Archive of Our Own ^beta

- The Mountain Goats

 

It’s the morning of their court date. 

It’s the morning of their court date, and Balthazar knows that means it’s time to begin his performance. 

Over the last several months, he has successfully shaken most of the demure slave behavior that had been beaten into him. He has overcome the majority of his training. He doesn’t act like a toy anymore – at least when he’s conscious enough to help it. 

He doesn’t count waking up on his hands and knees on the floor, shaking and sweating, forehead pressed into the rug as he waits for pain. He doesn’t count those moments where he gets abruptly overwhelmed, where a trip to do the shopping or something equally innocuous tips him over the edge, and he has to flee to his shower or his nest in his bedroom and curl up with his arms over his head. Fear caught in his chest, some burned-in instinct screaming at him to be a smaller target. 

He doesn’t count those times because he doesn’t want to think about them at all.  

So, yes. Balthazar no longer acts as a slave should act. He’d like to pat himself on the back for a job well done, but the truth is, breaking through that brainwashing had been a matter of survival. Making himself small, making himself appear weak, meek – those had been surefire ways to paint a target on his back. To advertise his designation and vulnerability to every alpha within spitting distance. And Balthazar hadn’t been able to afford that, alone and unguarded as he’d been between Gabriel and Cassie. 

It’s no longer his instinct to ask permission, to defer, to assume he will be denied or ignored. No longer his natural inclination to fall to his knees when his master slows to a stop, or when he needs to rest. He doesn’t automatically drop his eyes to the floor, or bow his head, or expose his neck to anyone who would deign to look his way. He’s fought through the urges to do so, has pushed them aside and locked them away and forced himself to act normal. 

On his own, it had been hard. Walking through the streets with his head held high had felt unnatural. Wrong. Something that would get him beat – something nearly impossible to maintain. Now, though – next to people who don’t expect him to act that way – he has found it to be easier. He has Cassie to thank for that. 

Gabriel, too. 

It’s a strange thought. 

Still. Though he’s not exactly devastated by the loss of his training, he knows that he will need to remember those lessons when he and Cassie make their appearance at the courthouse. It’s only logical. Official proceedings dictate a formal sort of adherence to decorum, and waltzing into a den of bureaucratic lions while acting as though he’s already free seems nothing short of tempting the devil. 

He will need to slip back into his role. Will need to grit his teeth and push aside his pride and keep himself in check. It will be a struggle for him to act as he should. He will, though. 

Balthazar may be proud, but he isn’t stupid.

There is a large part of him that is still unconvinced that this is going to work at all. A part of him that doubts whoever is supposed to sign off on the little slip of paper that will allow him to become a real boy will actually bother to do so. It seems more likely that the shit sort of luck that has dogged him for most of his life will return with a vengeance, stronger than ever after being kept at bay for so long. Seems more likely that someone with the right credentials will look down their nose at him and decide, for the good of society, that he is better off as a kept thing than a free man. 

As much as he’d like to deny it, though, there is a second part of him. A little sliver of his soul that isn’t jaded at all. 

He’d not immediately recognized the tentative emotion that had sprung to life inside of him over the last month. He’d woken up a few mornings ago and felt the confusing, restless bird feeling in his chest, and had spent days wondering at it and worrying at it until he’d finally recognized it. 

It was hope. Is hope. 

It’s no small wonder he’d been bewildered. He’s far more used to the tense, silent stillness of dread, to the sickening surety that there is worse yet to come, to being deep in a tunnel with no light in sight. Seeing the little feathered thing perched in his soul once again should feel like a miracle, he thinks, but in reality it scares him in a way that little else has. 

He’s scared to let it fully reach him. Scared to acknowledge that he wants this. Losing hope hurts worse than anything he’s ever known, and he’s not sure he can go through that again.

But he has to try. Everything hinges on this. The longer they wait, the higher the chance that something will go wrong. Michael has no reason to check on his status, no reason to see that he’s been miraculously resurrected for an entire week now, waiting on his paperwork to be reviewed, but if he does – 

If he does. 

So he avoids thinking about it. Keeps himself from looking at this chance too closely until it’s cornered him, and he has no other choice. 

A few scant hours away from the hearing, he wakes up in his bed after mere minutes of true sleep. His legs are tangled in his sheets, his heart in his mouth, sweat cold and clammy on his skin. The details of his nightmare have already faded, but there are flashes. Stills. Enough to make his stomach roll with nausea. Pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, he counts the seconds as he breathes. 

It takes him a moment to remember why he’s gotten so little sleep, aside from the obvious anvil dangling over him. But he recalls it, now – remembers that, yesterday, Cassie had gone out for errands after lunch. Had insisted on going alone, for the first time in ages. 

He’d smelled guilty. Hadn’t been able to meet Balthazar’s eyes, some mumbled excuse under his breath as he’d slipped out the door. That had told Balthazar more than enough. 

Castiel had gone off to get the one thing that neither of them have been brave enough to explicitly name. 

Oh, they’ve discussed the whole sordid affair at length. The paperwork, the process. What the hearing will probably look like – what tests Balthazar might have to do on the spot. When and where he’ll have to hold his tongue and act as he should. But, among all the bullshit minutia they’d planned out – the act he’ll have to put on – neither he nor Cassie has had the guts to mention the elephant in the room. 

If Balthazar wants to have a snowball’s chance in hell of being freed, he’ll have to wear a damn collar. 

It makes him shudder even now, in the quiet of a morning where he is safe and warm and unharmed. Makes him splay his palm across his throat, reassuring himself that it’s not already there. 

He’s had nightmares like that.Terrified eyes looking back at him in a mirror, a choking pressure around his neck once more, the ghost touch of Michael’s fingers slipping under the leather like fish hooks. 

He’s had nightmares like that often. 

Balthazar breathes in. Touches the hollow of his throat, feels the raised line of his scar – his original bid for freedom – and breathes out. 

He forces himself to shove aside the fear. Makes himself replace it with anger. He’s not afraid of a collar – can’t be. It’s just a meaningless strip of leather, one that Cassie won’t let him wear for long anyway. There’s a reason the alpha hasn’t brought it up, and it’s not just because Balthazar himself is uncomfortable with it. 

So – so it’s not fear. 

He refuses to say that it’s fear. 

Instead, he calls it bitterness. Because it does make him bitter. It makes his stomach sink and twist, makes his lip raise over his teeth when he thinks of himself, acting meek and mild, staring at the ground, cowering under the view of half a dozen people who could take away his chance at freedom in an instant if they feel he doesn’t know his place. He hates it, the knowledge that his case could be dismissed for something so small and trivial, just because it would ruffle the feathers of the wrong judge or paper-pusher. 

So, yes. He’s bloody bitter about it. 

But he’ll do it. 

He’ll do it. Anything else would be admitting defeat before he’s even tried. And, as jaded as Balthazar is, he’s not ready to give up quite that easily. He’s never been ashamed to do what he needs to do in order to survive, to give the system that wanted him to break the proverbial finger. 

He’s never lost his heretic pride. And he doesn’t intend to start now. 

---

The planning for Balthazar’s bid at freedom had taken quite some time. 

Ash, of course, had been a great resource. As soon as he’d decided that Cassie was to be trusted, he’d loaded them down with resources and tips that had had both their heads spinning. “You’ll want to call in the sheriff once we get this thing going,” he’d said, nodding sagely as they’d laid out a tentative sort of plan over dinner that same night he’d come to fix the heating. “She knows the in’s and out’s of the legal side of things. That part ain’t really my forte, as it were.” 

