I remember the day, yeah
We used to fight together
Me and baby brother
Used to run together
Me and baby brother
Used to run together
Hang on, baby brother, oh
They call it law and order
Hey, hey, hey
- "Me and Baby Brother," War
"Wow." Sam is standing flabbergasted in the middle of his childhood home, rubbing the back of his neck beneath his carefully tamed mane of hair and staring at scrubbed and organized countertops, a pantry stocked with food, and neatly folded throw blankets from Cas's old apartment on the back of the old couch disguising the frayed upholstery. John's remaining paperwork; journals and accounting ledgers and supply forms are stacked neatly on the cleared-off desk in the corner where Castiel has taken up looking at the numbers when Dean is working on cars below. Nobody is ever going to accuse Cas and Dean of being HGTV-ready, but the subtle changes are significant. "Um. So you got a cleaning service and a roommate?"
"Turns out the whole 'cleanliness is next to Godliness' thing is really near and dear to Cas's pious, priestly heart. Or it is when he's nervous and stuck here anyway. I figured it wasn't hurting anyone so I let him go do his thing." Dean shrugs a little too casually, and though he's picking on the man there's a fondness to his voice and Sam has the distinct impression that Dean's enjoyed every bit of Castiel moving into the small apartment above the garage with him. They're not going to stay, but as long as they do, the fact that Cas is nesting is fairly endearing.
It's entirely Cas's doing, he just doesn't have the heart to reign him in. The guy's entire home was wrecked, Dean's not going to begrudge him a few throw blankets and pillows. And hell, Dean's had time on his hands waiting between the customers that Ellen and Jo have wrangled for him, so he doesn't exactly mind pitching in. That's his story and he's sticking to it no matter how skeptically amused a look his brother gives him.
Banging the side of his fist against the bathroom door, he raises his voice again and shrugs his suit jacket on. "C'mon, Cas, we haven't got all friggin' day! You stay in there and I'm making you ride with Sam in that clown car he got."
"The rental isn't a clown car, Dean. Just because I didn't use Cas's money to spring for a boat like the Impala. . ."
"Call my baby a boat one more time, Sammy. . ." Dean dares him, distracted when Castiel finally opens the bathroom door and he forgets the rest of his threat. It's been almost two weeks since Dean's seen Castiel without a scruffy beard, since the guy decided to take the homeless jobless thing to heart and not bother with shaving altogether. Dean swallows heavily, clears his throat, and reaches out to straighten Cas's collar over his tie. If Sam weren't here he'd be doing a lot different an activity. He'd thought that he had a thing for Cas scruffy and dressed down in a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of Dean's jeans or his old BDU pants in the summer heat, because it made him approachable and less frumpy. But Cas clean-shaved and dressed up in a suit and tie again does things to him. So he inevitably cakes it in a heavy layer of sarcasm rather than admit that in front of his brother. "'Bout time you got out of there. I was about to send in a rescue team."
Sam once again seems entirely unsold on Dean's gruff demeanor. So, for that matter, does Cas. Tipping his head to the side (the right angle for a kiss, not that Dean's thinking about it), his pale lips twitch into that faint impression of a smile he tends towards, worried blue eyes lighting up for the moment as he watches Dean watch him. He draws that plush lower lip into his mouth briefly under Dean's scrutiny, and dammit he does that on purpose.
Dean's not that obvious, they can both stop looking at him like that.
"Shut up," he grumbles at the completely silent pair before dropping his hands from Castiel's collar and grabbing his keys from the coffee table. As he walks by the kitchen table he grabs one of their breakfast biscuits from the table, the bottom scraped off entirely because Cas did the honors this morning and so only the top half is edible. Practice isn't turning Cas into a chef by any means, but the fact that even part of it isn't a charcoal briquette is progress. "Parking at the courthouse is a bitch, Sammy. We're all taking my car. I'm driving, you're telling us what to expect. You two fight it out for who rides shotgun." Dean's uncomfortable like it would mean announcing favorites between the two of them, and he doesn't even want to open that can of worms in his own head.
He loves his brother. And Cas means a lot to him. More than he should by now. When it's Sam that clambers into the shotgun seat beside him, he lets out a quietly relieved breath and then crams most of the biscuit into his mouth so he doesn't have to discuss anything as he gets them out of the garage and on the road. Cas's reflection dips his head slightly in the rearview with a look of understanding, and settles comfortably into the back seat. Dean could kiss him, but he has a mouth full of biscuit and his hands on the wheel, and that would mean admitting that Castiel's intuitive response wasn't off the mark.
Dean is his mate, but Sam is Dean's everything. Castiel didn't try to crowd Sam out at the police department after they were released and he doesn't intend to try now, either. Dean sees his brother less than he should. Castiel, meanwhile, intends to be beside Dean for the rest of their lives. There is no territorial competition between the Alphas.
