Give me the sense to wonder
To wonder if I'm free
Give me a sense of wonder
To know I can be me
Give me the strength to hold my head up
Spit back in their face
Don't need no key to unlock this door
Gonna break down the walls
Break out of this place

- "Can I Play With Madness," Iron Maiden

"So, you began your sexual relationship with Dr. Novak after less than twenty four hours because...?"

Crowley is a snake.

"Yes."

And Dean is a smartass.

Arms folded across his broad chest, back straight against the wooden bench seat of the courtroom, Sam Winchester keeps his eyes on the attorney that he can't help but think of as his opponent, even with Henriksen manning the opposing table in the courtroom and Sam just an audience member for this.

With the exception of a few wrong turns where he wanted to believe the best of someone, Sam's always thought himself as pretty good at reading people. It comes in handy sometimes in his profession, and sometimes it's a hindrance: walking into a holding room and just feeling that the guy you've been asked to defend is guilty is something that he struggles with. It's cost him a few big cases that he probably could have won, because he just couldn't make himself take the client.

But there's always someone like Crowley or like Lucifer, ready to sweep in and pick up the case for assholes like the men who attacked Dean. Sam's seen Castiel's elder brother in action before, had the sales pitch given to him, and what it amounts to is a genuine belief they're superior. Lucifer, and lawyers like him, see themselves as better than the people he's representing, better than the people he's going up against. Every victory is affirmation of his own ego and self-image. Lucifer and his ilk are the kings in the courtroom and out.

Crowley is a completely different problem. For Crowley it's not about the prestige; it's about the influence. Sam doesn't believe for an instant that it's coincidence that the two assailants he's defending are the two that come from money and power: and if Crowley gets them out of this he's not going to be walking away with just a check. They'll be indebted to him, their families ingratiated to him just enough to be useful later on. This is all a business transaction, and he's playing his cards so well that if he wins, even Castiel's own well-to-do family isn't tarnished at all. After all, in his version of events Cas is just a patsy. Crowley's working all the angles. It's strategic, more underhanded than the blatant elitism of others.

To Lucifer, Dean had just been Alastair's whore. Weaker than him and bested easily, and therefore almost personally offensive. To Crowley, Dean's just an obstacle. The only thing standing between him and victory is some no-name high school dropout Omega from a screwed up family, the black sheep socially stunted runaway youngest brother of a rich family and courtroom rival, and a bleeding heart liberal of an attorney from California who hasn't even made a name for himself yet.

And right now, Sam's big brother is frustrating the hell out of Crowley.

"And you just happened to end up engaging in sex described as 'ear-piercing' and 'lurid' by the guests at the rather prestigious Oread, all expenses paid by Dr. Novak."

"Sorry, is the question did we have sex, was the hotel overpriced, or is Cas loud during sex?" Dean shrugs, and answers all three before Crowley can clarify, ignoring Castiel's persistent flush to keep his eyes locked on Crowley. "Yes."

Sam's tried to get Dean to talk when he doesn't want to, and been rebuffed his entire life. At least for Sam, Dean did it with redirection: his poker face was a quick smile, a quip, and a punch in the shoulder. Crowley is getting stonewalled by sarcasm. Telling Dean to clam up could backfire hard on them and hurt Dean in the eyes of the jury, but at this point Sam doesn't care. He knew that risk when he suggested this to his brother, but Dean's hurting and this is how he protects himself. It's more important to him that Dean gets out of this without being emotionally flayed than it is they win this time. Already his brother seems slightly more sure of himself, a little more grounded in the present, and beside Sam it doesn't feel like Cas is going to splinter the wood in his white knuckled grasp on the edge of the bench beneath him.

That's worth it, to get Dean past Crowley's attack. This is just the floor show for Crowley: he's still banking on his other witnesses to sink Dean for him, he just wanted this opportunity to tear at the three of them a little, loosen them up, make them a bit more likely to just settle the civil suit. To pay up and bow out.

"So you illegally obtained prescription medications to allow you to engage in a sexual relationship with Dr. Novak with impunity, and no need for responsibility."

"I responsibly took birth control. Kinda like Beta ladies do so they don't get knocked up."

When Dean's prodded to give more than one-word answers, he repeats the question back with a yes or a no, and when he gives a leading question Dean snarkily repeats it back with corrections. There's a reason every witness in cross-examination is assumed hostile, and Dean is quickly becoming a law school nightmare story.

"Illegally obtained prescription medications. Much like the Slick you took in your previous employment."

