Fiat Justitia Ruat Caelum

"Let justice be done though the heavens fall"

Winchester v. United States hit the Supreme Court on a windy autumn day, and by the time it comes around Dean's just ready for it to be done.

Technically, it's Winchester, Shurley, Tran, eleven other named plaintiffs and some indefinite number of Omegas in the class action suit versus the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, but everything gets boiled down to the basics for record keeping, and he's sitting in the nation's capital apparently about to go toe to toe with the entire country. That's pretty damned nerve-wracking for him, but it's been even worse for Sam, if that's possible. When the first federal court slapped them down under the guise of property laws, Sam made it clear that wasn't the end of it. He juggled things, handled it all without them, pushed them through places, and in theory the Supreme Court taking their case was supposed to be the goal. Dean thinks. Hell, he doesn't know half of what's going on when it comes to the legal crap, he shows up when he's supposed to and answers the questions.

Once they hit the Supreme Court docket facts started sinking in with him, as his brother started to unravel under pressure to prepare: he knows now that something like 8,000 cases request to go before the Supreme Court every year and they usually only pick up about 75 of them, and once they decide… well, hell. That's it, whatever happens is law. Their case is being taken seriously, with them suing the government on behalf of themselves but also a large chunk of the population, and Sam has no idea if it's a good thing or bad that they're gathering enough interest that the Supreme Court wants to be the final word on them.

It could shut down this entire line, and slap him with the label of property for the rest of his life by reaffirming the circuit court ruling. It could set them back at square one, leaving Sam with just the crummy quill pen they put at the counsel table as a souvenir and a snowball's chance in hell of ever getting in front of them again.

Sam has 30 minutes to convince them. That's it. 30 minutes of a brief, and the Justices will take the evidence, take everyone's recorded depositions, take their transcripts and court rulings and police reports and retreat back into their hole or wherever they go when not on display, and then send back whatever answer they want without ever looking them in the eye again.

Dean spent the predawn hours on the postage stamp sized balcony of a hotel overlooking the Potomac, trying to ignore Cas's restless tossing and turning in the hotel room behind him. This is their big chance, and he can't screw it up, can't listen when people try to pretend this is all about the money for him, or the jeered comments about knowing his place, or a few recent news commentators who've made a point of unsubtly asking what exactly his problem is with the system given he's about the size of a barge right now with an Alpha's kids.

This all moved too fast, faster than any of them anticipated. He didn't want to do this while seven months pregnant. Hell, he didn't want to do this at all, but he knows someone has to. He needs this time to get his head together, or he's going to do something supremely stupid.

So it'd be easier if Cas stayed asleep, instead of opening the door and looking down at Dean where he's sprawled with his back to one the side of the railing, long bowed legs bent to make all of him fit, knee wedged against wrought iron and the other foot against the door jamb, an arm curled protectively around his stomach and the other wrapped around the railing. "It's cold out here."

"You're cold if the A/C dips under 72." Dean counters absently, eyes still fixed on people already jogging in the waterfront park and those stirring in the small shops across the street. "Go back inside."

Castiel rarely ever listens to sense, though, and grabs one of Dean's hand-me-down shirts off of their luggage, shrugging it on and joining him. He slides down against the opposite rail, shifting until his shoulders fit right against them, and the only way for both of them to fit like this is going to leave them a mess of tangled legs when they try to stand. Dean's foot brushes against the soft worn cotton of his old shirt and Cas has one foot stuck through the door just to fit next to him. They probably look ridiculous. "I think this landing is mostly for decoration, Dean."

"If you're uncomfortable, then go back inside." Dean snipes, unreasonably irritated at the interruption to his stolen solitude. Cas falls quiet but doesn't move, and after a few moments Dean can feel when his gaze slides away, when he stops staring at Dean and start looking out at the steady crawl of traffic below them. The silence would feel companionable if Dean didn't feel like a tool for lashing out, first. Turning he gets a good look at his mate, hair a tufted mess in the wind off the river, eyes red-rimmed from uneasy sleep, Dean's shirt hanging a shade too large on him, and a troubled look creasing deep lines in his face, darkening his gaze. After a moment, Dean slips his foot beneath the shirt's hem and prods Cas in the ribs with a toe to get his attention back from wherever it wandered off to. "Sorry."

