More Folsom Prison Blues
Just a short tag to Folsom Prison Blues. Loved the episode and of course I wanted a little more Dean angst added to the mix. This will be 2 chapters... 3 tops.
Written for Jana --- enjoy meeting Jensen Ackles this weekend Sista. This ones for you.
500500500500500
Green Valley Cemetery
Dean digs another shovel full of dirt and hoists it over the hole. He's been digging out Nurse Glockner's grave as fast as his bruised, aching, tired body allows him.
"We gotta move it," Sam says, "if Hendrickson gets to the lawyer," he looks down at Dean with an impatient look.
"I thought she couldn't say anything," Dean replies. "You know that whole lawyer-client privilege thing?" He stops digging a moment and leans on the handle of the shovel. He notes he's sweating more than he usually does when digging up a grave. Perhaps the adrenaline high he was on from breaking out of prison was wearing off. Still, his chest feels tight and breathing is becoming more difficult.
"That privilege doesn't apply, Dean," Sam shortly replies, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
"So she'll talk?" Dean looks up at his brother.
"She has to," Sam looks around nervously. His gut is telling him any minute now Hendrickson and posse are going to show up and drag them back to prison. That was one experience he didn't want to relive.
"Oh that's freakin' super!" Dean goes back to his task, feeling a strange numbness and pull in his left shoulder and back. He ignores the discomfort and continues to dig for several more minutes, sighing with relief when the shovel scrapes across the top of the coffin.
"Finally," he grumbles before slamming the head of the shovel down into wood splintering it. A low moan escapes his throat when he does this but thankfully Sam doesn't hear it. He can tell he has a couple cracked ribs thanks to Tiny.
Tiny.
He still hasn't come to terms with his death... no murder... by the angry spirit. He feels as if it's all his fault. Maybe the guards should have let Tiny get a few more swings in. Perhaps he should have squeezed him in a bear hug longer. Broken a few of his bones. He didn't deserve his fate. If Dean hadn't initiated the fight Tiny would have never landed into the infirmary.
Same goes for Lucas. Even if he was a jerk.
Sam doesn't know he refused treatment when Deacon sent him to the infirmary. He told the on duty nurse he was "fine". At the time, aside from a killer headache and his ribs, he wasn't so bad off.
Sam never asked him if he sustained any further injuries when he admitted he had a run in with the fugly nurse and that was fine with him. They argued non stop about this case as it was. He just wanted to salt and burn this bitch and call it a night.
A few more shovel slams to rotted wood while he sucked in heavy gasps of pain, the bones of Glockner are fully exposed. Dean weakly tosses the entire shovel out of the hole and leans against dirt with folded arms as a wave of dizziness overcomes him.
"Come on Dean, hurry the hell up!" Sam shuffles his feet above Dean's face, causing some loose dirt to rain down over the top of his head, arms and shoulders. "You really did enjoy prison, didn't you? I'm starting to think you want to get caught, again. Why are you stalling?"
Dean shakes off the dizzy spell and looks up at his annoyed sibling. "I'm not stalling, Sam. I'm just tired, okay?"
Sam unfolds his arms and nods his head, bending at the knees he offers an extended hand. Dean without word accepts the gesture. He bites down heavy on his lip when Sam pulls him out of the grave faster than he was expecting. He feels a sudden pressure in his chest over his heart where Nurse Glockner touched him.
He'll check that out later. Sam's right. They don't have time for this. First things first, he stands up fully and pulls a book of matches from his inside jacket pocket.
Sam is quick about salting the bones and dousing them with lighter fluid. Dean lights up the entire book, watches the flames flicker in his hand, then drops it into the grave. The smell of death assaults his nostrils as the bones ignite.
"Come on Dean were finished here," Sam says patting his brother on the back gently. He hurriedly rounds up their digging tools and backpack, shoving everything that'll fit in with haste.
Dean trails behind Sam as they make their way back to the Impala that is parked in front of the gates of the cemetery. He tries to keep in stride with Sam but finds himself falling further behind. He subconsciously rubs at his chest, pulling his hand away fast when his flesh begins to sting as if he rubbed salt into a wound.