What had been Ash’s forte, as it turned out, was the technology aspect. Before bothering to start with the strictly legal aspects of Balthazar’s bid for freedom, they’d needed to know if the illegal parts had worked at all. 

As soon as Cassie had gotten confirmation from Gabriel that his end of things had been completed (and Balthazar will admit to himself that he’d been skeptical it would be), Cassie had called Ash to keep watch on Balthazar’s data. He’d shown back up on their doorstep not a half hour later, a large backpack and a greasy paper sack of fast food in tow, and had gleefully walked them through the process along the way. Clearly, he’d not been at all shy about showing off the fact that he was snooping around in what was supposed to be a highly secure government database. 

“See?” he’d asked, spinning around a strangely compact computer that looked as though it was being held together with duct tape and prayers. On-screen, there’d been tiny, scrolling numbers and words, capital letters and digits that were Greek to Balthazar. All but his own identification number, which he’d heard called out so many times at auction that he’s had it memorized for years. Whatever it was that he’d been trying to show them, Balthazar hadn’t seen – and, clearly, the confusion on his face had been obvious enough for the man to tell.  

“Now that it’s been in the water for six hours,” Ash had explained, tracing a particular line of text with his pinky finger to highlight it, “it’s sending out distress pings. He’ll get an alert for that, if he’s as interested in your data as you say he is.” 

“He is,” Balthazar had confirmed quietly, and Ash had just nodded, willing to take him at his word. 

He’d risked it, and had told the man who, exactly, had owned him. And, judging by the way Ash had squinted appraisingly at Castiel when he’d gotten the news, he’d not needed Balthazar to give him the full story – it’s clear he’d done his own research. He’d not questioned him, though – had not grilled Cassie on his lineage. Both he and the alpha are grateful for that.

“I’ve already poked around in there to be sure it’s reading like the thing is still attached to you – scrubbed out the log that keeps track of when it locks or unlocks. And, pretty soon,” he’d continued, confident and easy, “you’ll be showin’ up dead as a doornail.” 

Balthazar had looked skeptically at the screen, understanding only half or so of what the man had babbled about. “And then?”

“And then I’ll work my magic,” Ash had answered, grinning. “The bigwigs don’t want any activists getting their hands on how many slaves actually croak, right? It’d look bad. So, normally, data like yours would be automatically scrubbed from the system after thirty days. But if I nudge at it a little, I can keep it live for longer. Means that when you two actually apply…” 

“You can resurrect me so I’m not filling out paperwork as a legal ghost,” Balthazar had finished wryly. “And you’re sure the empty tomb won’t tip off Michael?”

Ash had just shrugged. “Hombre, I think he’d have to be certifiable to be checkin’ your damn expiration date for over a month. Far as he’s concerned,” he’d said, clapping them both on the back with a grin, “you’re fish food.” 

---

It’s the morning of their court date. 

It’s the morning of their court date, and Balthazar is forcing himself to feel nothing at all. 

He makes himself shower. Takes it intentionally slow. Revels in the warm water, something he’s fairly certain he’ll be finding novel for a while yet. He washes his hair, tugs at the strands that are longer than they’ve been in years. There’s more gray in it than he remembers. 

He keeps his mind blank. Empty.

There’d been some debate about what he was to wear. Jody had advised that he dress nicely, Ash had said to go traditional – the better to impress the judges. He’d opted for something more suited to a funeral than anything else – dark slacks. Nice shoes. A gray turtleneck, carefully rolled to cover his scar without being suspicious. He supposes the collar will fit over it just fine. 

The thought makes him nauseous, so he dismisses it. 

When his hair is thoroughly fussed with and he’s avoided eye contact enough with himself in the mirror, he walks calmly down the stairs. One step at a time. 

There’s no use in working himself into a frenzy, no point in losing his head. If he knows Cassie, he’ll have to keep it together for the both of them. The alpha’s going to be a nervous wreck. So, he puts on the mask. He shoves his emotions down into a box, and pretends to be unbothered by the idea that he will soon know if he’ll have to spend the rest of his life as a possession.

It shouldn’t matter, because his so-called owner will be anything but. It shouldn’t matter.

It does. 

Judging by how little sleep the alpha has gotten over the last few weeks, it very much matters to him, as well. Despite their relative success with their plan thus far, Castiel has worried himself into a nervous wreck. Maybe even more so than Balthazar has. 

Balthazar knows that, at least partially, that’s down to guilt. Cassie still feels responsible for what’s happened to Balthazar, despite not having a hand in it at all. And, on top of that, the alpha very clearly doesn’t want to own him. Cassie isn’t built to own anyone. He’s fairly certain the man had vowed to never do anything of the sort, and as noble as his intentions have been, he is still feeling the weight of signing his name on Balthazar’s contract. 

When he rounds the corner, the alpha is staring blankly down at the table, still wearing the clothes he had on yesterday – and maybe the day before, too. There’s a little cloth pouch in front of him, and he’s worrying at it. Tightening and untightening the drawstrings, tangling them together in a nervous knot before picking them apart. 

“Did you even try to go to bed last night?” 

The alpha startles at his wry question, craning around to look at him. His eyes are bloodshot, and he looks like he’s forgotten to shave for the last few mornings in a row. Or to shower at all, possibly – Balthazar wrinkles his nose as he picks up on the scent of stress, layered and stale. 

Cassie rubs a hand over his face, dragging in a long breath. The cup of coffee in front of him is untouched. “Not really. How did you sleep?” he asks, clearly attempting to be cordial. 

“Better than you,” Balthazar lies. 

Truth is, he probably doesn’t look much better. He’d not been able to close his eyes without seeing Michael, or his father. Hadn’t been able to drift off without feeling that pressure of a collar around his neck. Again. 

Not afraid, he reminds himself. 

Cassie clearly knows he’s lying, based on the long look he levels Balthazar’s way, but he’s too decent to call him on it. “I tried to cook breakfast,” he mumbles, dropping his eyes and rubbing at them again. “But…” 

Balthazar peers past him, raising an eyebrow at the counter. It’s littered with the makings of an all star feast, but there’s not a pan in sight. 

His stomach clenches at the mere thought of food, so all the better for it. “Coffee’ll do,” he says, his words less flippant than they were meant to be be. Cassie doesn’t reply – he just hunches his shoulders a little. 

Balthazar feels like there’s a heavy weight dangling above them both. 

“It will work out,” the alpha says abruptly. 

He sounds convicted, Balthazar will give him that. If it wasn’t for the quivering nerves poisoning his scent, he might even think the alpha believes it. 

“It might,” Balthazar amends. He pours his coffee and congratulates himself on the fact that his hand does not shake. “Might not.” 

“It has to,” Cassie replies, that stress bleeding into his voice immediately. He runs a hand through his hair – it stays pushed back, an unwashed mess. The alpha’s hands are shaking. “It – it has to.” 

“Cassie,” Balthazar reminds him, tone brooking no room for argument. “We’ve talked about this.” 

And they have. He and Castiel have come up with failsafes. They’ve discussed what will happen if his paperwork is rejected – Cassie with sad puppy eyes and slumped shoulders, of course. He’d been determined to reassure Balthazar. We’ll try again, he’d said. 

You’ll be safe here regardless, he’d promised. 

What he’d really meant, of course, was that Balthazar will never have to act as though he’s owned, even if he is. And, if he’s honest with himself, Balthazar had already known that. Had known that he’d be free here, officially dead or not. He wishes it brought him more comfort. 

He wishes that he could let go of wanting. 