Cas shakes his head, brushing away the apology as unnecessary. "It's fine, Dean. The book says…"

"If you quote that goddamn What To Expect book at me and say a freakin' thing about all those pregnant chicks being hormonal, I swear to God…"

Cas's eyes narrow into slits, jaw bunching, and he interrupts Dean before he can concoct a ridiculous, impossible threat. "First, don't swear to God. Second, those books are a best-selling resource and have sound advice though they are not written for Omegas specifically. Third, your general irritability far predates your pregnancy…"

Despite himself, Dean snorts softly, suppressing a laugh as he interrupts. "You calling me an asshole, Cas?"

Cas answers without breaking pace. "Not the word I would use, but not entirely inaccurate." Dean jabs him in the ribs again, far more amused than irritated now, but he's ignored as Cas continues his train of thought. "And finally, I was going to say that the book indicates that your need for private time should be respected, which puts me at fault … but now that I sat down I'm not sure if I can get back up again."

Dean rolls his eyes, but even with all of the roiling emotions this morning Cas is making sure affection wins out. "You're a friggin' dumbass." Castiel ducks his head, trying not to smile at the insult, and he's been a Winchester just long enough to translate an intended 'I love you' out of an affectionate insult the same way Dean knows being called an idjit or a jerk means the same. "Try not to move." Regardless of his warning, Cas flinches as Dean's heel nearly catches him in the groin, pressing himself back into the rails while reaching a hand out to steady Dean as he hauls himself to his feet carefully, trying to find his center of balance again. Just as Cas seems to be bracing himself to stand, too, Dean drops back down, now wedged between Cas's outstretched legs, back to Cas's chest, head back on his shoulder, and Cas grunts as he takes an elbow to the thigh as Dean gets comfortable.

"I'm not sure how this is any better." Cas's voice is thin as he shifts so he's not being crushed back against the railing, because Dean was heavier than him to begin with because of years of manual labor, even before they added two more Winchesters to the pile. Dean would be more sympathetic if it weren't for the fact that he always feels like he's being crushed back into the bed or chairs now, with the added bonus of feet and elbows that seem to unerringly find internal organs Dean's pretty sure weren't meant to be pummeled.

And anyway, it takes Cas all of ten seconds before his hands are cupped around Dean's stomach belying his words, because there's no way curling up halfway off the bed to put his cheek against Dean's abdomen is comfortable, either, but Cas will do just that to be able to talk to Dean's stomach because a book told him to, or to pet and touch him with awe in his eyes, or the memorable night Dean woke up to Cas hidden curled up entirely under the blankets with a flashlight near his stomach because he read that the twins could likely see and respond to light versus dark and they were awake anyway, squirming away and trying to kick both of their parents at once.

Cas would probably slather him in cooking oil and sing show tunes to his stomach if that book said to: Dean's pretty sure he's trying to study more for fatherhood than he ever did to be a doctor.

As much as Cas is already head over heels for their kids, though, this is what he prefers, how they fall together on the couch for television, now, and how they end up in bed; curled together to let him hold both his mate and his children. It settles something in Cas, some deep-seated need to watch over them all that has little to do with being Alpha and everything to do with him being Cas.

Dean links their fingers together after a moment, positioning one of Cas's hands to be over what feels like a knee, and Castiel tucks his face down into Dean's hair as he rolls his hand back and forth over this precious proof of life until he's kicked for it, which usually brightens his entire demeanor. Dean can feel the soft exhalation of a sigh before the quiet confession. "I'm worried about the protesters."

"Figured." Cas has never been able to hide worry well: it paints itself across his face, changes how he holds himself, and keeps him awake through the night. Of course Dean knew he was worried—he'd have known even if they weren't pretty damn good at reading each other. "All across the city right now there's a bunch of assholes with poster-board and markers who showed up just to try and come up with the wittiest ways they can to say your dad should still be hooked to a table at a crèche, Kevin's the personal property of the guy who nabbed him on his way to the SATs, and I should be a drugged up party favor for Alastair to pass around, or belong tied up in your closet or whatever."

That came out a lot more bitter than Dean intended.