Nurse Glockner must have really did a number on him. It feels like his chest is burned over his heart. He knows well enough what a nasty burn feels like thanks to some backwoods hick named Bender. He still has the poker brand on his shoulder to remember that rotted teeth freak by. Still, that burn felt like a sun tan compared to the one he has now. He feels the muscles in his chest constricting and doubles over when he reaches the Impala.
Sam is slamming the trunk closed. He glances over at him. "Dean man, you okay?"
Dean waves him off and stands. "Yeah," he says out of breath. "You drive," he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the Impala's keys. He weakly tosses them to Sam before opening the passenger side door and sliding in.
Sam catches the keys and gives him a sideways glare, watching him ease into the passenger seat. The familiar creak of the driver's side door is heard as Sam opens his door and slides in, slamming it shut. He looks over at Dean who now has his head resting back, eyes closed.
"What's wrong?"
Dean opens one eye and tilts his head. He clears his throat. "Nothing. Just drive."
6 hours later...
"Earth to Dean," Sam tries again to wake his sleeping brother, this time with success.
"Whaaaaaaaa?" He opens his eyes and blinks a few times. "What's wrong Sammy?" His brother has the door open and is bending over him, his hand on his shoulder.
"Nothing. I'm exhausted and figured it would be safe to stop for the night. I changed out of that ugly orange suit already before getting us a room. I think you should do the same before heading up to it. It's on the second floor."
Dean nods his head slowly, trying to fight the pounding behind his temples. "Plates?"
"I already changed them," Sam responds, "and I paid cash for the room," he adds knowing what question is next.
"That's my boy," Dean grins as he sits up further in the seat. He's glad they are parked in a dark area of the lot. Sam doesn't see the grimace on his face. "You go on up Sammy. It's better we go one at a time."
"Yeah okay," Sam agrees, "room 14". He picks up two bags that are on the ground. "I've got your bag." With that Sam turns and makes his way up to their room.
Dean leans back and lets out a heavy sigh. He rubs at his chest again. His pulls his hand away and it is sticky and wet. Okay, so he's bleeding. He unbuttons the top four buttons on his prison issued jumpsuit, or tries to, two of them were ripped off in the struggle with Tiny, and places his hand over his heart and feels more blood oozing from what feels like a nasty burn.
Freaking great. What did that bitch do to him? She supposedly caused heart attacks to her victims. She only had her hand on his chest a few seconds. Maybe thirty, tops. Why did it take so long for the injury to appear? Was it her last attempt at him before he burned her bones?
A squad car whizzes by the motel with red and blues flashing and he instantly ducks down into the seat. He peaks over the dashboard, heart pounding out of his chest. He watches the flashing lights disappear. He curses at himself. "Damn it Dean, pull yourself together. You're going to give yourself a heart attack."
Not bothering to change out of the jumpsuit, he wraps his coat around him tight and eases from the Impala. Each step up to the second floor becomes harder and by the time he reaches room 14, he is sweating profusely and gasping for oxygen. He leans into the doorframe a few moments to gather himself.
He opens the door and Sammy looks up at him, then goes back to typing away on his laptop. He doesn't need to ask. He knows Sam is already checking news sites on their great escape. He eases the door shut and locks it. "I'm going to take a shower," he mumbles grabbing his backpack full of clothing with one hand, the other keeping his coat clasped closed.
"Make it a quick one," Sam says never looking up. "Not sure if we are safe here yet."
"Yeah," Dean agrees stumbling his way towards the bathroom.
"You okay, Dean?" Dean pauses in his tracks. Busted. He turns slowly. "Yeah, I just have some killer heartburn."
Sam just rolls his eyes at him. "No surprise there the way you stuffed down that prison food. Serves you right." The corners of Sam's mouth curl up into a small grin.
"Ha ha," Dean replies, entering the bathroom he slams the door shut.
TBC...