Jail House Rock

(Or: You know what they do to guys like us in prison)

Supernatural Crackfic

Rating: MA 15 or anything that means not for kiddies or anyone with a heart condition or moral objection to some man-on-man love!

Starring: Castiel and Dean Winchester

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but I haven't done anything here that the producers haven't thought of, themselves, those naughty dogs!

Chapter One

'Jesus, Cas!' cried Dean, as the door of the divvy van was slammed behind them. 'This is all your fault! If you hadn't been… well, you, the Klugmeiers would never have realised that we weren't who we said we were! Did you know it's a federal offence to impersonate an FBI agent?'

'Of course I knew.' Cas sighed, sitting down across from Dean and rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. 'I'm not stupid.'

'No, you're just new to the ways of the world. I realise that. But did you have to give the game away?'

'It was an accident, Dean.' Cas favoured Dean with one of his infamous non-blinking stares. 'When will you get over it?'

'When Sam finds us a lawyer and gets us the hell out of this mess, that's when.'

'That's if Sam doesn't decide to impersonate a lawyer' said Cas, in a snarky tone. 'I wouldn't put it past either of you to try something like that.'

'Hey, don't diss Sam, okay? He's doing his best.'

'I didn't say he wasn't…'

'Will you girls shut the hell up?' yelled one of the cops in the van's cab. 'I can't hear my I-pod for your squabbling.'

Dean bit his lip and stared down at the vinyl-covered bench seat beside him. Someone had written, "Welcome to hell, bitches" in black marker. Yeah, what do you know of hell, Dean thought, bitterly.

The boys were thrown in a cell with a double bunk at the end of a row of cells, each with three solid brick walls and one of bars. All they got in their three by two and a half metre enclosure was a chair, toilet and sink, and a couple of threadbare grey army blankets. Dean sank onto the bottom bunk, and almost immediately Cas groaned.

'Aw, you always get the bottom bunk! You know I get vertigo on top.'

Dean shook his head in bewilderment. 'You came from Heaven! How much more on top is that? You should be used to high places.'

That was met with a chuckle from the prison warden, who winked salaciously at Dean. 'Now there's a line if I ever heard one! He came from Heaven… hahahaha…. Get a room, already! Oh wait – you've already got one.'

'Ignore him.' Cas said, quickly, seeing Dean's cheeks flush with embarrassed anger. 'He knows nothing of our situation. If you get angry and hit anyone in here over something trivial, it will only make matters worse.'

'Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.' Dean replied, and laid back on his bunk, his hands folded behind his head. 'Well – if we're going to be in here overnight I might as well get some sleep.'

'Overnight? Hahahaha…' They could hear the warden halfway down the corridor.

'I thought that asshole had gone back to his box of donuts.' Dean muttered.

'Chill, okay? I'm trying to think.' Cas did his best thinking on his feet, but in such a tight space, that meant pacing back and forth. After about five minutes of this, Dean was ready to kill him. So it was probably lucky that angels aren't all that easy to kill! (If nigh on impossible!)

'Just lie the hell down, will you? You're driving me crazy.'

'I'm sorry Dean – pardon me for trying to think of a way to get us out of here.'

'I told you, Sam'll sort it. We'll be out of here by morning. You'll see.' Dean gave Cas a reassuring wink, but Cas didn't look too reassured. 'Well, that's a different attitude to the one you had when we were first arrested!' he said. 'What, you don't blame me, now?'

'Oh, I still blame you. I'm just not so angry about it, anymore.'

'Well… that's something, I guess.' Cas conceded. He shucked off his trench coat and hung it on the back of the chair, then sat down and began to take off his shoes. Placing them side by side under the edge of the chair, like a regimented soldier, he pulled his tie loose, and hung that up neatly, as well. Dean watched all this with some interest. It never failed to amuse him how anal Cas could be about some things. But when the angel started to unbutton his shirt, Dean drew the line!

'What are you doing?' he asked. 'It's not as if we have any pyjamas in here!'

Cas frowned at him. 'I'm not sleeping in this shirt. It's not one of those non-iron ones, you know.'

