I don't want to spend my time in hell
Looking at the walls of a prison cell
I don't ever want to play the part
Of a statistic on a government chart
There has to be an invisible sun
It gives its heat to everyone
There has to be an invisible sun
That gives us hope when the whole day's done

- "Invisible Sun," The Police

Castiel is far from alright.

It's comforting to see Dean in the room with him now, wedged between Gabriel and Jo on the bench, slinging his arm around the young Beta's shoulder and pulling her into a one-armed hug that ends with him pressing a kiss to her forehead. He has no delusions that Dean is as okay as he's pretending, but the big brother instinct is ingrained, the need to make sure others aren't worrying about him.

But it won't work. Castiel worries regardless. Ellen smoothes a hand over Dean's shoulder from the other side of Jo, her eyes forward, and Cas knows he's not the only one. He is perpetually amazed by how strong Dean truly is, though, and today has only reaffirmed that for everyone.

Sam, for his part, has adopted a very familiar posture—Castiel has seen enough young soldiers steeling themselves for battle to recognize the poise, the grimly determined look in his lawyer's eyes.

"Can you describe for the jury the events at The Roadhouse on the night of June 19th?"

They aren't on the same page, the way Sam and Dean clearly were, but they understand each other's motivations here just as they did in the interrogation room of the sheriff's office. This isn't about Castiel, regardless of who is on trial; this is for Dean.

"I was in a booth across the room when a man I now know as Nathan Hardey began harassing Dean at the bar." He's tense again, straight backed and nervous, fingers once more bunching in the fabric of his slacks over his knees as they had been in the hallway before, when Dean sat with him and coaxed him into relaxing, but his voice is steady and his chin high and for now that will have to suffice. "Dean rebuffed his advances, it became briefly physical, and then he returned to his seat at the bar and Hardey was dismissed from the premises by the bar owner."

He doesn't realize Sam is waiting for more from him until he's prompted. "How would you characterize the harassment?"

"…Loud? Vulgar. I was sitting in the corner but was able to hear the entire interaction." There's a pause, where Sam is looking at him like he's being deliberately stubborn, before Castiel continues. "Hardey was using gendered slurs, and demanding Dean 'ride' him." Castiel's fingers twist in the fabric again, his irritation showing now. "When Dean dismissed him, Hardey called him a bitch, and a slut, and crudely brought up what I now know was his sexual assault of Dean when he was a child. At which point, Dean held him at arm's length by the throat until Hardey was thrown out by the Harvelles, and escorted out by his friends, including Roy Etheridge."

"But you kept your seat?"

Castiel can't tell if Sam is saying this for the jury, if he's establishing Castiel's ability to maintain his temper, or if he's asking Cas why he didn't interfere earlier, why he didn't stop everything before it came to the parking lot the next day. "Dean didn't need my help, he was in control of the situation."

"Purchasing Dean a drink wasn't a sexual advance, result of identification of him as your mate, or because he was an Omega?"

"Objection." Henriksen raises his pen slightly, and it's the first time Castiel's attention has shifted to him since he took the stand. "Leading the witness."

"Sustained." Judge Turner sounds bored, and that's deeply unsettling for Castiel; he's losing their interest, and just ten minutes earlier they were all released on recess because Dean had jurors in tears. "Mr. Winchester, you're not here to provide testimony. You want your client to say something, he's going to need to open his mouth and say it himself."

This is more nerve-wracking than Dean tossing him into meeting Sam at breakfast without any warning to either of them. He's being interrogated again, and this time with an audience. He isn't as charming as Dean; he never has been, and likely never will be. There's always been a part of him that was deeply unsettled by being put in the spotlight of anything. It takes him time to be comfortable around new people, and he's still on fairly uncertain terms with Sam, let alone this room of people here to judge him.

Sam breathes out slowly, and paces back towards the defense table, asking the question as he does, Castiel tracking him with his eyes. "Why did you buy Dean a drink, Castiel?"

Dean is watching him from the bench with one eyebrow arched slightly, and he shifts in his seat, knees wide, elbows braced, tie loosened slightly, and a look of interest in his eyes as if he's waiting for Cas's answer.