Cas coils his arms around him, hugging Dean back against him as if he can protect him from the hateful sentiment they're going to have to literally wade through today, a sea of people from across the country who bought a plane ticket or road tripped just to stand on the steps of the Supreme Court and demonstrate their first amendment rights as obnoxiously as possible, because 'life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness' is something for other people. Hell, it's something for people, and Dean can have whatever papers he wants emancipating him, but it won't make those protesters see him as a person. He's just a wet hole and a viable womb. What was done to Chuck for Cas, Jimmy, and Emmanuel to be born is completely acceptable in their eyes, but Cas marrying Dean and them having a family together is an aberration. That's something that Cas will never be able to wrap his head around. Dean's sorry he brought it up.

Because even if Sam by some miracle walks out of there with a win today, that is what they still will have to fight. They can get the law on their side, but that won't win the people. Not yet, at least. And that's supposed to be Dean's job, the charismatic Omega of the group of them. Not the smartest (that'd be Kevin), or the most articulate (that'd probably be Chuck, as long as he can do it on paper), or the most camera-friendly (he's going to give that to Gilda, who is the portrait of what the world wants Omegas to be and was still screwed over), or even the most damaged (that'd be Annie, who still answers better to Alexis and has all of a teenager's anger and more damage than most adults rack up in a lifetime, still raw and mistrusting).

No, the person who's here to appeal to the entire world and make them understand that they're pretty fucked up for treating Omegas like they're uselessly hormonal and should be knocked up all the time and property of an Alpha … is the knocked up, hormonal, useless damaged Omega cringing in an Alpha's arms right now. He wasn't even all that great at the reporter stuff before this, but now…?

Basically they're screwed.

Dean lets Cas hold and pet him a while longer, telling himself it's because that's what Cas needs, even though Dean's the one pinning Cas there not the other way around. Truth is, Dean knows he's not okay. He knows depression and self-loathing; paired with Johnny Walker, they've been nearly lifelong friends of his. He can't cope with this in his usual ways—can't go blow off steam in a bar, or drink himself under a table, and he doesn't feel like it's safe for him to go take a crowbar to some junker in Bobby's lot while he's sitting around pushing papers because he can't slide under a car anymore. He doesn't even know if he wants to do any of that, and that leaves him with his only other coping method… makes him dependent on Cas. While they bolster each other along as partners, and it's fine most of the time, right now it feels unbalanced at the worst possible time because of what the court stuff is doing to his head.

Win or lose, it's happening today, and he needs to make himself move. He knows they're going to have to get a move on soon if they're going to be on time, all of them riding over in the rental van together through terrible Washington DC traffic.

Dean had no idea when Charlie brought it in yesterday where she got him a suit that'd fit him, and didn't want to ask. Now he's pretty sure it's probably some plus sized custom ordered from some Beta women's maternity store suit tailored to fit a dude. The crotch is still too snug, and the shirt buttons on the wrong side and it and the jacket are still too loose across his chest while still being too tight across his shoulders, and he's back to scowling at the world as Cas shrugs into his own suit jacket beside him. It's bad enough he's down to sweat pants and t-shirts the size of tents for his daily wear, this just rubs it in. There are no readily available clothes for pregnant Omega males because 'breeders' don't need clothes, that just interferes with their purpose when they should be exposed and readily available for their Alphas to use at any time.

"You look fine." Cas misreads the fidgeting with his clothes and glaring at his reflection, but that's pretty par for the course. Cas is Alpha and probably doesn't even think about the little things like the petty injustice of clothing makers. Of course, the idea that Dean couldn't wear whatever the hell he wanted regardless of Cas's opinion as his Alpha mate is also absolutely appalling to him, because he's a genuinely nice guy, so Dean figures he can take the bad with the good there.

The gang's all gathered in the lobby by the time they get down there, last to arrive. Sam's in fine form, using his height to tower over them all and go over the procedure, as though they haven't already heard it, and Kevin bolts out of a seat to give it over to Dean when he shows up. He should have been suspicious; not that Kev isn't a considerate kid but because Linda Tran is sitting in the next seat and probably pinched him to make him move so that she could fuss over the only pregnant one of them in the entire group.