"Alright. Today's the formal arraignment hearing. We kind of jumped the gun on part of this by getting bail posted the night you were arrested, thanks to Ellen getting the judge on the line for us, but today's where you meet with the judge and put in your plea, Cas." Sam's settled into the nickname himself, now, and Dean smiles faintly to hear it. "Meanwhile . . . they're going to have the prosecutor for the criminal case in the room with us. My job, today, is to convince him and the judge that there's enough doubt and evidence of self-defense that there's no sense prosecuting you for the criminal assault charges, Dean. If I can do that, after today you're in the clear except as the key witness in both Cas's criminal and his civil case, and in the trials against the guys that jumped you. That's still going to feel like you're on trial too, but without the potential jail time tagged on."
"No chance getting Cas off today, too?" Sam smirks, his snarky little bitch-smirk that betrays where he took that comment coming from Dean, and Dean scowls and takes the opportunity to put them back in their places so they stop it. He's not going to be the only one flustered if they keep this crap up. "Yeah, yeah. Keep right on smirking, Sammy, and I'll make sure you regret crashing with us. You've heard Cas 'get off' before already anyway, right. . .?"
Castiel can still blush. In the short time they've been together he's loosened up to the point of folding Dean like origami and pounding him into the mattress just last night, and Dean likes to joke that he's taken the virgin former priest and turned him into a budding nymphomaniac. But the second you talk about sex while he has his clothes on, he flushes scarlet. As far as Dean's concerned, its frikkin' hilarious. At least Cas doesn't try to deny that if Dean decides he wants to get frisky, he's inevitably on board. Sam, meanwhile, hides his eyes behind his hand, mortified by the reminder of the mid-sex phone call and desperate to get on topic. Much better. "If I can get him to accept self-defense for you, it's possible I can get the judge and prosecutor to agree that there's enough evidence that a jury'd agree he's covered by the Samaritan laws. That would still leave the criminal and civil suit against the other guys, and the civil case against you, Cas. Which is where it's going to get nasty."
"Because of their lawyer." Castiel surmises, and Sam nods slowly.
"Pretty much. He's going to be there today too. This'll be my first run-in with him in person, but I've already had to file a couple of documents to keep him from you two until I got here. I don't like where he took the depositions from Jo and Ellen, and I really don't like what he's been subpoenaing for." Sam isn't looking at Dean, eyes fixed out the passenger window, and Dean can read between the lines.
"So it's like that?"
"Yeah, it's like that." Sam confirms grimly, jaw clenching. Dean nods and rolls his shoulders, forcing himself to relax his grip on the wheel, preparing for a fight. If this Crowley guy wants to play rough, Dean's not going to back down.
Time to face the skeletons in his closet.
xXx
Victor Henriksen sizes Sam up within moments and offers his hand professionally, though he's clearly holding back on commentary in front of the courthouse, and he does it while he's still a step-up on the staircase above Sam in an obvious power-play gesture. Goatee neatly trimmed, black suit starched and pressed over his broad shoulders, he's not exactly the traditional Lawrence, Kansas prosecutor. Then again, nothing about this is entirely typical of Lawrence.
Some asshole called the press.
Sure, it's not exactly a flood of reporters, but Dean kisses goodbye his chances of passing as an Alpha under even the most half-assed scrutiny when a camera catches him climbing the courthouse steps with Sam and Cas and a bottle blonde from the nightly news tries to shove a microphone at him. Local news has to get its stories somewhere and they're more interesting than some grandma winning a local art competition, but even local news ends up on the internet now.
He can't think about that right now. He can't consider the long-term ramifications. "Don't flirt with the cameras." Is his brother's very first counsel of the journey before he has to go address the reporter himself, and Dean reigns in the urge to wink at the camera and the blonde just because he's a sarcastic shit and that's his best defense when he's surprised. What's he supposed to do, glare at everything like a creepy serial killer, like Cas? "Okay, if I'm not supposed to act like a tease, you're not allowed to look like a psychopath."
"What exactly am I supposed to do, then, Dean?" Castiel asks, hands clenched into fists at his sides, and Dean smirks at him and shrugs. Damned if he knows. "Act natural?"
"This is natural." Castiel huffs.
"Okay, act like someone else acting natural." Dean winks at him covertly, and it's heartening when Castiel's posture loosens slightly, his eyes on Dean instead of the cameras, warmer and softer. Steadying Cas helps keep Dean calm, and they make it inside without major incident. They're two steps into the courthouse when the grandstanding begins.
Crowley has a driver who cruises up to the courthouse steps and lets him out, where he greets the reporter with open arms and a salesman's smile, calling her darling. Any question of who called the local media is quickly answered, and as they set the camera up and dangle a boom mic over him, he turns and looks back at the courthouse, meets Dean's eyes through the glass as they wait by the metal detectors for the short line of attorneys and clients to move through, and winks.