Castiel doesn't suspect that he's just been deliberately passed off from one Winchester to the other, visually, but Charlie congratulates Sam with a subtle thumbs up as he passes the table. People should make a habit of listening to her more often. Castiel's closed-lipped to all of them but Dean, and the only way they're getting him to open up is to have him talk to his boyfriend. She's got no problem encouraging Sam to cruise back this direction for any question they need more detail for. Cas's gaze will be drawn magnetically towards Dean either way.

"He looked as if he was having a bad day, even before Hardey approached him." Castiel replies, hand rubbing the back of his neck, his fidgeting suddenly released as he shrugs faintly awkwardly at Dean. He looks nervous and faintly sheepish, but he's less wooden and they need the jury to see that. "I was. . . I didn't expect him to come drink with me, I don't just buy people drinks at bars, or pick people up. I'm not. . . it's not anything I've ever been interested in doing before Dean. I knew he was an Omega, because of the men bothering him, but he handled himself capably, and made the bartender smile and laugh though he was clearly miserable. I just wanted to do something small, because my day was terrible too."

Castiel glances away, his next words taking on a faintly confessional air. "And I assumed if I bought him a drink and sent Jo back to the bar for it, her presence would hinder Hardey being able to harass Dean. And I thought if it continued, and Jo became embroiled in it, her mother would as well and Hardey and possibly his friends would be kicked out of the bar before they could be more trouble."

He hadn't met Dean, but he played the Harvelles to protect a stranger. He's not sure how the jury is going to take that, let alone the Harvelle women. . . or Dean. He's pretty sure his statement would be better received if he'd stopped before admitting this, but he swore to tell the whole truth.

He'd fallen into bed at his apartment quietly proud that he'd helped the beautiful stranger across the bar, and tried not to question why green eyes and broad shoulders factored into his sleep that night. What little he could remember of the sexual nature of the dream left him faintly uncomfortable the next morning.

Where he ran into Dean again shortly into his shift, leaving him dumbstruck in the doorway until Dean noticed him. Thankfully, Sam's questions skirt these things, and a tightness in his chest eases faintly as he realizes he won't have to reveal that. He's not sure how it could have been relevant, anyway. Dean is watching him with a knowing glint in his tired, lightly bloodshot eyes, though, and Cas wonders if he's going to be unofficially cross-examined by his mate later.

His answers match Dean's, he knows: the harassment at the bar, their day at the hospital, the attack in the parking lot, the slurs keyed into the car. He establishes his medical credentials in brisk terms when challenged by the prosecution, and then clinically details every one of Dean's injuries, tense anger coloring his words and loosening his tongue. Sam is obviously winding down when he inadvertently throws Castiel off again, pacing back to the defense table and asking a question designed to undermine Etheridge's claims. "So like Dean, you were unaware that he was your mate until after the confrontation?"

Cas freezes, glancing at Dean, blue eyes begging him for forgiveness for this next confession. He knows it plays into the prosecution's argument, knows that before this morning this would have made Dean doubt him; Dean, who was already so concerned that Cas 'shouldn't want him' and was being 'drugged.' He knows that this is the exact opposite of the answer Sam was looking for, by asking this question. ". . . I knew right away, when we met the hospital. As soon as he shook my hand."

Dean's eyebrows draw together, a furrow between them, as if he's prepared to deny that. "Dean uses scent blocking soaps, and is very careful about protecting himself, and it is effective. But releaser pheromones are independent of sex pheromones. . . they trigger cutaneously as well as on an olfactory level. . ."

Sam is giving him a look that Castiel can't begin to decipher, Charlie is clearly listening raptly though he doubts she planned on him going 'Discovery Channel' in the middle of his court case, and he lost Dean to wariness and confusion a few seconds back. "Skin. Mating pheromones are conveyed through the skin itself. It's part of why mates draw comfort from touch, and the reestablishment of that bond. It's also why so many of our fairytales have 'true love's first kiss,' or the touch of a hand at a dance and suddenly both parties know they're intended for each other. There's usually a science behind the 'magic' we adopt across cultures."

