Cas," Dean muttered. "We'll talk later, okay?" Speaking louder for the benefit of the women, he continued, "I know we said we'd do dinner, but maybe we could meet up tomorrow instead? I wanna get Cas back to the hotel – I'm guessing it was an even rougher day than we anticipated?" Gilda nodded emphatic agreement, and Charlie shot them each a concerned smile.
"Does tomorrow at 8 work?" Charlie said. She paused until they both nodded agreement. "Awesome. Give us a call if there's anything we can do to help. I hate that this happened to you two, ya know? After what happened to Gilda…well, we'll talk tomorrow, kay?"
"Sure," Dean said absently, his attention all on Castiel. A momentary flare of fear rattled Castiel. Dean looked so stern, so angry, his posture was so tense… "It's not you, Cas," Dean murmured, running a hand down Castiel's side. "Definitely not angry at you. Fuckin' Alastair…when we get back to the hotel, I'll tell you anything you want to know. Shoulda done so ages ago. Never shoulda let you think it'd be safe to be alone with him, not when he didn't need you any longer."
"You told me enough to know better," Castiel disagreed. "I should have—"
"Get home and get some rest, guys," Charlie interrupted, reminding them both that they were still in company, still standing in the echoing hallways of the Dallas Criminal Court building.
"See ya tomorrow, Charlie," Castiel said. He managed a smile to show her that he was alright, but she still looked worried. "Thank you both for coming to support me today."
"Anything we can do," Gilda promised.
"Seriously," Charlie agreed. "Peace out, bitches!"
Endnote:
Reminder: everything I know about the law I learned from TV and movies. Hopefully this isn't *too* far from what's actually possible...
Next chapter should be up Friday or Saturday.
