Apparently it didn't matter how prepared Charlie and Castiel were for their court case. The defense's lawyer is absolute garbage. Castiel feels kinda bad for the dude on trial. He'd sort of assumed that the guy would end up in prison anyway, but he deserves the illusion of a fighting chance. Fuckin' District Attorneys, man. It's like they want their clients imprisoned.

CastieI and Charlie celebrate day one of a successful trial with a trip to the local ice cream parlor. It's a small one and he's pretty sure most people in the city have no idea it even exists, but that just means they get the building to themselves.

They sit down at a table that's probably meant for couples and share a giant ice cream sundae that's also probably meant for couples, but they're better

"Today's been a good day," Charlie declares.

"Agreed," Castiel replies. "We've got this case in the bag. One more murderer off the street always makes for a good day."

"Damn right it does." Charlie takes a huge spoonful of ice cream — knowing her, she's probably digging for the brownie — and then shudders, squeezing her eyes shut. After a pause, she says a pained, "Today's been such a good day, I don't even care that I just turned my head into a brainsicle."

"And today's been such a good day, I don't even care that this doesn't make sense," Castiel says teasingly.

"Brain freeze?" she says. "My brain is freezing? Like a popsicle?" She sighs dramatically. "It doesn't matter anymore. My brainsicle melted. It's okay now."

"You know," Castiel says, "that would make total sense if it came from the mouth of a seven-year-old, but from a 35-year-old woman, not so much."

Charlie takes another (smaller) spoonful of ice cream. "What if it didn't?"

CastieI cocks his head to the side. "What if what didn't?"

"What if it didn't come from a 35-year-old woman?"

"That didn't clear up literally anything." CastieI pauses to grab some ice cream before she eats it all. "I already said it would make sense if a kid said it, but since you said it as a whole ass adult, it makes no sense."

"No, I know, I got that," Charlie says. "But what if a woman didn't say it?"

Castiel states at her uncomprehendingly.

Charlie sighs dramatically. "God, you're so stupid," she mutters. "I'm trying to say that I'm not a woman; I'm nonbinary."

CastieI mouths ohhhh as that sinks in. "You know, there are a million other ways you could have said that."

Charlie slaps her forehead with the palm of her hand. "I just came out as an enby and you're critiquing my casual segway?"

"That was not a 'casual segway' in the slightest," Castiel tells her.

Charlie scoops up some ice cream and points her spoon at him. "If we weren't in a respectable establishment, I would fling this at you. I just want you to know that."

"No, trust me, I'm aware," Castiel says. "But, all jokes aside, you are very valid despite having three functioning brain cells and are you changing your pronouns?"

Charlie narrows her eyes. "You're being both really mean and really nice right now and I don't know how to feel."

Castiel gives her a smug smile.

"But, to answer your question, yeah, I'm gonna go by she/they — but not at work. Err, not yet, at least." With a nervous smile, they add, "I don't think I wanna come out to most people at the station right now."

"Hey, that's totally fine," Castiel assures them. "Take your time. But I'm really glad you told me." With a playful smile, he adds, "And because that means so much to me, I'm only gonna eat most of your ice cream on you instead of all of it."

"Oh, no you don't!" Charlie's eaten another huge spoonful of ice cream before Castiel has even dipped his spoon in the thing. She grimaces and, with her mouth still full of food, mumbles a pained, "This was a bad idea."

Castiel just laughs. Oh, what a dumbass — but they're his dumbass, so it's okay.

You can probably guess based on this fun little ice cream date that Charlie doesn't end up dropping him off until late. They were having way too much fun to go home sooner, so the sun is almost setting by the time Charlie drops him off. CastieI waves her off before heading to his apartment.

When he was younger, Castiel had always dreamed of being able to afford a place all to himself. Now that it's a reality, he realizes it's a lot more lonely than 12-year-old Cas had expected. Maybe he should get a pet to greet him every evening. He could get a cat. Cats are pretty low-maintenance, right? Or a guinea pig, even. Guinea pigs are cute, too.

He makes a mental note to look into pet care later. Right now, his goal is really to just wind down with some TV. It's not as enticing after a good day as it is when everything else sucks, but he's sure he'll enjoy it nonetheless.

He's walking past the kitchen table when he sees the envelope. The large "DW" on the envelope tells him that it's the same one he left for Dean. He'd had such a good day today that he'd almost forgotten about their missed meeting. That's probably for the best.

Castiel sighs and sits down at the table. He's really not sure he wants to open this, but what choice does he have? The envelope is unsealed, so he pulls the paper out with ease. It's notebook paper, the fringes still attached. He resists the urge to pull them off. The content of the letter is probably more important than the aesthetic.

CAS

OKAY, SO TODAY DIDN'T WORK OUT. HOW ABOUT TOMORROW EVENING? 7:00 WORK FOR YOU?

— D. W.

Castiel groans and slams his forehead into the table. This is not what he meant when he declined the first time, but he supposes his somewhat-passive-aggressive note wasn't necessarily obvious enough in that regard. Or, of course, Dean might be entirely aware that Castiel doesn't want to meet with him and is ignoring that fact anyway, which is admittedly a very Dean thing to do.

He's glad Dean set their nonexistent meeting for tomorrow, though. It gives Castiel enough time to put a new note in the office building for him without him having to wait too long for Dean to find it.

CastieI grabs another piece of printer paper and sits back down to write back to him. He should probably be a little more obvious about his intentions this time.

Dean,

I don't know what you think is important enough for me to want to meet with you, but I promise you, it's really not. I'm not coming.

— C. N.

CastieI folds the note up, slips it in the same envelope he used last time — say what you want about Dean, but at least he's not wasteful — and heads for the door. Time to take another trip to Main Street.