“You know we’ll have to act differently in there, yes?” Balthazar says bluntly, sipping his coffee as he leans against the counter. “You can’t be… you.” 

Cassie has the audacity to look at him with confusion. “Be… me?”

“You can’t be decent,” he clarifies, careful to keep his tone flat. It will be easier for both of them if he’s matter of fact about this – if he rips off the bandage. “Can’t talk to me like I’m a person.” 

Cassie stares at him, sluggishly processing his words. Jesus, the man needs a solid night of sleep. They both do. “But you are a person.” 

“I’m not,” he corrects. “Not yet.” Not until, by some miracle, someone who doesn’t get paid enough to give a damn actually stamps their approval. 

The alpha’s face has hardened. “I’m not going to treat you like a thing.” Disgust is thick in his words. 

“Then you’ll fuck it up for the both of us,” Balthazar says flatly. “Or do you want them to think you’re some zealot? Some rabid abolitionist?”

“I am–” 

“They can’t know that, Cassie,” he hisses. “Our cover is flimsy enough as it is.”

Hell, Balthazar isn’t sure they can even call it cover. It is, in a manner of speaking, not entirely a falsehood, which is probably why Cassie looks green around the gills whenever they speak of it. And probably why he’ll fumble over his words enough for the clerk that will hear them out to dismiss them with a laugh. 

There’s the faintest flicker of anger in Castiel’s scent, and Balthazar reminds himself firmly that the only consequences for that might be an awkward breakfast. He’s not going to be backhanded for disrespect, and he thinks on any other morning, he wouldn’t have to remind himself of that. 

Despite their topic of conversation, he doesn’t truly believe that Cassie is going to be able to treat him as anything less than a friend for any length of time. 

“I’m freeing you,” Cassie says hotly, confirming that thought nicely. “They’ll hardly expect me to be a – a fundamentalist.” 

Balthazar huffs. “Sure. You’ll not have to be…” like your father.  “Monstrous. But if you look too much like an anarchist, and the wrong paper-pusher decides to take offense…"

“I don’t – I don’t want to act like I own you,” Cassie fumbles out, miserable as he says it. He already knows that he’ll have to. 

“You do own me,” Balthazar reminds him, the words blunt as they are painful to say. To hear. “Have you forgotten why we’re doing this?”

Cassie flinches. When his gaze meets Balthazar’s, his anger dissipates like smoke. As gung-ho as he’d been about signing himself on as Balthazar’s owner, he’d very clearly hated every second of it. Harsh as it is, Balthazar has to remind him why they’ve done it in the first place. 

What’s at risk. 

 “I…” The alpha deflates, sighing. Rubs at his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll…” 

He grimaces. “I promise I won’t give us away.” 

Balthazar sighs. Tough as this is for him, he knows it’s difficult for Cassie, too. Knows that he’s as hungry for Balthazar’s freedom as Balthazar himself is. Balthazar wants to reach out and hold his damn hand. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Balthazar says, shrugging to cover how much Cassie’s preoccupation with treating him like a person is getting to him, “I know you won’t really mean it. I know you.” 

If Cassie’s grateful smile is a little shaky, neither of them comment on it. 

They fall into a mostly easy silence after that, Balthazar refilling his cup once more before deciding he’s gotten enough caffeine in his system to bring up the subject he’s been avoiding for several days now. He nods down at the small pouch in front of Cassie, gesturing to it with his cup. 

“Is that my costume?”

Cassie looks down at it in a delayed sort of way, as if he’s forgotten it’s there. When he is reminded of it, however, his nerves return full force. He bites his lip. Slides the bag closer to himself, then away, like he’s not sure whether he wants to tuck it in his pocket or toss it into the trash. 

“... Sort of,” he admits, after Balthazar doesn’t do him the favor of breaking the silence. It feels as though he’s holding his breath. As though they both are. 

Cassie is very clearly waiting on Balthazar’s judgment.

The truth is, he’s glad the alpha has already thought of this. As nice as it is to know that the man isn’t exactly jumping at the chance at treating him like a dog, he’s glad he doesn’t have to break this part to him. Glad that Cassie took the initiative and didn’t make Balthazar spell it out for him. 

Glad he’s not being forced to ask to be marked like a plaything. 

Again. 

“Well,” he says, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s see it. Did you at least pick out something that’ll match my eyes?”

It says something that Cassie doesn’t even attempt to laugh at his joke, as tasteless as it may be. He just bites his lip, ducking his head even lower. “I’m not sure you’ll be happy with me,” he mumbles, and that’s a bad sign. Balthazar tenses. “But, I…” 

He struggles for a moment, debating with himself. Probably searching for the right way to apologize. Balthazar hopes it’s because he’s guilty about the collar, and not because he hasn’t actually purchased anything, because– 

“You’re not mine,” Cassie finally bursts out, the words solid and sure, and so painful that they make Balthazar’s chest ache even as his heart sinks. “You’re – just you’re not. You’re human.”

Balthazar squeezes his eyes shut. “Cassie–” 

“Let me finish,” the alpha pleads. “Just… just hear me out.” 

Balthazar looks at him, long and hard. The alpha looks like he’s a step away from begging. He doesn’t suppress his sigh, his time – he lets it out. Long and low. 

“Alright.” 

Cassie looks relieved enough for him to not regret the decision, despite the fact that he’s probably going to have to shoot down whatever well-intentioned idea Cassie has cooked up. He hopes they’ll have time to stop by a store on their way to the courthouse. 

A pet store would do, in a pinch. The thought is so awful he almost laughs. 

The alpha covers the little bag with both of his hands, like it’s something alive. Like it might try and dart away. “This,” Cassie says, then falters, losing his footing. He takes a breath. “This is temporary. It’s – it’s just so we can get through today. Right?”

Balthazar nods slowly. “Yes. If you’d give it to me in the first place,” he tacks on, unable to keep the pointed stress from his voice entirely. He doesn’t want to put the damn thing on, but– 

Cassie isn’t done with his little speech, clearly, because he’s talking right over Balthazar. “Right. And… I know – I mean, I know we have to have something. For appearance’s sake. But I… I couldn’t…” 

He closes his eyes. “I couldn’t stand it.”

Balthazar resists the urge to rub his temples. “Stand… what?” he asks, something sinking in his gut. If Cassie hasn’t got a damn collar in that bag – if he doesn’t mark Balthazar as his in some visible way… 

It’s against the bloody law. They both know it, intimately, because Ash had highlighted it as one of the so-called “big ones” that they’d need to know in order to combat the system. Outside of property that is also owned by the holder of the contract of the enslaved in question, the enslaved must, at all times, be visibly and easily identified as such by free persons or parties. 

It could get their case dismissed, if they don’t do it. That should make it easy for Balthazar to cut the alpha off, to demand they get on with the unpleasantness already. 

It should. But if Cassie asks it of him – if he turns those pleading eyes on Balthazar and asks him to waltz into that courthouse with nothing at all – Balthazar’s not quite sure he’ll be able to deny him. 

He zones back in belatedly, and what he hears makes his stomach sink. “... I mean, god, the thought of a collar around your neck – one with my name on it? I couldn’t–” 

“Cassie.” 

Something in his voice, soft as it is, brings the alpha up short. He breaks off, biting his lip. Gripping the bag in his hands. 

God, Balthazar doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to have to beg for this. 

Then, Cassie shoves the bag across the table toward Balthazar, fast enough that he knows he’s ripping off a bandage of his own. It slides across the wood, stopping just short of the edge. Balthazar stares at it numbly.