(Cas finds her intimidating, but he'll listen intently to all of her advice. He's shot an approving look by Linda for stepping up behind Dean's chair to absently massage his shoulders while waiting through Sam's speechifying.)

The real surprise is who sidles up beside Cas, resting his arm on the back of the chair and leaning over it, holding out a donut box for Dean to select from. "I totally got a discount by claiming these were for the pregnant lady moping up on a balcony, so you get first pick."

"Gabriel?" Castiel is gaping at his brother, a bit lost, and gets a sharp look from Sam and a few of the more attentive front-row types for not lowering his voice, which only makes Gabe grin wider and waggle his fingers in a wave at the younger Winchester brother.

"Frikkin' stalker." Dean grumbles, and plucks a glazed donut out of the box—his pick of the leftovers, since Gabe's clearly taken all the best pastries for himself. "Your brother put you up to that? Nobody's gonna snipe me or anything. And I don't look like a lady."

"Eh, you're knocked up and far enough away that there were no questions. And dude have you met you? Hell it's a wonder no one's taken a shot at you yet." Gabe's wearing the most obnoxiously colored Hawaiian shirt Dean's ever seen under what looks like a vintage Vietnam era army jacket with all the patches ripped off, and he settles onto the arm of Dean's chair without a by-your-leave to his brother-in-law, ignoring the middle finger he gets in return.

Castiel is still flabbergasted. "What're you doing here?"

"Nothing legal, promise." Gabe smirks at his own double-meaning, then grabs himself another donut, pushing the box into Kevin's arms to get him to divvy up the rest. "When we bugged Lucifer's system I tapped into the family financials, too, figured I could get an idea of where they were spending and getting money, might be useful. Luci dropped a lot of cash in DC last week on some sort of event coordinator type who typically does all the stupid star-spangled parties you could ask for as a political candidate. Did some digging, doesn't look like he or Mikey are planning to take over the world quite yet, so that meant it was probably about you two again since you're out here making waves." Licking icing off his fingers, Gabe points them vaguely in Charlie's direction. "I got red to do her thing last night, and she thinks our loving family may have bought themselves some protesters and news hounds, basically, to feed the angry mob."

Castiel's hand is gripping Dean's shoulder tightly, now, and Dean doesn't have to turn to look at him to know he's furious. "Why? Why would he do that?"

"Because he's an asshole, because we're screwing up his business, and because your husband here pisses him off, and every time Dean tells his story, some reporter (with absolutely no connection to yours truly) emails asking Lucifer for a follow-up about why his business mailed that check and grills him about his law firm's role in sex trafficking. Don't ask me how I know that or what I had to do to win him over." Gabriel shrugs. "Plus you did punch Lucifer that one time."

"You threw the first punch." Castiel grumbles sullenly, and Dean's never going to hear this story straight, with the way these two pass the blame for the family brawl back and forth between them.

Gabriel stands, getting out of the way as the meeting apparently breaks around them so that Dean can try to use the arm rest to push himself out of the chair, but Sam is suddenly there, light on his feet despite his size (damn him) and he clasps wrists with his brother and helps get him on his feet. Not that Dean needed the damn help.

"Are you okay? Charlie said she saw you out on the balcony this morning and she thought you were pretty upset…" Dean frowns, turning until he catches Charlie in his peripheral, and she shoots a guilty look at him with the best apologetic shrug she can give with her arms full of files, because Sam's her boss and of course she was only in the next room to keep an eye on them. He's got too many people fussing over him all the time and Dean's about ready to punch them for hovering.

He's pregnant not an invalid, and he's depressed but he damn sure doesn't need to be kept under watch like he's in a psych ward, a bunch of Alphas peeling away at his disguise. He waves his brother and husband away irritably. "Cas, explain that whole privacy thing to Sam, I think he skipped that chapter in the book."

"Which book?" Sam, the damn nerd, grabs hold of that word as a welcome distraction and brightens as he turns to Cas, the two Alphas outpacing Dean to get the door for him and the rest of the group, Sam's briefcase swinging at his side.

"What To Expect. I believe the series extends into childhood developmental stages, if you're interested for Robert…"

Gabriel whistles under his breath, his casual stroll and shorter legs making him bring up the rear with Dean as he shakes his head at the hopelessness of Castiel and Sam naturally falling into Geek Dad mode. "How'd you get stuck with a pair of dorks?"

