REVIVE ▸ d. winchester [2] ✔

Chapter 39

"Jackie Eileen Kaiser, your charges are as stands: illegal entry to the United States, credit card fraud misdemeanor and identity theft, two counts of grave desecration, three counts of carjacking, assault of a federal officer, burglary, residential arson, trespassing, and seventeen counts of murder in the first degree. How does the defendant plead?"

Jackie and Dean sit quietly at the defendant's table of the courtroom, not at all alone however due to the handful of officers immediately behind them.

A growing crowd of onlookers sits in the benches further back, eagerly awaiting a plea from America's highest profile criminal. Their murmers and chatter had finally stopped, leaving the room completely at a standstill and only filled with the occasional click from a news camera flash. 

Dean stands up from his seat next to Jackie without hesitation, his attourney-like persona taking over. "The defendant pleads not guilty, your honor."

The chatter was back in an instant. Jackie hardly knew how these arraignment sessions typically went, but she knew that the outcry from the crowd was unwanted once the judge began slamming his gavel on his bench with a yell. "Quiet! Order!"

Five more slams of the gavel ring out before the judge speaks up again. The discussion in the room had finally been reduced to quiet, impatient whispers. 

"The defendant pleads not guilty. Preliminary trials will begin in two weeks, on December 15, at 9 a.m. at the District Court of Nebraska." The judge, sitting in his black robes and leaving his voice ringing in Jackie's ears, speaks in a serious yet monotone voice. Jackie can't help but feel lost in the system, becoming desperate for a way out of the jumpsuit and the restraints she'd been hauled around in for almost a week now. She couldn't spend the rest of her life behind bars, not because of Azrael.

"The defendant is to be transferred tomorrow morning to Nebraska's Department of Correctional Services, where she will be held up to and throughout trial." Standing up from his seat, the judge once again throws down his gavel with a slam and announces, "This meeting is adjourned."

Jackie doesn't even have the chance to watch the older man walk away, hardly giving a glace back at the courtroom that he was leaving in disarray. The moment he had stood up, the loud, yelling voices picked up, cameras flashed, and officers began grabbing at Jackie's arms in order to cuff her once again. 

Before they successfully remove Jackie from her chair, however, Dean is able to lean over. Hiding their faces and their discussion from the cameras by holding up a few papers, he whispers, "Remember our deal."

With that, Jackie is pulled out of her seat, leaving her to hold Dean's gaze as she is immediately cuffed and turned away towards the courtroom doors.

Before she is swarmed by a crowd of officers, cameramen, and news broadcasters, she is able to look over her shoulder at Dean. He stands alone at his spot at the table, watching as the girl in the orange jumpsuit is taken away. Helpless to do anything at the moment, he simply gives Jackie a nod, hoping desperately that he'd be seeing her soon; this time, not in another interrogation room. 

*          *          *

The lights are off throughout the bunker, save for a single lamp sitting on a table between a sofa and a reading chair. With an antique clock hanging on the wall reading almost 1 a.m., Dean sits alone in the chair, a half-sipped glass of whiskey in his hand. On the couch, Zeke lays sprawled out, each of his paws dangling over the edge as his head rests on an armrest. Zeke's eyes fall closed occasionally, but always open to take in Dean's unmoving presence. 

Dean sighs, bringing his hand up to his face to rub his tired eyes. He hadn't been sleeping much, and even when given the opportunity, he found that sleep didn't come easy. Nevertheless, his body wanted it; needed it, actually. And the alcohol was helping with that. 

Dean swishes the last few sips of Bourbon around in his glass, watching the clear brown liquid as it swirls around his fingertips. It wasn't his first drink of the night, but he knew it should be his last. So did Sam, who, wanting his own late night drink- water rather than whiskey, however- stands in the walkway to the kitchen and silently watches his brother. 

He watches as Dean slowly shifts forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and running one hand tiredly over his head. And he watches as Dean looks over at Zeke who, to no surprise, was still awake with the older brother. The dog didn't know much about what was going on, but he had yet to drop the protectiveness and loyalty to the people who took care of him, even if it wasn't the tall brunette he was accustomed to. 

Dean reaches over with a hand and runs his fingers through Zeke's fur. The dog's ears go back, and the tip of his tail lifts in a small wag. Through his exhaustion, Dean finds the urge to smile down at him.

"You miss her too, huh?" Dean's eyes fall on the healed scar on Zeke's back leg. The fur had never properly grown back, but the dog no longer felt pain from the deep knife wound he had recieved so many months ago. Dean found it funny how time could move so fast yet so slow, immediately thinking back to the days of hunting with Jackie that blurred together with those without her. Time was never anybody's friend, he'd found. Time is never on anyone's side.  

"Me too," Dean whispers, his fingers finding Zeke's collar, his metal tags jingling as he does so. 

Sam couldn't find the urge to speak up. He, too, missed Jackie, and he missed when they could hunt freely without angels or demons or the government getting in the way. But he knew that Dean was taking it harder than he was, and that it was a lot worse than how his brother typically carried guilt upon his shoulders. This time was different, and Sam knew exactly why. He could only wonder if Dean knew it, too. 

Sam steps back into the dark hallway, leaving Dean alone as he sees him throw back the rest of his drink and stand up. He hopes his older brother puts the bottle of Bourbon away, and he hopes that Dean gets some sleep. He wished the same for Bobby, too, who was dealing with the loss and the stress of the whole situation in a very similar manner. 

Sam didn't know much about drowning his sorrows in alcohol, but the grief they were feeling was certainly an old, familiar friend. So as Sam himself walked back to his room and crawled under his blankets, his last thoughts of the night were of hoping that the next twenty four hours went as planned. 

After all, they were due for a change in luck.