"I knew when Dean touched me that he was my mate. I'd never felt anything. . ." He has no words to describe it; he'd barely ever been attracted to another before Dean.

Dean sees this life of Alphas and Omegas like a horror story. Until now, it's given him nothing but pain. When Dean thinks of the chemistry behind it, he thinks of lack of control, of violence, of being used, and of being slave to his own physiology and to other people's intentions for him. Castiel sees them being attuned to each other so instinctively that it's as if God touched them both, destined them for each other and blessed them. Dean thinks of knotting as being owned, dominated, trapped, and he remembers torture and rape and abuse and pain. For Castiel, who has only ever had sex with Dean, it's about shared pleasure, the extended intimacy of curling himself around Dean, being able to hold him, feel him; it's a time when they're at ease and everything is right.

It's the privilege of Alphas to see the fairytale, he knows. The fairytale falls apart as soon as you look at how Omegas are treated. Dean had any romantic notions ripped away from him violently, and way too young. He wishes he could give that to Dean—he may spend the rest of his life trying to.

"Could that reaction have caused a violent response?" Sam is adjusting his line of questioning to treat Castiel as a physician rather than the defendant again, since Castiel put them in that situation, but he manages it seamlessly, without losing step in front of the jury. Later on he may chew Castiel out for not sharing that bit of information during their brief time preparing for the trial together, but neither of them had foreseen Etheridge feeding the ownership and mate line to the jury.

Castiel shakes his head, and in many ways this is easier; he can talk about the science behind it, and it's professional. It's familiar. Judge Turner indicated that Castiel would need to talk, and this he can explain, the opportunity to refute something that's been infuriating him this entire trial.

"The stereotypical violent claiming response that the witnesses have been trying to use to excuse their behavior or explain mine is triggered by sex pheromones. They indicate arousal, fertility, and create excitement in receptive potential sexual partners. It's most prevalent in Heats, and they're scent-based . . . so they'd be blocked or hindered by the soaps Dean uses. And as Dean said, he was there grieving over losing his father. He wasn't aroused, or at all interested in sex at the time, and I sincerely doubt when he was thirteen and being violently attacked he was either."

He's nervous again, looking at Dean, trying to read his reactions to all of this and he can't. Dean's too far away, too guarded. So he focuses instead on Sam, blocking out the courtroom around him entirely, falling into the familiarity of his work farther. "But even then, in normal circumstances, it doesn't override conscious decision—we're ruled by our free will, not by our responses to chemical stimuli. All those cues do to a receptive Alpha is lower inhibitions, but using that to excuse rape and abuse is like saying anyone who has a beer or two is given free rein to rape or abuse whomever they chose; Alpha, Beta, or Omega, man or woman."

"So in your medical opinion, Doctor Novak." Sam may be a hell of a lawyer, but there's still something there that's the smug know-it-all little brother Dean remembers fondly. "Were their behaviors or yours dictated by Dean being an Omega?"

"No. They chose to attack Dean, because they held no regard for him outside of how they could use him sexually. I chose to intervene, because even in the short span of a day I could tell that Dean was a remarkable human being, and didn't deserve that. I was more concerned with taking care of him than I was sleeping with him. I spent that day watching him struggle with becoming an orphan, with loss and pain, and I was drawn to Dean's bravery, his personality, his independence, how obviously he cared about his family. I fell in love with Dean's spirit not his designation."

With that final declaration, Castiel is exhausted, suddenly weary beyond his own comprehension as if the outpouring of remarks was physically taxing, rather than merely emotionally. Dean has been watching him, and he knows this answer was significant, not just for the court case, but for his future. Now he's waiting for two verdicts: one on his freedom, and one for his happiness.

"No further questions, your Honor."

Cas doesn't have time to breathe out in relief, before Henriksen is in front of him, planted and firm, where Sam paced and prowled. There is no wandering gaze here, no looking past him to Dean or to Sam and Charlie for comfort, or to see how his responses are working.