Dean doesn't answer, silently judgmental as he waits for an actual question. His jaw is ticking, the twitch of muscle that betrays how hard it is not to reply, and there's something haunted in his eyes. All it takes is a veiled mention of his time with Alastair, and Dean's not entirely present on that witness stand for that moment, though it would take someone who knew him well to catch that.

Sam doesn't want to think about what kind of memories this is dragging up for Dean, but he has to. Here, Crowley's line of questioning about Dean's abduction by Alastair is just a tangent. For Sam, it's going to be the actual point of Dean's testimony. He's going to be putting Dean through those same memories for a larger audience, and Dean's going to have to talk about what it is that haunts him.

The lawyer in Sam knows that Dean needs to open up. The little brother in Sam wants to drag Dean off the stand, beat the crap out of the two assholes sitting across the aisle from him, and sock Crowley in the jaw for good measure. He's not juggling those two sides well, and Cas isn't conflicted at all. Every time Dean slaps back a question about Alastair, or mentions the attack when he was younger, Sam's half convinced if he wasn't sitting there, Cas wouldn't be holding back at all.

It's a verbal sparring match, back and forth, circling around the topics Dean most wants to avoid, and Dean can't fight back, but he's refusing to give any ground or let Crowley lead him.

If Crowley draws this out it will show he can't control the courtroom; so he plays it off to the jury, spreading his hands to them, as if he's asking what can be done about Dean as another jab at his background in 'prostitution' is rebuffed. He's adopted a bored, patronizing tone and speaks to Dean without turning to face him, now. "Mr. Winchester, I take it from your increasingly petulant responses that you'll no longer be cooperating with this examination?"

"'Mr. Crowley,'" Dean parrots back, his voice a low drawl that seems to rumble from somewhere deep in his chest, eyes on Crowley's back and head high. "You can take it from my increasingly pissed off responses that I figured out this isn't an 'examination.' Facts don't mean squat to you."

"Your avoidance of certain facts about your past conduct. . ."

"Your Honor." Henriksen has his hands planted on the table, and he's buzzing with frustration. "If Mr. Crowley is done badgering the witness, I'd like the chance to redirect."

"Granted." Crowley's stunt may play well with the jury, but Rufus Turner is watching him with dark, angry eyes. He toed the line on inappropriateness, but Sam foresees the British attorney being called back to the sidebar several more times in the course of this trial and berated. Crowley doesn't seem intimidated by either of them, and he waves a genial hand in Dean's direction.

"Best of luck with him."

Dean doesn't watch as the lawyers trade off who's in front of him; lowering his head, he closes his eyes briefly and lets his breath out, before raising his chin to look at Sam. He doesn't need the significant nod in reminder of how he's supposed to change tracks with Henriksen, and Sam's pretty sure Dean vaguely resents the encouraging and sympathetic look he shoots him.

"Mr. Winchester. . ."

"Yeah." Dean swivels his head, looking Henriksen in the eyes.

"Did you exchange sex for favors or money from Doctor Novak?" It's a straightforward question, instead of Crowley's roundabout, and Dean snorts quietly at the difference between the attorneys.

"No. He didn't beat those guys up to get into my pants, and I never asked him to." But the question is more than that, isn't it? Dean glances at the jury before unconsciously leaning closer to the microphone on the stand. "I'm not a hooker. I know they want you to think that, but . . ." Dean's voice falters, and for a moment Sam thinks that's it. That they're done, and Dean's going to shut them down again. Crowley leans forward slightly in his chair at the defense table, eyes sharp.

He should never underestimate Dean.

"What he keeps bringing up, the 'prostitute' crap. . . That was four months of my family. . ." Dean jabs a finger in Sam's direction while locking eyes with Henriksen again ". . .searching hospitals and morgues for me and slapping my picture on the side of milk cartons or whatever. I was tied up like a frikkin' animal any time I wasn't locked into the rack for random strangers to use, so Alastair could rake in the cash for it. I didn't ask for that, and you couldn't pay anyone enough goddamn money for them to sign up for that shit."

Dean's profanity goes unremarked or unnoticed by the judge in that moment, so Dean takes his momentum and goes with it, knowing he'll be stopped any second. "And there's no way I'd take money from those assholes and sign up for living through what they did to me, again, either."

"Mr. Winchester. . ." Rufus's warning rumble falls into Dean's natural close, but Henriksen's look at him is approving. Sam knows Dean would rather not be working with the man who tried to put Castiel in jail, but this is what Victor Henriksen does, and right now Dean is his best bet for sending a pair of repeat offenders to prison. The prosecutor is willing to push the line on maintaining order, too, in order to make an impression.