The alpha takes a breath, and Balthazar tears his eyes away from the dangling drawstrings. The man has wrapped his hand around his opposite arm, squeezing so tightly that he’s likely bruising himself. “I…” He clears his throat.  “I couldn’t do it, Bal. I’m sorry.” 

Balthazar doesn’t answer him. He can’t. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling – doesn’t really want to know. He’s picking up the bag before he can really think about it, and dumping the contents onto the table. Two items slip out – one that lands with a thud, and the other with a clatter.

He picks up the first with trembling hands.  

It’s a strip of leather, and it makes him relieved at the same time as it makes his stomach churn. He wants to chuck it into the fireplace, grateful as he should be for it. Necessary as it is. A moment later, though, he realizes – it’s far too small to go around his neck. 

He stares up at Cassie, a question – a demand, really – on the edge of his mouth. But the alpha is avoiding his eyes.  

He looks back down. It’s… 

A bracelet?

Soft on the inside, smooth on the outside, the leather is well worked and dark brown. The clasp on one end is a soft brushed metal, pewter in color. It looks expensive. From a distance, someone could easily mistake it for a simple accessory – it’s only the little metal plate and the minuscule lock on the latch that would give it away as something meant to mark him. 

NOVAK is etched into it in small, black letters. 

The name makes something in his throat tighten. There’s nothing else – no address, no phone number. Less information than a tag on your average dog collar. 

He runs his thumb over it. Flexes it back and forth. He’s feeling for the band of metal that should be on the inside – the one that would keep him from simply snipping it apart with nothing more complicated than kitchen scissors. The one that should be electrified. The one that would scar him, again, should he choose to try and break it. 

There’s not one, of course. There’s only flimsy leather and a lock he could probably pick with a paperclip, if Castiel hadn’t already given him the key. That is sitting on the table next to the bag, tiny and shiny. Easily smuggled, wherever and however he might wish to do so. 

“You can take it off whenever you’d like,” the alpha mumbles, eyes on his hands. “I know it’s probably not what they’ll be expecting, but… I just…” He stumbles over his words, his tempo increasing the longer Balthazar doesn’t respond. “I – If you’re worried about it attracting too much attention, I understand. But there were a surprising number of places in downtown Seattle that made them, so… so I don’t think it’s entirely uncommon for people to use less, um. Obvious. Markers.” 

The alpha’s face is bright red. He looks profoundly miserable as he stumbles over his explanations, like he’s sure that Balthazar is going to bite his head off for this – his eyes slide up, and then away, and he keeps fumbling over his excuses, keeps apologizing for wanting to treat Balthazar with dignity.  

But his blabbering stops mid-sentence when Balthazar holds his arm out, bracelet in hand. 

He says nothing, hoping the alpha will understand. But Cassie is staring down at the little strip of leather, looking guilty and upset with himself. It shouldn’t surprise Balthazar that he’s not connecting the dots. Shouldn’t exactly shock him that he’ll need to spell it out for the man. 

Cassie takes a deep breath. “I’ll… I’ll take it back. I’m – I can get something different even on short notice, I’m sure. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“I can’t very well put it on myself,” Balthazar interrupts. 

Cassie stares at him for a beat, shocked into silence. “You – what?”

“I can’t put it on myself,” Balthazar repeats patiently. “Not unless you want to watch me fumble with it for the next half hour. And I’m fairly certain we should avoid being late.”  

When the alpha still doesn’t move, Balthazar huffs. He grabs the man’s hand, flipping it so that his palm is up, and presses the bracelet into it. He holds it there for a moment, eyes fixed low.

He’d be lying if he said the words come easily. But they come all the same. 

“Help me?”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but it does; twisting with the sort of timid vulnerability that only Cassie seems to bring out in him. He waits, listening to the alpha’s breathing, their palms still pressed together. Watches as a litany of emotions flicker across his friend’s face. 

He can’t help but think of Gabriel. Can’t help but think of shaking hands, cinching a gag between his teeth so he’d be forced to stay in his place. Of the wretched guilt on the man’s face as he’d done so, of the helpless way he’d watched Michael’s guiding hand grip his neck and push him to his belly.  

Balthazar had called Gabe a coward that night. He’d meant it. Had felt it, and felt it savagely. It had been rage, pure and simple; anger at a man who claimed to be a rebel and couldn’t be. Anger at himself for prostrating without someone forcing him to his knees first. It had been a desperate sort of anger, one that was a disguise for the helpless fear that had filled every inch of him. 

He’d wanted someone else to blame. Had wanted someone to take the choice from him, so he wouldn’t have to admit that his obstinate and unkillable desire to live another day had managed to beat out his newly restored humanity. 

Now, in the light of day, as he asks another unwilling owner to mark him as a slave, he thinks he understands Gabriel a little better. 

He thinks he understands himself a little better, too. 

“Cassie,” he says softly. “Help me.” 

Castiel’s eyes flick up to his. He assesses Balthazar for a long moment, searching for something, and Balthazar finds that it’s easy to meet his gaze. Finds that there’s no sickly shame inside of him. Not this time. 

Not now.  

Moving slowly, as one might slip a lead around a frightened dog’s neck to keep him from blindly darting out into the highway, Cassie clicks the flimsy little latch into place. 

He shakes his wrist. Waits for the pulse of panic that should come with this; with what amounts, really, to a cross between a cuff and a collar. 

It doesn’t come. It’s not as heavy as he thought it’d be.

“You’ve got the key,” Cassie reassures him softly. Nervously. “I – as soon as we’re done, you can – I mean, obviously you don’t – won’t – need my permission for that, but, I just meant–” 

He trails off when Balthazar flicks the key back across the table. The alpha’s face is pale. Scared. 

He looks so young. 

“Keep it safe,” Balthazar says, locking eyes with him. “Alright?”

Cassie’s eyes are wet. Balthazar might have poked fun at him for it if his weren’t, too. 

“Alright,” he chokes out, and he covers it with his palm as gently as one might cup a baby bird in their hands. 

---

It’s the morning of their court date. 

It’s the morning of their court date, and Balthazar is currently kneeling on scratchy carpet, trying his damndest to keep it together. 

Beside him, Cassie is stiff as a board. He’d only very reluctantly perched himself in the little chair outside the door of the office they’d been directed to, had even more reluctantly kept his mouth shut when Balthazar had sunk down beside him. He can see the alpha out of the corner of his eye – jaw tight as a bowstring, his foot tapping nervously on the ground. 

At least it’s quiet down here. 

The secretary they’d spoken to had looked, at best, perplexed by Cassie’s request for directions to the Office of Enslaved Persons. Clearly, it was not a frequently trafficked part of the building – it was not on the directory, surprising no one but Cassie himself. 

“You mean… the one for slaves?” she’d asked stupidly, furrowing her brow at them both. Balthazar had only just remembered to drop his eyes before she’d peered around Castiel, looking Balthazar up and down in the same way one might judge a particularly strange animal. Her eyes had lingered on his turtleneck, and then on the little armband. “What, you wanna send him back for re-training or something? You’ll wanna head up to two-oh–four and talk to the rep for the local training facility, if you have a complaint–” 

“I do not,” Cassie had cut her off, the picture of patience. Balthazar had been glad the woman was a beta – it meant she hadn’t been able to smell the little spark of anger in the alpha’s scent. “I simply need someone from the OEP to approve some request forms for me. We have an appointment for ten. Where might I find them?” 

The secretary had eyed the little accordion folder Cassie had tucked under his arm. “Requests, huh? What, you wanna get approval for some permanent modifications or something?”