Dean sighed. 'Okay but… just… can you at least, please, keep your pants on? I do not want to see you climb up that ladder in your tighty-whiteys.'

'Okay Dean. I can do that.'

'Good.' Dean sank back against his pillow and stared at the graffiti on the wall beside his head, which was so banal and stupid, it put him right to sleep.

The next morning, Cas was up with the birds, which didn't impress Dean at all. Especially not since the angel had an annoying habit of stretching and bending first thing!

'Jesus Christ, Cas, you're like a middle-aged woman' Dean complained. 'You're not going to seize up if you don't bend over and touch your toes every morning! This vessel of yours… gotta be; what? Early thirties? Hell, you're probably fitter than I am.'

'And this is how I stay that way.' Cas reminded him, going down on all fours and performing push-ups on his knuckles.

Dean rolled his eyes, sank back down on his mattress and covered his head with his pillow.

When the warden came at eight o'clock to unlock their cell, Dean sprang to his feet. 'Holy Shit – he did it! Get up, Cas, we're out of here.'

Cas peered over the side of his bunk at the warden. 'Is that true? Did Sam post bail?'

'I know nothing of this Sam. Breakfast's up, girls! You've got five minutes to get down there, or all the good spreads will be taken.'

Dean and Cas followed the warden to the dining hall with much trepidation – especially Dean, who'd seen enough prison movies to appreciate the possible danger they were in, mixing with the general population. He clued Cas in on The Rules on the way. 'Guard your tray with your life. If possible, try to sit with your back to a wall. And never, and I mean, never, look at anyone in the eye. I know that may be hard for you, Cas, but no one here likes to play Who Can Stare the Longest Without Blinking. You'll wind up getting shivved.'

'What's shivved?'

Dean groaned. 'Forget it. I'll explain later.'

The boys figured there was safety in numbers, and stuck together like clams as they navigated the breakfast buffet. Dean groaned when they got to the spreads and condiments basket. 'Argh! There's no Peanut Butter Super Crunch!'

'I guess we had to get here early.' Cas replied, as he held out his plate for a paltry serving of bacon and runny eggs. Dean looked at his friend's breakfast with distaste. 'How can you eat eggs over-easy? They look like snot.'

'Gee, thanks for the visual, Dean.'

'You know, I think that warden doesn't like us. Otherwise, why would he have woken us up so late?'

'We were already up.'

'Yeah, but he could have come and opened our cell a bit earlier, so we could get a decent breakfast.'

'He was probably hoping he'd catch us in a compromising position.'

Dean put his tray down at a spare table and glared at Cas. 'What do you mean by that?'

'Well, after you made that comment yesterday, about me coming from Heaven, I think he thought you were flirting with me.'

'Get the fuck out!'

'I would if I could, Dean, but in case you haven't noticed, we're stuck here.'

Dean sighed. 'It was a figure of speech, Cas. It means… you're pulling my leg.'

Cas put down his knife and fork, and frowned, pondering human speech idiosyncrasies, probably. 'I'm not pulling your leg.'

'Forget it.'

'Speaking of which, you were going to tell me what being "shivved" means. Is it something sexual?'

Dean pushed his plate away, put his head on the table, and wrapped his arms around it. Cas, perplexed, simply picked up his knife and fork, and resumed eating.

After breakfast came exercise time, out in the yards. This was the bit that had worried Dean the most. He explained to Cas that exercise time meant playing with the "big boys" and they needed to stick together, and stay out of everyone's way. Cas didn't seem to have a problem with that. A big Samoan guy had given him a wink at breakfast, and he was keen to keep a low profile in case the Coconut decided to look him up in the yard.

'I think we should see if this place has a gym.' Dean suggested. 'It might not hurt to be seen lifting some weights, you know? So people can see we're strong enough to take care of ourselves.'

Cas squinted and gestured at someone behind Dean's back. 'People like them, you mean.'

'Cas! I told you not to stare at anyone!' Dean hissed.

'I wasn't. They're headed this way.'

'Aw, fuck.'

'Oh, looky what we have here! A princess and an accountant.'