"Have you ever taken heat-inducing medications or drugs of your own will?"

Dean swipes his tongue across his lips, rubbing his hands over his knees as if his palms are sweating, and closes his eyes. In the audience Sam frowns suddenly, sitting forward on his seat, and beside him Castiel tenses. That wasn't just a tell, it was a distress flare-the most rattled Dean has let himself look since he took the stand again, and both men take notice. Dean's answer doesn't come quickly, and it's coarse and pained when he finds it. He doesn't want to be saying this, and for once his words are carefully chosen.

"Alastair dosed me with the stuff every day, before putting me on display. When I figured out he was putting it in my food I tried not eating, so he started making me swallow them. Couple months in. . . I don't know how long, I uh. . . I couldn't keep track of time there once I was dosed. . ." Jaw bunching, Dean pushes on, determined to spit this out. "Alastair liked to give 'choices.' Couple of times towards the end, that was if I wanted to 'take my medicine' or not. Liked to remind me that it wasn't just the Heat drug, it was the birth control. He started talkin' about how if I wouldn't, he'd still put me out there. That some guys would get off on me not being drugged into it, would like making me take it dry and fighting. And he'd talk about what'd happen to the kid if I got knocked up."

And God help him, Dean chose the drugs. He hated himself for it then, and he hates himself for it still. . . but it was better he was degraded and slowly eroded away than it was thinking about what would happen to a baby in Alastair's 'care.'

Castiel's hands are folded over each other in front of his lips, head bowed, a fine tremor running through him as he sits with his body stooped in on himself. Sam can't tell if he's praying or nauseated. Dean is deliberately avoiding looking at either of them; won't see his brother trying not to cry again, or his mate struggling with hearing Dean's worst memories. He keeps his eyes on Henriksen as the lawyer stops in front of him, a surprising sympathy in his voice.

"You took them under duress."

Dean can't tell if it's a question or supposed to comfort him, to give him some sort of forgiveness for his sins, and he chokes out a bitter laugh, rough and broken. "Yeah. Guess you could say that."

"But never after that." This time it's a question, confirmation for the jury, and Dean snorts again as he shakes his head.

"No. Hell, I can't even handle a normal heat." This time Dean darts a glance at Castiel, continuing once he does. Dean's smart, for all his self-deprecating comments about his own intelligence, and he knows how to sway people's opinions. Sam needed the push from Charlie to appeal to the jury emotionally, but Dean does it instinctively, handling the redirect for Henriksen, knowing what the jury needs to hear after the mess of their testimonies. "Cas is helping with that. That whole stunt, with the hotel. . ." Dean rubs the back of his neck, awkward finally about the fact that his entire sex life is under scrutiny, and it's endearing for the jury. ". . . That's the first time in my life I haven't hated it."

Castiel raises his head from his hands and straightens; even sitting to the side Sam swears he can feel it when they make eye contact. There's something uncomfortably intimate about witnessing Castiel and Dean from the outside, like everyone in the room is intruding on a private moment. Sam and Dean can have silent conversations with a few gestures and expressions, but Dean and Cas seem to connect just with a look.

Still, there's something Sam doesn't like about the bitter twist to Dean's lips as he offers Cas a smile across the courtroom, something in his brother that seems to deflate now that he's done fighting. "Cas is a good guy. He had to put up with a lot of crap for trying to help me."

It's the word choice. It's the guilty sloop of Dean's shoulders as he looks back to Henriksen, then the slow rise to his feet when he's dismissed from the witness stand. Sam just knows, suddenly, what Dean has planned. Because Dean used the past tense about Cas's help. Because with the way he said it, it's like he's decided once again that he's beyond what can be helped, or that helping him is a burden.

Sam's still staring at his brother as Cas slips past him on the bench to meet Dean in the aisle, the Alpha awkward and unsure if he's allowed to touch Dean as he guides him out of the courtroom again. True to her word, Charlie kept the rest of the family out of the courtroom, but they're there now, ready to go back inside. Sam's still frowning to himself as his family envelops Dean and Castiel outside the door, Ellen and Jo wrapping Dean in a hug, his brother's chin resting on Jo's head for a moment before he ruffles her hair, their conversation a buzz that Sam only barely pays attention to, promises to call soon. Ellen squeezes Dean's shoulders a last time before letting him go, reaching for Cas who pats her back awkwardly as he's hugged in turn.

"You're not staying?" Charlie is eavesdropping on the assurances between Dean and his family, the redhead seeming to linger just outside of the family group, a step behind and to the side of Sam.