Another spark of anger had sprung to life in Cassie’s scent. Balthazar had been glad they’d been the only ones in line, at the moment – it had afforded him the opportunity to reach forward and press two fingers to Cassie’s leg, blocked from view by the counter. 

“The office number,” Cassie had grit out, a rigid looking smile plastered on his face. “If you’d be so kind.” 

Eventually, the woman had reluctantly sent them downstairs – and then some more stairs, and some more stairs – to the correct room. “You’ll want to take the elevator,” she’d called after them. “It’s all the way down in the basement!” 

They had not, in fact, taken the elevator. Cassie had taken one look at Balthazar’s face as they’d approached the claustrophobic little death box, and had opted to look for the stairs instead. 

“Thank you,” he’d murmured quietly, eyes on the man’s heels as they’d strode away. Cassie hadn’t replied, but he had opened the door for him to enter the stairs first. Had brushed his hand across Balthazar’s back as he’d walked past. 

Alone in the stairwell, they’d taken a moment to regroup. Cassie had taken a deep breath, clutching the paperwork to his chest like a lifeline. “What an unpleasant woman,” he’d muttered darkly. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary, mate,” Balthazar had reminded him, running a hand through his hair. If his heart had been crawling into his throat, well. He didn’t have to say it. Cassie could smell his emotion just as well as Balthazar could smell the alpha’s. “You’re lucky she didn’t demand to see the paperwork.” 

And, really, they were. As soon as she’d seen it, she’d have known exactly what it was that Castiel was requesting, and the chances of them being sent on a wild bureaucratic goose chase would have skyrocketed. 

“I know,” Cassie had sighed. “I… fuck.” 

“Come on,” Balthazar had insisted, bumping the man’s shoulder with his own. “Game face, yeah?”

They’d descended the steps together, and if they’d gone slower and slower the lower they’d gone, neither had mentioned it. Balthazar knows his nerves had been skyrocketing for more than one reason. 

When they’d emerged into the lowest floor of the Clerk’s office, Cassie had beelined straight for the correct door, and Balthazar had dutifully followed him. It hadn’t been hard for them to find it – it’d been one of three. Clearly, the Office of Environmental Quality and the Office of Regulated Industries were just as low on the totem pole of the one that could, potentially, free a slave. 

“It’s only nine,” Balthazar had breathed urgently, when Cassie had reached out to knock on the door. “Slow down.” 

“But if we’re here early–”

“Too. Eager,” he’d whispered, eyes flicking to the little frosted window. He couldn’t see details, but it was clear there were at least two people inside. Maybe three, if he really was seeing a kneeling form on the ground. “Just – just sit down, would you?”

“But – but there’s only one chair–”

“For fuck’s sake, Cassie.” 

The alpha had settled, with a little more hissed cajoling, into the ancient looking chair next to the door. He’d looked up at Balthazar helplessly, clearly and wildly uncomfortable with what he knew was going to have to happen next. 

Balthazar had ignored him. 

Going down to his knees had still been a fluid movement, unsurprisingly. A few months of having a much longer leash hadn’t taken away everything he’d learned. As he’s kneeled here, though, his joints have started to complain, and he can’t quite help the sigh of discomfort he lets slip out. 

“Bal?”

He sounds painfully earnest, and when Balthazar glances up his eyes are worried. He smirks up at the man, careful to keep his head angled down in case one of the other office doors pops open. “Bit out of practice.” 

The alpha doesn’t smile back. Instead, his worry deepens. “I wish you didn’t have to…” 

“Relax, mate.” He shuffles a little, leaning against the chair as much as he can manage without being obvious about being out of form. “I’ll be fine.” 

Cassie lets out a sigh of his own, but he doesn’t continue to protest. Instead, he shuffles through the paperwork in the accordion folder, probably checking for the nth time that they’ve brought everything they need. 

They have. 

The requirements for emancipation hadn’t exactly been easy to find – if not for Mills, and her contacts with a local abolitionist syndicate, they probably wouldn’t have been able to find them ahead of this appointment at all. He’s lucky, really, that Ash had vouched for Cassie. Lucky that the sheriff’s prickly distrust of Castiel had vanished as soon as she’d heard the word emancipation. 

She’d been eager to help them, after that. Had poured out her knowledge of the process, gathered from her time as an officer and friends within local non-profits. She’d walked them through the legal nightmare that the whole process was. Had informed Balthazar that he’d needed quite a few pesky bits of paper before Cassie could even think about filing a freedom request form. 

Over the last two months, they had secured them all. 

It had been a matter of pleading, bribing, cold-calling, and getting in contact with people who were willing to smooth over some of the longer processes. But, one by one, they’d checked the boxes. 

First, there had been the exams – one to be sure he was capable of basic math, another to prove that he had at least as much knowledge as an average high school graduate. A literacy exam that had been almost insultingly easy – though, of course, Balthazar had had more years to practice than most before he’d been sentenced. There was a citizenship exam that had been harder, considering Balthazar hadn’t exactly been brought up to speed on the politics and history of his newest country of residence. 

Ash had been kind enough to send them to a testing center that, for the right price, would give all four exams far outside their proper windows, and, even better, wouldn’t question Balthazar’s lack of a collar. He’d still been nervous. The experience of taking them had been harrowing – kneeling down next to Cassie’s seat on an oh-so-thoughtfully provided cushion at a decrepit little building, scribbling his answers onto the consecutive tests with slightly shaking hands as the hair on his neck had prickled under the proctor’s watchful gaze. 

He’d passed them all. He’s fairly certain he’d done so on his own – though he’d not put it past Cassie to have bribed the grader. The results had come in suspiciously quickly, and he’s fairly certain that’s to do with the thick envelope he’d seen exchange hands before they’d left. 

The other forms, luckily, had been a little easier. 

There had been a medical exam that a delighted Doctor Pamela Barnes had completed for him, once Balthazar had finally driven around in enough circles to locate her home back in the bowels of downtown Seattle. She’d been surprisingly happy to see him. Had literally jumped at the chance to sign off on the physical Balthazar had needed – no real examination necessary, much to both his and Cassie’s relief.  

“You should come back and see me, though,” she’d said, frowning across the table at him as she’d filled out the paperwork, hardly needing to look down at it at all. Cassie, for his part, had been dutifully staring at the ceiling, pretending not to notice the small mountain of clearly filched medical supplies spilling out of the hall closet. “When’s the last time you had a real check-up?”

“When you sewed up my stab wound,” he’d replied wryly, pointedly ignoring Cassie’s wide eyed look.

The psych evaluation, on the other hand, had them stumped – right until they’d mentioned it to Pamela. “I can’t sign off on it,” she’d said regretfully, “but I can give you the card of a young man who can. He’s trustworthy.” 

“Will his exam be as… thorough as yours?” Cassie had asked worriedly. “Or should we, uh…” 

“Prepare,” Balthazar had finished flatly. He hadn’t exactly been fond of the idea – Mills had told him exactly what kinds of answers he would be expected to give. Things like how grateful he was to have served his sentence and his masters. How much he’s learned from his experience. 

That he holds no ill will.

Preposterous, of course. The only owner he’s had that he wouldn’t gleefully strangle with his bare hands is Cassie. 

Perhaps Gabriel, too, if he really thinks about it. 

The man that had shown up to their home to conduct the evaluation had been a mild mannered beta in khakis and black boots, a newsboy cap leaned back jauntily on his head that suited him surprisingly well. Dr. Lafitte had sat patiently on their couch, his hands folded in his lap, and had spoken to both Balthazar and Cassie as though they’d been free clients seeking nothing more novel than couple’s therapy. It had been… surreal. 