"Stuck with one, married the other. Must be a glutton for punishment." Sighing, Dean thinks for a moment then darts a sideways look at Gabriel, brow furrowing as he realizes they were just conversationally manipulated and didn't even notice it because Gabriel was directing the flow of the discussion. "You know, you never did explain what you're doing here."

Gabriel's grin is more than a little wicked, and he waggles his eyebrows without answering. "You'll see."

xXx

There's a party on the steps of the Supreme Court.

'Buddy Jesus' is standing outside the van as they pull up, holding a sign that says "I'm not with them" with an arrow pointed at a man standing on a box with a bullhorn doing a selective reading of Leviticus. Music pumps to drown out bigots on loudspeakers. For every person spewing hate, there's someone else with an Omega symbol painted on their cheek or their shirt or their homemade signs. There's more than one rainbow flag flying over the crowd, and the entire place is like someone mashed a pride parade together with a hate rally.

The van door opens to mixed cheers and jeering, and Sam steps out with a look like he's completely flummoxed by it, until Dean hoists himself out after his brother and nudges his elbow, reminding him that he's got to get moving. Police officers have erected barricades to cordon off a path for them to pass through the center of the crowd, but even so Cas fills in the role of a personal bodyguard as he falls in beside Dean, prepared for anything to be thrown at them.

Wouldn't be the first time.

Gabriel melts into the crowd, high-fiving the cosplay Jesus (an image Dean will never get out of his head) and then grabbing a microphone and hopping up onto the edge of the fountain nearly obscured by the crowds. Dean can't even make out what he's saying, just that it's loud and that Gabe missed his calling as a game-show host or a cartoon character for how over the top it is, and then the cheering gets louder than the jeers, and then he's pretty sure he hears American Idiot being blared back at the protestors through loudspeakers from their supporters. They pass by an Alpha dressed as Batman making out with an Omega dressed like Robin who have put themselves in front of the TV crews trying to press closer to the plaintiffs filing in, and Dean's brow furrows, pretty sure he doesn't like that interpretation of the comics, but at least they're not screaming anything.

The twins are definitely awake and not liking the racket. He's going to end up sitting in front of the Supreme Court while being kicked repeatedly in the bladder by the already pissed off next generation of Winchesters, but Dean has to admit this has Gabriel's fingerprints all over it and he outdid himself. There's no way anyone's taking the more hateful protesters seriously with this crew here. Gabe's a jackass, but he's definitely shaping up to be Dean's favorite in-law, illegal activities and all, and he just handed Dean the in he needs to handle this with the media.

A little humor worked into a serious discussion: Dean can work with that, be a spokesperson of the impromptu circus of freaks that invaded Washington DC. Thumbing his nose at hate. This strikes the right tone for him, and he can work from it.

They reach the white marble steps, free of the press of the crowd on the sidewalk, and Dean comes to a halt, looking up at the building looming over them. Behind him, Chuck nearly walks into his back as he shuffles along as quickly as he can, head down to avoid looking at the crowd. Cas rests a hand on Dean's elbow and another on his father's shoulder, as if worried one or the other of them suddenly stopped because they got hurt.

Dean shakes his head, unable to hear Cas's question as he turns back to face Kevin and Chuck and all their gathered rejects, victims and survivors who decided to fight back against the system that let it happen, and to Sam and Charlie and Cas who came to fight for them. Unable to really convey what he's thinking over the din of the crowd but aware he needs to rally them somehow before they get inside, Dean points at the inscription over the courthouse entrance with a smartass's smirk of amusement, lifting an eyebrow at his brother.

He doesn't realize there's a news photographer in the back of crowd to snap the shot of him pointing and the others looking up at words carved above them. He doesn't know that his gesture will lead to the phrase being picked up in chant by the crowd, spurred on by Gabriel who's keeping an eye on their progress into the building. He doesn't know this moment will be on every American news website within minutes, well before they ever come out with a ruling.

There's no way to know beforehand that the image will become iconic of this event-a defiant, cynically amused Omega in front of a colorful mob, gesturing up at the phrase upon which the entire American justice system is supposedly built, and what they'll put to test today:

Equal Justice Under Law.