"Nah." Dean laughs, but it's humorless. "Crowley's up next, and I don't want to hear what his witnesses have to say about me. I've heard it all before." He extends a hand to Ash as he talks, hauled in to get a thump to his shoulder, then released. "Just text me a verdict when it's over."

Charlie nods slowly, and seems surprised when a moment later Dean pulls her in for a hug as well. There's no hesitation; she melts into it, squeezing Dean harder in return, and Sam blinks. He never really considered it, never thought about it outside of his friendship and working relationship with Charlie. . . but in her way, Charlie has lived in more isolation than any of them. She's only known Dean a few days, and already she's reluctant to let go of him. Like he knows he's needed, like he knows that Charlie could use it, Dean palms the back of her head and tucks her in closer for a moment, before ruffling her hair just like he did Jo's, and stepping back.

Dean's always cared about what other people need, about taking care of them. Sam's always loved that about his big brother. . . and he's learned to worry about it, too.

"I'll walk you two to the car." He shouldn't; he should be back in the courtroom as Crowley swears in his witnesses, but he wants a moment alone with his brother. They fall into step again, the three of them, but its Dean who's leading the way, the most anxious to get out of the courthouse.

Heat seems to make the air above the pavement shimmer, and the moment they step out of the cooled courthouse into the summer sunlight Sam can feel sweat prickling his skin, his shirt clinging between his shoulder blades beneath the suit jacket. Dean strips out of his before they're across the parking lot, unbuttoning his sleeves and collar of his shirt as if they're restraining him, fingers nearly tearing the buttons free in his need to be loosed. Sam wonders if it's the thought of Alastair's rack haunting his brother, and the thought makes his stomach clench.

Castiel eases the suit jacket out of Dean's grip without touching him, folding it over his own arm, but with a look between them he steps away to tuck the jacket and bag into the back seat of the Impala and roll the windows down to let the car cool down, catching on to the fact that the brothers are about to have a discussion he's not invited into.

"Thanks for coming down here, Sammy. You saved our asses. You're good at this. . ." Dean rakes a hand through his hair, but this is more redirection and Sam isn't letting himself be swayed yet.

"Of course I'm here. You're my brother, Dean." As nervous as Cas seems to be to touch Dean right now, as if he's had his permission revoked, Sam doesn't hesitate to—long arms hook his brother in, wrapping him in a bear hug that Dean returns. Even with all the sasquatch jokes, it's regularly surprising that Dean seems smaller now than his mind will let him imagine his big brother, who's always tried to protect him. "You remember the night I left for Stanford. . .?"

Dean freezes in the hug, too stiff in Sam's arms, thrown by the question.

"You had this look. Like you were biting the bullet, taking yourself out of the picture. Said I could have a better life . . ."

"And I was right." Dean thumps Sam between the shoulders and pulls away, and it's too soon after his testimony for Sam to be comfortable holding on when Dean wants free. There's a brittle quality to Dean's smile, though the pride is genuine. "All grown up and a hell of a lawyer. You call me, when that emancipation paperwork goes through. And lemme know what you need from me, while we're suing the government." Whatever Dean's thinking about doing, it isn't effecting his decision to take this battle as far as he has to, to try and force change.

"And I want to know everything about my niece or nephew. I'm gonna be there when the kid's born."

"Yeah, I hope to see you both then." Sam includes Castiel into the comment as the Alpha approaches just close enough to lean against the passenger side door of the Impala near them, but he keeps his eyes on Dean as he says it, noting the cant of his head, the way his lips press together and how he breaks the stare Sam has leveled on him by moving toward the car.

Dean's never been good at goodbyes.

Castiel's grip is firm and Sam uses the handshake solemnly offered to him to pull Cas into another hug. Cas is good for Dean—there's sworn testimony to prove it, even. Castiel fought for Dean, but Sam's not sure if Cas is ready to fight to keep him if it's Dean who he'd be fighting.

"Thank you, Sam. For everything."

Sam chuffs, and thumps Cas between the shoulder blades. "You're the one who hired me, man." This may be Dean and Castiel's chance to get away from the courtroom, but Sam's still going to be deep in this for a long time yet; he has a civil battle he has no intention of letting go to court, and an opportunity to make his brother's assailants miserable for the rest of their lives in legal woes. He'd be lying if he said that this entire mess didn't increase his desire to destroy Dean's assailants legally, and Cas made that possible. Whether he realizes it or not, he also made it possible for Sam to start the civil rights battle he's been considering for years, gave Dean the catalyst he needed and the support.