“You can call me Benny,” he’d said, a Cajun accent thick in his mouth, and when he’d shaken Balthazar’s hand any fearful thoughts of the man demanding a different sort of payment for his services had faded. “Dr. Barnes tells me you’ll be applyin' for emancipation soon.” 

“So long as we can gather all these bloody signatures,” Balthazar had grumbled, and the man had laughed as he’d scribbled his name across the bottom of a quickly checked off evaluation form. He’d done it so fast, in fact, that Balthazar is fairly certain his had not been the first that the man had fudged. 

The final requirement had been fairly comical, in Balthazar’s opinion – though Cassie clearly hadn’t felt the same way. 

“A job offer?” he’d demanded, clearly baffled. “How in the world is he supposed to have a job offer if he’s not even free?”

Mills had snorted, shaking her head as she’d leaned back in a kitchen chair. She’d been exceedingly patient in explaining the various hoops they’d have to jump through. “It’s almost as though they want that part to be nearly impossible.” 

Balthazar had chuckled at that, even though the alpha’s expression had soured. “Perhaps I could be your live-in housekeeper,” he’d mused, snickering at the alpha’s scandalized look. 

“Bal – I’d never ask you to clean –” 

“Oh, yes,” Balthazar had drawled, waving his hand back and forth. “What a hardship dishes and dusting would be. Who knows if I’ll be able to cope under the strain?”

Cassie had blushed, clearly remembering that Balthazar had, in fact, done both before Mills had arrived. Balthazar had been the one to insist upon it, of course, but it hadn’t detracted from his embarrassment. “But–” 

“It’s actually not a bad idea,” Mills had mused. “Assuming you plan to stick around here afterward, of course.” 

Balthazar had kept his gaze fixed on her as he’d answered, his words steady. “I do.” 

He’d pretended not to notice Cassie’s sigh of relief. “Though,” he’d amended, glancing at the alpha out of the corner of his eye, “Perhaps I’d be better labeled as a nanny. I’m not sure he’d be able to feed himself if I wasn’t here to chide him.” 

Any other alpha would have taken that as their cue to spit and snarl. Cassie, of course, had just laughed. 

It takes the man’s gentle touch on his shoulder for Balthazar to realize he’s drifted off into his thoughts. Cassie is peering down at him again, something concerned in his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Balthazar opens his mouth to say yes, of course. But instead, he finds himself doing the opposite. “Nervous,” he admits quietly, eyes flicking out to scan the hallway. He’s not sure how long he’s been twisting the fabric of his shirt between his hands – he’s glad cashmere isn’t prone to wrinkling. “Call me a pessimist, but…” 

“I am, too,” Cassie agrees, as if his nerves haven’t been painfully obvious all morning. “But… Jody reviewed everything. She says we’ve got a good chance. And if they deny it, or defer it –” 

“We can always apply again,” Balthazar finishes wryly. “Yes, I’ve heard that a few times now.” 

What he doesn’t say is that he’s afraid. What he doesn’t say is that he’s half convinced someone will find some gap in his file large enough to justify sending him back to auction, or back to retraining – or back to bloody London. 

Cassie squeezes his shoulder gently. “It will work out,” he says softly. The same conviction from this morning is in his voice – only, this time, he actually sounds like he means it. “It–” 

Whatever pep-talk he’d been gearing up for dies in his throat when the door slams open. 

Cassie’s hand snaps away from his shoulder just as an alpha stomps out of the office, a crumpled pile of files in his hand. Whatever he’d been requesting, he’d clearly been denied – his face and scent is thunderous, and the leashed slave scurrying behind him is equally terrified. The fear in her scent is sharp and sickening, and Balthazar’s hands curl into fists in his lap. 

“Don’t expect to get anything done,” the man snaps unprompted at Cassie, completely missing the fact that the alpha has stood up and positioned himself between him and Balthazar’s still kneeling form. “The bitch in there couldn’t give me a straight answer if her life depended on it.” 

Cassie, mercifully, says nothing, and the man storms away without another word, yanking the leash in his hand so hard that the slave behind him stumbles. 

She’s too well trained to cry out. 

When he disappears into the elevator, Balthazar finally allows himself to look up at the alpha next to him. Cassie’s expression is hauntingly blank. Shaken. 

It’s a sobering reminder of where Balthazar could easily have been, had it not been for Castiel himself. Castiel, who is staring at the elevator like he’s contemplating enacting a far more aggressive and violent form of emancipation than he and Balthazar have been working toward. 

“Next appointment!” 

They both flinch at the sound of the clerk’s voice. Balthazar is the first to recover – he pushes himself to his feet, staggering a little and hissing as the circulation flows back into his legs. Cassie’s hand under his elbow is welcome, and conveniently out of sight of the woman in the office, and he doesn’t bother with the pretense of pulling away. 

The alpha squeezes his arm. “Ready?” he breathes.

Balthazar nods.

---

Of all the things he’d considered, nothing that happens in that office even comes close to making the list.

The woman – a young beta, brunette and sharp eyed – gets the measure of both of them as soon as they step through the door. She takes one look at Balthazar and cocks her head to the side – takes another at Cassie, and actually cracks a smile. 

“You must be Mr. Novak,” she says, standing and reaching over her desk to shake his hand. “Thank you for being on time.” 

“This is not an appointment I’d consider being late to,” Cassie responds, a tense smile on his face. He glances at the chair in front of her desk, his eyes flicking to the second one in the corner. 

“You’d be surprised,” she says wryly, her eyes wandering to the door where the irate alpha had just stormed out. She returns her attention to them, and Balthazar, dammit, is not quite fast enough to drop his eyes as he should. Caught. 

“And you must be Balthazar,” the woman continues, and both he and Cassie do a double take. 

“I–” he blurts out, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. He exchanges a wild look with Cassie before he remembers that he’s not supposed to do that, either, and then drops his eyes once more. “... Yes, ma’am?” he says tentatively, hoping his sounds meek and not bewildered. 

“Let me just grab your mailed-in forms,” the woman says, skipping right over the awkwardness in favor of sounding, frankly, amused. “Take a seat, gentlemen.”

He and Cassie exchange another glance as the woman fishes for papers in the file cabinet behind her desk. “In the chairs,” she clarifies, not bothering to turn around, and they both relax. 

Balthazar fidgets as the alpha drags his seat forward for him, sitting on the edge of it gingerly. This could be a trap, he thinks. Could be another test, to see if he’ll act as he’s been taught. But there’s something about the woman – the easy nature of her, the way she looks at them both with something like approval in her eyes – that keeps him from acting on those suspicions. 

He supposes it’s not out of the question that the woman would actually be decent. She does work in the only office capable of freeing slaves, after all. 

“I’ve gotta say,” the woman continues unhurriedly, flicking through a stack of papers Balthazar recognizes as ones that Cassie had mailed in about a week ago now. The little nameplate on her desk reads C. Clark. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to approve one of these appointments without rejecting something on the paperwork. You were certainly thorough.” 

Next to him, Castiel shifts nervously. Again, this could be a trick – if she’s suspects Cassie to have abolitionist sympathies that go beyond the freeing of one slave, she might feel inclined to dig a little deeper than either of them will be comfortable with. Might reject their application on principle, just to discourage Cassie from trying again. 

“I wanted to be sure the process wouldn’t be… drawn out,” Cassie says carefully, when it doesn’t appear that the clerk is planning on breaking the silence. “Does it appear that everything is in order?”

“Yep,” the woman answers easily, popping the p as she lays it out in even, orderly piles. “Crossed all the T’s and dotted all the i’s.” 