Victor Henriksen's job is to put criminals in jail, and Castiel broke the law. Anything less than a dedicated attempt to prove that, and sway the jury, is him failing to do the job they brought him in to do, and would have been just as bad as Etheridge's uncle deliberately doing a half-assed job prosecuting his nephew as the county's DA.

"Doctor Novak, would you say you have a history of vigilante behavior?"

"Objection." Sam's ready for this, throwing out his first objection before he's reseated himself at the defense table. "Badgering the witness."

"I could rephrase it as 'do you have a history of breaking every rule and law you think doesn't apply to you,' but it isn't going to make it sound any better." Henriksen retorts without turning away from Castiel, but he's put the statement out there already, put it back into the minds of the jurors and calling back to his opening statements. "We'll revisit that. Doctor Novak. . ." Henriksen paces to the prosecutor's table, picks up a stack of folders, plucking one from the stack and handing it to Castiel without flourish or embellishment. "Can you read that first title for me, Doctor."

Castiel opens the paper, glancing at the first page. He's unsurprised but wooden as he reads the words before him. "Discharge under less than honorable conditions from the Armed Forces of the United States of America."

"And I assume you recognize the document in front of you?"

Castiel nods, and Henriksen speaks without moving away. "Let the court record show that the witness gave an affirmative." Glancing at the jury, he gestures at the papers in Castiel's hands, and to Castiel himself. "This is the DD214, or discharge papers from the United States Army, for Lieutenant Castiel Novak, a US Army Chaplain, indicating his discharge. . . appeals by a Captain Milton upgraded it to 'less than honorable,' instead of 'dishonorable,' or else Doctor Novak would be the military equivalent of a felon and could have been court martialed and sentenced to federal prison. The prosecution enters them into record now. Doctor Novak, can you read for the jury the highlighted portions on the second page, please."

Lifting the paper, his shoulders slumping minutely, Castiel is toneless: from his seat on the bench, Dean leans forward to rest his arms on the short wall, frowning in concern. "Lt. Novak willfully disobeyed orders, and violated US Army Regulations and Geneva Convention articles regarding the required noncombatant status of US Army Chaplains that protects all medical and spiritual personnel . . ." His eyes scan down the page to the next highlighted portion, forehead knitted and jaw tight. "Lt. Novak chose to stay with detained soldiers rather than report back to his platoon. He was directly responsible for the death of two enemy combatants—in debriefing, Lt. Novak indicated he broke the neck of one enemy soldier, and killed another in hand-to-hand combat."

Henriksen is still planted right in front of him when Castiel raises his eyes from the paper, prepared to defend his actions. "I was saving the soldiers under my care."

"I'm sure you were, Doctor." Henriksen isn't being patronizing, but there's a dismissive note to his voice nonetheless. It's Sam's job to coax the story out of his witness—Henriksen is presenting facts. Handing the next folder to Castiel, he directs his attention to it, and every subsequent piece of evidence builds a picture, without giving Castiel the opportunity to expand on his personal justifications.

Administrative documentation from the hospital, signed by Zachariah, indicating his manipulation of policy to benefit patients he'd seen as needy.

An eight year old incident report from the Pontiac, Illinois police department, the highlighted portion that Castiel reads through his teeth indicating Cas's involvement in a brawl, but declaring that no charges were filed, the fight was ended before the arrival of authorities, and very little information was given to the police by those involved. Gabriel shifts guiltily in his seat and ignores Dean's questioning look.

Each time, each indication of him flaunting authority and bending rules to the breaking point, Henriksen has Castiel himself read aloud, has him present it to the jury, and it's painful and grueling just to watch Castiel become more withdrawn again.

The final folder Henriksen keeps in his own hands, offering a detailed account of the injuries to Hardey and Etheridge at Castiel's hands, Zachariah's flare for the dramatic somehow made far more serious when given in Henriksen's even tones. When he finally looks up from the medical report, he speaks slowly, clearly, for the benefit of the jury. "Once again, a situation in which Doctor Novak could have involved the authorities, but instead chose to take matters into his own hands. I assume you took the Hippocratic Oath upon becoming a physician?"

It's a question, and Castiel agrees quietly.