"Keep an eye on him, Cas." It's a warning phrased as a goodbye, and Castiel's eyes narrow in confusion as he steps back from Sam, head canting to the side. Sam can't give him more than that, though. Because it's Dean's choice, not his.

The Impala starts up with a roar, and Cas ducks into the car as Dean raises the hand off the steering wheel to wave goodbye to his brother.

xXx

The car interior isn't allowed to stay silent; silence means talking, and Dean can't handle that right now. Castiel folds himself against the passenger side door, cheek against the seatbelt and eyes sliding closed as the air ruffles his hair, whistling through the car and mixing with the sound of Led Zeppelin. He's never been the type to push for conversation, and he can wait until Dean is ready to talk about what happened in the courtroom.

Dean drives as if he's escaping, as if any second someone from Lawrence could try to pull him back to that town, gunning the engine and flooring it the second they hit open road. Castiel doubts either of them will ever return to Kansas again, and regardless of whatever lingering fear he has of starting over once again, Castiel won't say he'll miss this place either. But he doesn't want to reach their destination this quickly, either.

He needs the chance to transition and shake the dust of Kansas off of his boots before they throw themselves directly into their new lives in Sioux Falls. Here, inside the Impala, feels safe. Here Dean is free, in control, and determined. Castiel watches him through slitted eyes; he's too tense to doze, and Dean is still too upset by having his life ripped apart in the courthouse to sing along or slouch comfortably into his seat.

On their way to the lake, they were escaping a trial. Here, they're simply taking it on the road with them, the silence from the courthouse weighing on them both. No matter how far they get from Lawrence today, a group of strangers and Dean's closest family are having lies about them poured into their ears, as Crowley does his best to discredit them. In Castiel's pocket, his phone is a lead weight—he's tempted to reach for it, to text Charlie or Jo for news of the courtroom, but he has no way of defending Dean from here. He doesn't expect news from Gabriel about his intended break-in at Lucifer's office until later in the evening, and for now he's just. . . useless, a passenger on everyone else's voyages.

They're thirty minutes outside of Kansas City and into Missouri before Castiel catches sight of a highway marker going by, and he straightens slowly, turning to look out the window and get his bearings, brow furrowing. "We're going the wrong way."

"If we were going to South Dakota, yeah." There's something too light, too forced, about Dean's retort. It quashes any momentary hope that the change of direction is just because Dean feels the same about dragging this trip out a little.

They're headed toward Illinois; towards Castiel's own past, and the family he ran away from. They could be at Emmanuel's by nightfall, with the way Dean is driving. Everything Castiel owns is loaded into this car, and Dean is bringing him back towards his family.

"It's not what you're thinking." Dean interrupts, before Castiel can find the voice to protest.

"It looks a great deal as if you're moving me back to Illinois and dumping me."

"Which is why I said 'it's not what you're thinking.'" Dean bites out at him, sharp and angry. After everything today, it's no surprise how quick to surface his temper is, and Castiel forces himself to back down, hands bunching into fists on his knees, eyes sliding to the window to watch mile markers zip past them. They're both tense, and stressed—picking a fight right now is counterproductive. He needs to think, and he needs a chance to figure out what's on Dean's mind.

Dean's voice is even again when he starts speaking after a few moments, spinning the volume control to turn the music down to a low buzz around them. "You want to meet your dad, Cas. And you need. . . you need to see your family again. It's been eating at you, man, ever since Gabriel showed up."

Castiel doesn't deny that, but he doesn't think that's the end of it, either. Dean is giving him a choice, preparing himself for the idea that when presented with the chance to face his past, to reclaim a life with his privileged family in Illinois, Castiel won't choose him.

This is still about the trial, and about how damaged Dean sees himself. This is about the recently revealed scars left by Alastair as much as it is about Castiel's own past. Closing his eyes, Castiel forces himself to relax, and then nods slightly. If anything, Castiel's agreement just makes Dean's forced humor worse, his voice tighter.

"Okay. …Good." Dean's fingers flex on the steering wheel, his shoulders tense, and he watches the road intently rather than look at Cas beside him. "Good. We'll get dinner, find a hotel somewhere in Illinois, so you can call your family and let them know you're coming, instead of showing up unannounced."

And where they can wait, while pretending they're not, to hear whether a jury of strangers buys the lies concocted about Dean—whether or not the legal system believes, as an Omega, that Dean has the right to tell a group of Alphas no.

Despite his determination to let Dean make the first move, Castiel finds himself reaching out to touch Dean's shoulder, reassuring him silently. His hand captured quickly, fingers lacing together tightly with Dean's on the seat between them, and though Dean still can't look at Cas it's at least a start.