"Son of a bitch." Dean turns to Sam, jerking his thumb at the display and meeting his brother's eyes. "Tell me that's not the guy."
"Pretty sure that's the guy." Sam's digging his cell phone out of his pocket, dropping it and his briefcase into one of the plastic buckets to pass through inspection. "Why, you know him?"
Dean pays attention to the line long enough to drop his wallet and keys into one of the stupid plastic tubs with Castiel's, and jerks his head back towards the doors as his brother stands facing him with his arms out as the security guy boredly waves a sensor wand over his arms and body. "That guy got the room across from ours in the hotel."
Sam stares at him for a long moment until the security guy prods him onwards to keep the line moving, and then swears under his breath quietly, grabs his phone, and dials as Cas is checked by the metal detectors next. "Charlie. Send me every video you can get of Crowley, and an uncut version of tonight's local news reel before it hits. Text me when you got it, we're at the courthouse now, the arraignment's in thirty."
He has studying to do tonight.
xXx
It's strange, seeing Sam in a courthouse with his briefcase in hand, hazel eyes narrowed and shoulders square, navigating a legal minefield with papers as weapon and shield. Somehow, Dean's mind still wants to see him as thirteen years old and sitting cross-legged on Dean's mattress on the floor of the bedroom, admitting how terrified he was of starting high-school. Not because of the classes, but because he was a year younger and a shrimp even for his age, trying to get tips on coming across as a badass from the big brother who didn't know how to break it to the kid that everything since dropping out was a lie, carefully constructed bravado and bullshit.
If Sam's still just following his lead, Dean can't tell. Maybe his advice sunk in farther for Sam, took root and spread and made him legitimately brave. Dean's still mostly just bullshit and bravado, but now it is Cas that he's giving tips to. Cas, whose issue isn't necessarily bravery.
"Chill, Cas." Dean murmurs as he sits on the uncomfortable bench lining the courthouse corridor, watching Sam file paperwork with a clerk, bent with his elbows across his knees. Cas is bolt upright beside him, knotted with tension, watching Crowley saunter in through the front doors like he owns the place, clearly finished with his interview now. "Sam's got this. We've got this. You'll be fine."
"He is compromising your safety, Dean." Castiel growls under his breath, and his fingers unconsciously knot and twist into the fabric of his slacks over his thighs. Dean rolls his eyes and takes Cas's wrist in hand, sitting straight and dragging Cas's hand back with him so the guy doesn't rumple himself up too much before they ever see the judge.
"Cas, the world's never going to be 'safe.' If I was worried about safety, I'd have found some rich jackass to keep me, put me up somewhere and keep me fed, watered, knocked up and locked up . . ." Castiel's fingers lace through Dean's in the space between them on the bench, tight until it's just shy of painful. Someone really doesn't like the idea of Dean being the kept Omega.
In a way, it's heartening. Not because Cas is jealous of this hypothetical other Alpha, but because the idea twists his lips in disdain as if he can't imagine Dean living that way. Since they fell into each other's lives, there hasn't really been much outside of each other. Family messes, sure, and the court case and all the accompanying crap, but every day since his Heat some niggling sense of worry has resided in Dean's subconscious. It worsens every time Cas's hand lands on his stomach possessively as he curls around him like birth control pills be damned, Dean's an Omega and he should have been knocked up by their three day sexathon while he was in Heat.
It's probably entirely coincidental, or just more of the instinctive Alpha crap that he hates; he hasn't made an issue of it because otherwise he likes how unwaveringly affectionate Castiel becomes after sex. Dean's just still waiting for everything to fall apart, because when something seems too good to be true it usually isn't true. He keeps waiting for being Castiel's 'boyfriend' to take a turn towards the familiar, to it being just a different kind of captivity.
Instead, he has Cas sitting in a courthouse looking at potential jail time himself, because he's trying to be a decent human being.
"C'mon." Dean tugs on Cas's hand, drawing him to his feet, and then two-beat whistles to get Sam's attention. The silent conversation between the brothers takes one head motion, a responding bitchface, a shrug and pointed glance at the obviously nervous Cas, and then Sam rolling his eyes in annoyed surrender and pointing at his watch, then holding five fingers up. Castiel seems baffled by the entire display, but doesn't object when Dean drags him off to the public bathroom.
Five minutes. He can work with five minutes.
There are times when having a slight edge on Cas for weight and height is awesome. Sure, in a straight hand-to-hand fight he knows from Cas's history that he might not have the upper hand, but being able to pin the Alpha to the door the moment they're through it is awesome. Dipping his head down to kiss Cas is becoming one of his favorite pastimes. He revels in that momentary hitch where he can feel Castiel melt into it, pouring all of his love and affection into the gentle slide of his lips, the flick of his tongue against Dean's.