"'First, do no harm.' Your oaths as a chaplain, to be a noncombatant. Your vows as a Jesuit priest; poverty, chastity and obedience to, among other things, Commandments that are pretty clear about killing. State and federal laws that are applicable to every citizen. You've done a great deal of harm for a doctor and a priest, Doctor Novak, and have ignored any law, order or regulation that you could personally justify dismissing."

The folders in Castiel's hands, a stack of his transgressions, is like millstone around his neck, dragging him down. After a long moment, looking at the man before him, Henriksen turns and inclines his head slightly to Rufus Turner. "No further questions, your honor."

Sam is on his feet, hands planted on the table before him, his words exploding into the courtroom as if they'd been tightly compressed throughout Henriksen's cross-examination. "Request for redirect."

Judge Turner gestures at Castiel magnanimously, and Sam paces across the courtroom toward his client, firing off his first question. "Doctor Novak, why didn't you go back into the hospital to call the authorities?"

Castiel's head rises again, eyes refocusing on Sam, a faint questioning note to his tone as if he's surprised he's still being questioned, or as if he thought the answer was obvious. "I thought if I went inside, they could get Dean into one of the cars in the lot before the hospital security showed up. He was outnumbered and being hurt."

"So you were worried they'd drag him away, the way we now know they did when he was a teenager."

Castiel nods, but Sam is already moving on, clasping his hands behind him to keep him from gesturing as he paces. "The incident report from Illinois, why were no charges filed?"

Castiel glances past Sam to Gabriel, but the opportunity to explain himself, even briefly, is quickly invigorating him. "Because it was between family, at a funeral for one of our brothers. Two of my elder brothers got into a physical fight after the service. I threw a punch at one of my brothers, but was pulled out of it by another. The fight was over by the time the police were called by the funeral director, and there was no damage to property and no lasting injuries."

Well that explains why every time Dean's heard about Jimmy's funeral, there's been a sense of something unspoken, before Cas ducked out on them all again. There's a story there that Dean's pretty sure he needs to hear someday, but Sam doesn't linger on the report. "Why did you go against hospital policy?"

"Because my superior, Doctor Adler, proscribes more expensive procedures to patients than are strictly required by their conditions, in order to ensure the hospital's profitability."

The questions continue, and like Henriksen Sam doesn't linger on any long this time, each response a counter attack rather than an excuse, with Sam relying on Castiel's short factual responses instead of trying to coax stories out of him. He's read the reports, he's done the research, but by letting Henriksen be the one to open these lines of question, he gets to treat them as off-topic, dismissible and irrelevant, like an obvious and easily dismantled ploy of the prosecution.

It's not until Sam is back on his military file that Castiel's composure cracks.

"How were the soldiers being treated, while they were prisoners of war?"

Castiel places the folders in his lap onto the wall before him, looking away, eyes unfocused. "By the end, they were being abused, interrogated, starved and dehydrated while I was being fed and given water in front of them, which was part of their psychological torture." And obviously Castiel's as well, though Dean doesn't interrupt to say that aloud. Being treated well while forced to watch your friends suffer. . . Cas wouldn't have taken that well. Dean knows he wouldn't, either.

Sam's voice softens, and with it he encourages the jury to listen carefully to these responses. "How long between their capture and escape were you there with them?"

Castiel swallows, his voice hoarse. "Forty days."

Sam summarizes for the jury, his voice quiet, hazel eyes searching their faces. "Over a month. The records indicate you were hiding your food to share with them, giving them your water, and treating their injuries every night on top of ministering to them as a chaplain. According to Captain Milton's report you were dehydrated and malnourished yourself, when examined by military medical doctors."

Castiel doesn't reply until he's given another question, but Sam was expecting that this time. He lets that silence linger a moment, counting on Castiel's solemn nature. His next question is open-ended; he needs Castiel to share this, needs to dismantle the charge against him of having killed two enemy combatants. "Can you tell us about the day you escaped?"