She slides one paper to front and center – the most important of the lot, if Balthazar is reading it correctly. He’s fairly certain he can make out the phrase official application for emancipation of enslaved persons, among other legal jargon. “So,” she says, tapping it with two fingers. “Mr. Novak. Tell me, why are you applying for your slave’s emancipation?” 

Castiel clears his throat, straightening in his chair. “Balthazar was passed down to me,” he starts, and Balthazar can see the way he slips into the role – not exactly smoothly, per say, but perhaps it will be convincing enough. Of course, the alpha can’t quite keep the grimace off of his face when he explains, “He… served… my father for a very long time, and cared for him in his later years as well.” 

“Sounds like a loyal member of the household,” the clerk – Clark – agrees, nodding. It might be Balthazar’s imagination, but he thinks he spots a flicker of distaste around the corners of her mouth. He hopes that’s in response to his former master and his so-called care, and not to what they’re trying to do here. “May I ask why you would want to lose such valuable help?”

Balthazar cocks his jaw, but he stays silent. He’s had many years to get used to people speaking about him like he isn’t there, but it still rankles. At least she’d let him sit in the chair. 

Next to him, Cassie takes a calming breath. It’s for Balthazar, he realizes – the alpha can probably tell he’s starting to get worked up, and he’s doing his best to be sure that Balthazar doesn’t blow it from them both. He forces himself to loosen his shoulders. To lean back in his chair. 

Cassie is supposed to say that he, regretfully, doesn’t need the help. He’s supposed to feed her more bullshit about what an excellent and well behaved slave he is, supposed to seem almost sad that he’s considering letting Balthazar go, supposed to wax poetic about what great care he’d provided to his late father. He’s supposed to spin her a tale of how he wants to show his gratitude for his years of service by granting Balthazar his freedom. 

But Cassie, unsurprisingly, veers off course almost immediately. Perhaps he senses the same thing in this woman that Balthazar does. 

Justice. 

“I believe,” the alpha says calmly, “That Balthazar has more than earned his freedom.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts – Clark waits him out, looking only politely interested. “I’m not sure you’ve had a chance to review his original paperwork–” 

“I have,” she interrupts. 

Castiel nods. “So, then, you know that he was sentenced indefinitely for what, to be frank, amounts to a misdemeanor.” 

Clark raises her eyebrow. “Are you implying that his sentencing was unjust?”

Balthazar bites his tongue. Of course it was unjust. Any idiot could see that. A lifetime of slavery, being stripped of his personhood, being broken and reshaped into a shadow of his former self – all because he’d nicked the wrong man’s painting. If the judge hadn’t been in Zachariah’s pocket, if the damn bobbies hadn’t been on his payroll… 

Castiel is keeping it together better than Balthazar is – not precisely what he expected, but he’s glad for it. The alpha blinks slowly at the woman, folding his hands together. The move reminds him so much of Michael that he finds he has to look away. He’ll never tell Cassie that, of course.

The alpha’s voice is level. “I’m merely stating that I believe he has more than paid for his crime. He has, so to speak, done the time.” 

The clerk huffs out a small laugh, her eyes skimming the folder in front of her. Cassie had been required to mail in Balthazar’s original intake paperwork, and it’s strange to see the beat up folder and dog-eared pages in a clean and professional setting like this. “Says here he was originally sentenced in the U.K. – was that London?”

“That’s correct,” Cassie confirms smoothly, only sounding a little eager. Balthazar resists the urge to nudge him. 

The woman hums. “Did you know,” Clark informs them unhurriedly, setting down the file and nudging it slowly into its proper place on top of the stack of papers, “that in the United Kingdom, it’s actually no longer legal for people who are convicted of minor offenses to be sentenced to slavery?”

Balthazar blinks, and, forgetting himself, he looks up to meet the woman’s eye. She’s already looking at him, her gaze steady. There’s something like steel in her expression. “It’s not the same here, of course. Here, there are still some states where something as simple as an unpaid traffic ticket can get you contracted. Sometimes just for a few months, sometimes – oftentimes,” she amends, wrinkling her nose, “longer.” 

Both he and Cassie are openly staring at her, caught woefully off guard. She looks between them. Sighs, and then closes his file with a decisive flick. 

“This is all preliminary, of course,” she says, a tight smile on her face that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “That law change means a judge won’t have to sign off on it, so that’ll save you some time, but you’ve still got quite a few hoops to jump through before I can approve everything. I’ve got a list here of all the required documents you’ll need to secure in order to request a proper hearing–” 

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Cassie speaks up. “But…” 

He picks up and holds out the accordion folder. Balthazar had snuck a glance at it a few days ago – it’s organized with tabs. He’s fairly certain he’d seen more than one sticky note. “I think you’ll find everything we – he – needs has already been accounted for.” 

Clark’s eyebrows have just about climbed off her face. She slowly reaches over and takes the thing from him, flipping open the cover to slide out the pages. And, carefully, she adjusts her readers and starts to thumb through the documents.

There is an agonizing lull, after that. The clerk is either very thorough, or very sadistic. Either way, she takes her bloody time. Balthazar swears she reads through every line of every document four times over, pausing every so often to make a note of her own, or to scribble something that looks suspiciously like her initials. 

Eventually – finally – she looks up, pushing her glasses back onto her forehead. She’s quiet for a moment as she looks between them. 

“You really want to do this, don’t you?” she asks. She sounds… surprised. 

Castiel glances at Balthazar, and then back at the woman, hesitating. Clark must pick up on his nervousness, because she half laughs, shaking her head. 

“Listen,” she starts, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve been doing this for years, okay? And you’re not the first people to come through my office looking for emancipation. But you are the first to show up, day one, with everything you need to actually do it.” 

Balthazar’s breath catches in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, Cassie has grown still. His eyes are wide. “Does that mean…?”

Clark laughs again, opening a drawer. She fishes for something inside, reaching all the way to the back. “Are you gonna ask if I’ll approve it?”

“Will you?”

Both she and Cassie turn to look at him – Cassie with worry, Clark with surprise. Balthazar should be cowering. Should drop his eyes, should apologize for speaking out of turn. 

Instead, he holds her gaze.

And, miraculously, she smiles at him.

From her drawer, she pulls a large, rectangular stamp and a pad of ink. She sets them on the desk and leans forward. “Depends,” she says thoughtfully. 

His gaze sharpens, and she raises an eyebrow at him – pretends tactfully not to notice that he’s gripping the edges of his seat with all of his strength.  “On?” he finally makes himself ask, hoping his voice isn’t shaking. 

She flicks open the cover on the ink pad, drops the stamp on top, and grins. “Just one thing. Have you already picked out a surname?”

---

It’s a week before their court date. 

It’s a week before their court date, and Balthazar is, against all odds, in good spirits. 

He’s plopped himself down on the couch for dinner, crossing his legs in front of him as he settles the Chinese food into his lap. Cassie had dutifully ordered what has become his favorite meal an hour or so ago; looking, frankly, relieved to have been given something to do. He’s looked on edge all day long. Even more so than usual. 

Balthazar, on the other hand, feels strangely light.  

He has plenty of good reasons to. So far, it seems that the eldest Morningstar has bought Gabriel’s line of bullshit hook, line, and sinker, and Balthazar can’t help but feel pleased about that. Not to mention the fact that they’d finally gathered the last of the paperwork they needed. He’d watched Cassie drop the official request for emancipation form into the mail just this morning. Priority shipping. 

Balthazar isn’t a free man yet, but he’s certainly getting closer than he’d ever thought he would.