Dean's pretty sure Castiel has ruined kissing for him with anyone else; maybe more than just the kissing, or the sex. Maybe Dean himself is in general ruined for anyone else, his urges and responses slowly and gently molded and reshaped to the point where he can't imagine being with anyone else. There are times that's terrifying. . . but not with this. This is a him and Cas thing, now, his hand splayed over Cas's hip to keep him in place, his other hand cupped to the back of Castiel's head among the flyaway hair. There's no urgency here, and even if taking the Alpha into a bathroom stall for a quickie was the least bit logical, he wouldn't be trying to.
This isn't sexual. This is comfort. This is affection and intimacy. This is, whether Dean can admit it to himself or not, love. Castiel strokes a hand along his cheek, leaning back against the door mindless of if anyone else is trying to get in, and lets Dean coax him into relaxing, into remembering what exactly he had gained that day by putting two men in the hospital, ease him into putting aside the urge to once again hurt the people responsible for hurting Dean and making his already difficult life worse. "Is this a kiss for luck. . .?" Cas murmurs into the dip below Dean's lower lip, and he lets himself be distracted tracing it with the tip of his tongue when the shape of it changes with Dean's practiced smirk.
"Sure, we'll go with that." Castiel loves how Dean's voice changes in intimate moments, and he smiles into the kiss, tugging Dean closer and then latching an arm around Dean's waist, smoothly turning them in place to put Dean between him and solid surface of the wooden door. It's stupid, and Dean knows it's stupid considering his own history, but every time they do this, every time Castiel decides to dedicate himself to reminding Dean of how significant just kissing can be, he gets a little more jealous of all of the meaningless kisses with nameless people Cas wasted to get this good at it.
That's how he knows when this falls apart it's going to fuck him up.
Sam's voice and irritated knock breaks them apart. Resting his forehead against Dean's for a moment, Castiel sighs quietly in regret and presses one last brief kiss to Dean's lips, and then his brow in silent thanks, before slowly easing back to let Dean move away from the door and Sam to crowd in on them.
"You two ready, now? We're up in five."
xXx
The judge's chambers behind the courtroom proper carries the wood tones of the courtroom in, and then swallows it in organized chaos. Judge Rufus Turner rattles through the legal jargon with a sense of irritation at the entire routine, informing them of their legal rights, informing them of the processes, and then accepting their not-guilty pleas with a complete lack of surprise.
It's not until the formalities are over that the older man leans back in his leather executive chair, worn in places from use and more comfortable for it, folds his arms, and glares at them all from the head of the conference table. "Doctor Novak, Mr. Winchester. I need a minute with the lawyers. Just stay right there, I'll get back to you when I'm through with them."
Somehow, he makes it seem like a threat.
Steepling knobby-knuckled fingers at his chin, he turns his scowl on the three lawyers positioned around him. "I have brought all three of you in here today to make a few points very clear. Mr. Henriksen is here because our District Attorney has his head so far up his ass that he thought I'd overlook it and would let him pretend to prosecute a nephew. I do not miss details. I am not stupid. Neither he, nor you idiots, is going to pull the wool over my eyes."
"I don't care where you come from. You are in Lawrence now, and you are in my courtroom. I am not impressed by you. I do not care that you went to Stanford. . ." His eyes fall on Sam. "Or Harvard." To Henriksen. "Or Oxford." Crowley. "My law degree could be printed on toilet paper, and it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. While you are in my courthouse I am your God and you will treat me with respect."
"Mr. Henriksen, do not expect favoritism because you are black: we are not a fraternity, I do not know you, and I do not want to know you. Mr. Winchester, the fact that I knew your Daddy and your 'Uncle' means jack squat here. I would have thrown their asses in jail, too, if I had half a chance. Mr. Crowley, the next time you bring the press to my courthouse you are going to be the front page with the bailiff kicking your scrawny British ass down the stairs. There are no favorites here. You're all on equal footing which is to say you are all starting out on my shit list already. Are we clear?"
The 'Yes, your Honor' responses are ignored in favor of turning a piercing stare on Castiel and Dean next, and Dean keeps himself very still in his chair, the military posture his father trained into him holding. "The same goes for you two. Do not test me. Not here, and not out in that courtroom. My job is to keep all of you in line and keep this bullshit you've dropped into my house from becoming a circus. None of you involved in this are going to get any preferential treatment from me. I am not your enemy, but I am sure as hell not your friend. Is everyone clear on exactly how very happy I would be to toss any one of you for contempt of court?"
Yeah, it's safe to say they are all very well aware of whom holds the power in their situation right now. Judge Turner glares at Crowley until he tucks his smirk away, glowers at Henriksen until he nods once precisely, and then at Sam until he gives another deferential 'yes, your honor.'
"Good. Then let's get this show on the goddamn road."