"They killed one of our soldiers. I said a prayer over her body, before they dumped it into an unmarked grave." Castiel lets out a shuddering breath, raising his chin, and turns to speak to Sam's profile, anger and old grief painted across his face. "I believe she was assaulted prior to her death. Another soldier was seriously injured when he struggled, after finding out she'd been killed, and they injured him and then selected him for torture and interrogation. My knowledge of combat medicine and treatment of injuries was limited to what I had observed administering as a chaplain alongside Army doctors. I wasn't going to be able to save him, either."

"So you orchestrated a prison break. And you carried the injured soldier out; saved his life and the lives of three other soldiers." Sam's voice is quiet, and though he's facing the jury it's obvious he's comforting Castiel, reminding him of what his actions accomplished. "Treating their injuries, and the death of that soldier, was that part of why you entered medicine, after being discharged?"

Castiel nods, clears his throat, and speaks for the record. "Yes."

He hadn't been able to do enough for them. He'd struggled with helping the injured every night after they were returned to their cells, and then returned home just in time to stand by unable to do anything to help while Jimmy died. Taking confessions, offering a vague semblance of peace, it wasn't enough. His next move after leaving the clergy and being discharged from the military had seemed so clear.

"Experience that came into play again, when you helped Dean. When you intervened to save him as well, ending the fight and treating his injuries."

Drawing the conclusion back to Dean, Sam turns away from the jury and offers Castiel a look of sympathy and understanding that he's not entirely certain he deserves.

"The defense rests, your Honor."

xXx

Dean isn't paying attention during the closing arguments. He probably should be, but he knows their points now. He tunes out about when Sam begins reiterating for the jury what those assholes did to him—he doesn't need to hear it, he lived it, and he's had enough reminders for a lifetime in just the last couple of weeks alone. Besides, if Sam gets all teary-eyed again he's going to do or say something stupid and throw him off. Right now, if they need to see him as the victim then he guesses that's what he is.

So he does what he figures he can get away with. Sliding to the edge of his seat, Dean reaches across the short wall between him and Castiel, where he sits rigidly at the defense table, and slides a comforting hand onto his boyfriend's shoulder.

The reaction is instantaneous. Castiel clings to his hand like it's a lifeline, lacing their fingers together tightly without turning. Dean can feel the shudder as Castiel releases his trapped breath, bowing his head as Sam continues. He can't offer much more than this, not while they're stuck in their respective chairs, but it's more than Cas has had this entire trial. So he folds his other arm along the top of the divider between them, rests his forehead against his wrist, and closes his eyes, letting Cas hold on to his hand and hanging on just as tightly.

Just this morning he found Cas sleeping on the couch, partly as some sort of continuing self-punishment for thinking about taking the deal, staying up all hours obsessing over the last person to screw Dean over that way. Dean told Cas he loved him (not in so many words, but it works for them) and learned his father murdered his tormenter. They met for lunch, then he was confronted by his rapist, then his attempt to start a fight was cut short, he relived the assault in front of however the hell many people fit in this room, and he watched Castiel take verbal blows to drag his own self-image down like he was standing in front of a firing squad.

Dean tries to tune the rest of the courtroom out, tries to ignore the roughness of tears in his brother's voice and the hand on his back from Ellen, and he's just going to be there for Cas and be as okay as he has to be, for everyone else to be okay.

Overall, even with the few high points. . . it's been really shitty day. His testimony left him feeling ripped open, raw and exposed, and he just needs people not to look at him that way. There's no relief of confession, he just feels more like a freak than ever with so many eyes on him. The idea of doing this again at another trial, having Crowley go on to call him a whore and a liar, leaves him nauseated just thinking about it.

He doesn't realize the jury's been released until Castiel standing drags him to his feet as well, while Judge Turner leaves the bench. Much of the crowd filters out, and Dean turns a questioning look to his brother as he approaches the table. "Now what?"

"Now we wait for a knock." Sam shrugs, pulling out his chair at the defense table and turning it to face his family.

"The waiting sucks." Charlie agrees, plopping herself back down in her seat and dragging her laptop case up onto the table. "And if they go past courthouse hours, we go home, come back, and wait again tomorrow. Pretty much sign your life over to this courtroom until the jury figures out what to do with you."