The alpha has been hemming and hawing for the last five minutes or so, pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room with an obvious question in his eyes. He hasn’t asked it yet, and the longer he’s waited, the more curious Balthazar has become. 

“Spit it out, mate,” he says cheerfully, grinning at Cassie. “Preferably before I grow old.” 

Cassie takes a breath. He sits down on the couch as well, leaving a careful foot of space between them. He smells nervous. “I was just thinking.” 

“Dangerous,” Balthazar muses, plucking a piece of orange chicken up with his chopsticks. “Do share.” 

The alpha rubs his hands down his slacks a few times, chewing on his lip. “You know I changed my name.” 

Balthazar blinks. Of all the things he thought Cassie might bring up, it hadn’t been this. He chews slowly. Swallows. “Yes,” he says cautiously. “I dare say our little office showdown would have come quite a lot sooner if you’d kept your previous surname.” 

Cassie presses his lips together. He’s twitching like he does when he’s really nervous – when he’s about to ask Balthazar for something he knows he won’t be a fan of. It doesn’t put Balthazar on guard, exactly, but it does make him pay closer attention. “Why did you choose Novak, anyway? Mother’s maiden name?”

Cassie shakes his head. “I don’t know it,” he says, nearly flippant enough to convince Balthazar that that doesn’t bother him. 

“So, what. You took inspiration from a random stroll through the library? The obits?”

The alpha clears his throat. “I, um. I actually researched it, believe it or not.” 

With a chuckle, Balthazar plucks up another bit of chicken. “I think I can believe that, yes. Knowing you.” He chews thoughtfully, eyeing the alpha. “Well, go on. What’s it mean?”

Cassie’s face is a little pink. “It’s… it’s Slavic in origin. Actually, it’s quite common in the Czech Republic and Poland – the most common name, in fact. Did you know there’s actually a thriving Slavic community in Washington? From what I researched, there’s–” 

“Cassie,” Balthazar interrupts, gesturing decisively at him with a chopstick. “Get to the point.” 

“I – right.” The alpha pauses before pushing forward, gathering his thoughts. “It’s actually a variation of the word Nowak. There’s some argument on the exact origin – some people say it was a word for immigrants, others say it’s a word for recent converts to Christianity. Still others have claimed that it was a name for people who had recently joined the armed forces.” 

“Fascinating,” Balthazar says. He almost means it. He enjoys it, despite himself, when Cassie goes off on these little tangents – much as he pretends to be irritated by them. “Is there a point to all of this?”

Cassie takes a long breath. “It’s – the translation is rough. But it essentially means, um. It means new man.” 

He looks down at his lap, and Balthazar feels his heart soften. “Ah,” he says gently. “That’s… that’s quite apt then, isn’t it?”

The alpha’s smile is a little rueful. He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought so,” he murmurs. “I know it’s silly.” 

“It’s not silly,” Balthazar decides. “I mean, hell. Names should match, if you ask me. My surname is bloody Wright.” He chuckles. “Should probably have been Wrong.” 

For some reason, that kicks Cassie’s nerves back into overdrive. He clears his throat, fidgeting with his shirt. “I… um. Well. You… you might– uh. I w-was actually… I was actually thinking that, um–” 

“Red lorry, yellow lorry,” he mocks with a snort, shaking his head. “Out with it, Cassie, before I pass away from old age.” 

“I thought,” the man blurts, clearly having summoned up the exact amount of courage he needs to do so, “that you might want to change your name as well. When you’re freed.” 

Balthazar furrows his brow. He’s still not sure that’s going to happen at all, if he’s honest, but it does seem like a good precaution to take. He’s not exactly attached to his last name – never has been – and though it’s been a novel thought that he’ll actually have one that belongs to him again, he’s not against changing it just to stay off of Michael’s radar. 

When – if – he gets to be a real boy again, Jody has said they’ll ask him for a name then and there. He ought to have one picked out before then, he figures. 

“That’s probably not a bad idea,” he says slowly. “Could be fun. Though, I don’t think Wrong would actually be a good choice for blending in, if that’s what you’re getting at.” He pauses. “Any suggestions?”

He asks the question flippantly – he’s sure the man has probably got a few dozen names in mind, knowing now how much research he’d done into his own name. But, for some reason, the question makes Cassie’s face bright red. He mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?” he asks, confused. 

“I said,” Cassie mutters, looking down at his shirt. “I... I said – perhaps, uh. Perhaps you’d… like to, um. To be a new man, too.” 

It takes a moment for the words and their significance to sink in. He stares across the couch at Cassie, the takeout container held limply in his hand. 

The silence is deafening. 

“Do you mean…” 

“You don’t have to!” Cassie backtracks quickly, almost desperate in his need to reassure. “I – it’s not – It was just an idea, it’s not something I – I mean, I figured you wouldn’t want to, I just – I thought I’d offer–” 

“Cassie,” Balthazar interrupts, slowly setting the takeout container on the side table. “Are you asking me to take your last name?”

It’s a very loaded question. Freedmen, he knows, are sometimes expected to do so – to take on the surname of the person who allowed them to be free as a symbol of gratitude. Of loyalty. And that’s not even touching on all the normal ways an omega would take the last name of an alpha. He squints at Castiel, turning his head to the side. “This isn’t a proposal, is it? Because–”

“No!” Cassie blurts. “God, no. I’m not – not that you aren’t, uh, an attractive – but you’re not exactly my, um. I’m not interested in you in – in that way,” he finally manages, practically out of breath. He covers his face with his hands. “Christ, this was a terrible idea. Forget I said anything.” 

As much as he probably should, Balthazar can’t quite let it go that easily. “What in the world possessed you?”

There’s a beat of miserable silence before Cassie mutters into his hands. “I just… I thought it would be… like we were, um.” 

Balthazar, able to breathe properly again, has regained his good humor. He pokes Cassie in the knee with his chopstick. “Like we were…?”

“Brothers,” the alpha says quickly, the word quiet and strained. “Like… like we were brothers. That’s all I meant by it.” 

Balthazar stares at him for a long time – long enough for the alpha to peer up from his hands. “You… you want us to be brothers?” he asks, the words a little faint. 

Cassie shrugs, a little helpless. “I… yes?” he says, splaying out his hands. “I can’t help but think, with all we’ve been through…” His eyes soften as he looks at Balthazar, finally understanding his shock for what it is. “That we already are.” 

And, as hard as his heart is, Balthazar can’t help but agree. He swallows, throat thick. Scratches at the smooth wood of the chopstick with his thumbnail. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, and Cassie lets him leave it at that. 

---

It’s the morning of their court date. 

It’s the morning of their court date, and Balthazar can feel something proud and strong and alive fluttering so hard in his chest that at any moment his heart might fly away. 

Clark is looking at him expectantly, her hands folded in her lap. 

Balthazar takes a deep breath. Grips the bracelet strapped across his wrist with the opposite hand. 

“Novak,” he answers, his voice low. The word is heavy and final and right. “Novak, as my surname.” 

Cassie is positively beaming beside him, joy radiating from his body like sunlight. 

The clerk nods. She neatly writes down his chosen name. Draws a final loopy signature across the bottom of the page. Stamps and notarizes it with a final thud, and then slides it toward him, the movement measured. Gentle. 

He reaches out, slow and careful. Touches it, half expecting for it to crumble away like dust. 

It doesn’t. 

“Well, Balthazar Novak,” she announces, smiling. Cassie reaches over. Takes his hand and squeezes. Balthazar squeezes back.  “You are, officially…” 

A free man.