This was from a large guy with tatts crawling down both arms and a ginger handlebar moustache. Cas couldn't help but giggle. 'He called you a princess.'

Dean glowered at Cas. 'How do you know he wasn't talking about you?'

Cas grabbed the lapel of his coat. 'I dress like an accountant, remember? You said so yourself.'

'When did you ladies get here?' Ginger Moustache asked. 'I must have been in solitary or I would have noticed two hotties like you wandering around.'

'Oh God, he called us hotties' Dean muttered, out of the corner of his mouth. 'Told you I was too pretty to go to jail.'

'We got here yesterday.' Cas told Ginger. 'My name is Castiel. What's yours?'

Ginger glanced over at his mates, who were standing aside in a huddle, talking amongst themselves, and giving either Cas or Dean the odd appreciative wink, depending on their personal preferences.

'I'm Trevor,' Ginger said. 'But my mates call me Monkey.'

Cas looked puzzled. 'I've never heard humans refer to themselves as Mud Monkeys before…'

Dean groaned and slapped his forehead. 'Great! Just great.'

Ginger squinted at Cas. 'What did you call us?'

'I didn't. I was simply thinking out loud that it was strange to hear humans call themselves…'

'He's a little…odd.' Dean interrupted, before Cas could repeat the "Mud Monkeys" bit again. 'Don't mind him. He's on medication for it.'

Cas gave Dean a glare that clearly said "What the fuck?" but Dean ignored it. 'You know how it is,' he continued, seeing that he was well on his way to placating the big guy. 'You have to protect those who can't protect themselves.'

'He's a nut-job, then?'

'In a word, yeah.'

'That changes things. See, we don't mess with people who have… mental issues. We just think it's wrong.'

'Mess with… mess with how?'

'You know. The old initiation rites. Showing newbies who's boss. We'll leave your friend out of it.'

Dean was relieved. 'Great. Thanks. We really appreciate it.'

Ginger smirked. 'I didn't say anything about leaving you alone, though, Princess.'

'Ow!'

'I'm trying to be gentle.'

'You're not trying very hard.'

Cas was sitting on the edge of Dean's bunk trying to work the kinks out of his shoulders. All day the Rat Pack, which was what Monkey's mob were called, rode Dean like a wild stallion (not literally, although he did feel like that was the case), making him fetch and carry in the laundry room, do all the dishes at lunch and mop the dining room floor, which was originally Monkey's mate Packrat's job. They explained that it was all about initiating Dean into the prison way of life, and that he'd thank them for it later. But the entire time, the pack had sat at a table in the dining hall, talking about him behind his back and wolf-whistling every time he had to bend over to wring the water out of the mop. His back ached, his feet were killing him, and all he wanted was a hot shower and a Bud Long-neck after the day from hell. Cas's attitude wasn't helping. His afternoon had consisted of a long-winded theosophical discussion with the resident Jesus freak; and then a couple of hours in the prison library reading up on ways to get Dean and himself out of prison, considering that they hadn't heard from Sam since they were arrested. For all they knew, Lucifer could have had Sam charbroiled for lunch. Either that or Uriel could have made good on his threat to get rid of Dean's brother if he ever stopped being useful. Whatever the reason, Sam hadn't tried to call, and Dean was worried sick.

'Has anyone ever told you you're crap at massages?' Dean snapped. 'Just quit it, you're making it worse.'

'Jeez, I'm sorry.'

'Well…' Dean sighed. 'I'm sorry, okay? I mean, it was my fault those guys picked on me instead of you. I shouldn't take it out on you.'

'Actually it was my fault.' Cas reminded him, as he stared into his hands. 'If I hadn't mentioned our little insult to humans this morning, you wouldn't have had to pretend I was crazy. You should have let him beat me. You know I can take it.'

'That's not the point and you know it. We look after each other in here. That was the deal. I wasn't going to let those guys beat the shit out of you because they thought you were insulting them.'

'That was very noble of you, Dean. I want you to know I appreciate it.'

Dean laid his cheek on his pillow. 'That's great, Cas. Now be a good angel, and shut the fuck up, so I can get some sleep.'