"So, would you say 'the waiting is the hardest part?'" Gabriel drawls, kicking his feet up to rest on the wall before him, and Dean stops flexing feeling back into his fingers to point a warning at him, falling into his old routines, back to the show.

"If you start singing Tom Petty in a courtroom I'm going to gag you."

Gabriel blows him a kiss sardonically, but the intended audience for their banter is ignoring them. While Jo is handing her mother her phone to call and update Bobby, while Ash is leaning over the half wall to ask what Charlie is up to on the computer, while Sam checks for messages from Jess on his phone, and while nervous energy seems to be spurring each of his family into doing something to make the wait not oppressive and terrifying, Castiel has turned his chair and reseated himself, elbow braced on the half wall between Gabriel's sneakers and Dean's arm as his thumb rubs slow circles onto his temple, head bowed. Gabriel jabs the toe of his shoe into his brother's shoulder to get his attention. "You did fine, Cassie. It's going to be okay."

When Castiel gives a noncommittal grunt in response, Dean leans forward to rest his chin on the wall again, the angle letting him see Castiel's face. There's really no privacy here to talk. . . regardless of how people are bustling, he knows they're still the focus; it's his family after all, they're all experienced eavesdroppers and snoops. But Castiel is watching him back through slitted eyes and the cage of his lashes, head braced on his hand, waiting for Dean to bring them back to the questioning. Dean smirks instead and shakes his head slightly, addressing it in his own way.

"This is a really shitty 'fairytale' you got going here, Cas."

"I wasn't envisioning a trial out of it." Castiel admits quietly after a moment, letting himself be coaxed into responding in kind. "Or that it would end in jail time."

Dean's reassuring grin creases the corners of his eyes, and it may be strained and hard to maintain, but it's beautiful. "Who said it'd 'end' with jail time? I'm a crappy pen pal, but I'd give great conjugal visits. Could be hot." Castiel huffs once in amusement despite himself, and Dean jostles his elbow gently, heartened by the reaction. "Besides, you'd be in for what? Six months? A year or two? After the shit you've done for me, Cas, pretty sure I can wait."

Straightening slowly, Castiel blinks at Dean, who props his head on his fist now to keep them on-level, cocking an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"Doing the creepy staring thing again, dude." Dean teases him softly.

The next time Castiel says "I do" in front of a judge, outside of these trials, it won't be because he's being sworn in as a witness. He wants Dean to be with him, repeating it back. He'd rather do it at a church, but considering his religion's perspective on Dean's existence, and the small matter that he's acting against his vows just being with Dean without a papal decree, he isn't clinging to that romantic notion too tightly.

They've known each other so short a time and already he can't imagine his life without Dean in it. Dean's testimony made it clear how close he'd come to never meeting Dean at all, and if he'd come out of that hospital late from his shift he could have lost him the day he met him. . . the thought's devastating.

Convention be damned, he doesn't want a 'mate,' or a 'boyfriend,' he wants Dean as his husband and his equal. If what he's seen in this courtroom and in the attitudes and beliefs of these people are an indication of what's socially acceptable, then he's prepared to take a page from Dean's book and tell the world to "bite him."

"You wanna tell me what's going on in that genius brain of yours this time, Cas?"

For now, Castiel shakes his head and Dean doesn't press him for answers, figuring they've both had enough of that for one day. Family folds around them, trying their hardest to offer comfort without seeming to do so, and they all wait for a knock together.

xXx

At 4:45, as if they're racing traffic to get out of the courthouse, jury deliberation ends.

Castiel stands with his chin high, braced for the verdict and aware of the bailiff's location and the sheriff's deputies in the hall. He's holding his breath again, but he can't help it; he's too focused on staying upright, on maintaining the stoic demeanor that used to be so easy for him, as a physician and as a priest at confession. He's certain he'll be handcuffed in front of these people and led away any moment.

The verdict, when it rings out, drops him to his chair like a puppet with his strings cut, punching his breath out harshly all at once. Dean's there so suddenly that Castiel is fairly certain he swung himself over the wall between them to throw an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer and promising to take him home, to get him out of there.

Not Guilty.