"COUNT!"
Despite McManus's absence, Em City went on like normal. The Aryans taunted the muslims. The Homeboys harassed the gays. Miss Saily's show came and went with an enthusiastic male response. Between keeping his brother in line Ryan O'Reily kept his eyes on the head CO, still trying to figure out his game. Twice that day Murphy pulled someone aside for what he suspected to be a private interrogation. To the untrained eye it was just a hack giving a warning or taking them to general appointments like Sister Pete or Dr. Nathan. But O'Reily knew what to look for. The brief moment of confusion as Murphy approached followed by the resigned play-off. Nobody wanted to be seen as a rat so they played along. But Ryan knew.
By the time lights went out, however he wasn't any closer to an answer. Still pondering the situation, Ryan stood at the glass watching. Murphy had spoken to Rebadow and Busmalis--both pretty clean when it came to running schemes--and was now up in McManus's office with the blinds closed.
What the hell was he playing at?
"Ryan?"
Cyril was sitting up in bed, not even remotely ready for sleep. He glanced back at his brother.
"What?"
"Did you have a bad dream?"
Ryan shook his head. He was used to his brother's nonsensical questions so he barely paid him any mind.
"No."
Murphy's shift should have ended already.
"Then how come you don't want to go to sleep?"
"I will."
"But you're not in the bed."
"Go to sleep, Cyril."
Alvarez was still in the hole. Murphy hadn't gotten him out this time. Maybe he was trying to save face.
"When I have bad dreams you give me hugs, Ryan. I can give you hugs too if--"
"Sleep Cyril," he repeated. "Now."
It couldn't be drugs. Alvarez already worked in the infirmary and stole whatever he needed. And if he was selling it again, Ryan would know. Favors then? If so what kind?
The Aryans had Lopresti to cover for their fuckery. He'd had Howell for pretty much the same purpose (pussy was a bonus.) Now he had Armstrong for his business enterprise. So what did Alvarez have Murphy for?
"But I'm not sleepy."
And how was he paying him in return? Maybe with information? About the riot? About who he saw doing what during that riot? That would explain the interrogation Armstrong had his panties in a twist about.
So what had Alvarez seen? Well that depended on where he was during the riot. Before and after.
Didn't I see him carrying a bag of laundry before shit went down?
Ryan let his eyes travel down from his own second floor pod to the dark imprint of the laundryroom. So that was where he'd been. Now to figure out what all he had seen. And what Murphy intended to do with his reports.
0_0
Staying awake was not a difficult task when one was cold and alone and trying to avoid a nonconsensual ass pounding. And especially not hard when he had someone to protect. But staying alert was a different story. Miguel was attempting to keep his mind stimulated by clipping his nails sans clipper. He'd bitten off what he had on each finger but his toes were proving more of a challenge. So far only the big toe was long enough to tear off. The other nails were much thicker. He was regretting the shortening of his fingernails when he heard activity in the hall.
Footsteps, clicking softly on the cement. He immediately straightened up on guard. Where were those steps headed? And who did they belong to?
Lopresti.
Was he coming to take another peice of him? To get another poke while McManus was away? Anger, fury, something else rose in his throat and Miguel found it difficult to swallow.
He's a hack. I can't fight a hack. They'll kill me this time. After Rivera...
He bit his fist, waiting for the bastard to stop before his door. Waiting for the latch to click, for the metal to cringe open, for that gringo son of a bitch to be standing in the open doorway, smiling a wicked smile. He waited, body tense and anxious.
Miguel could hear them as they approached, no words spoken but they were more than one set. He could tell, though how many he couldn't figure. But Lopresti was not alone this time, that much he could tell. Then again had he ever been? Miguel had no way of knowing as he'd been unconscious both times. For all he knew that hack had brought an audience to watch. Or worse...to take turns...
The only thing worse than a dick up the ass was multiple dicks up the ass. And if they all were hacks? Shit, he might as well invest in some lipstick and bend over for the whole fucking unit! There was NO coming back from that!
He tried to stand, to face his attacker head on once he did arrive, but Miguel felt his knees weaken at the thought of multiple hacks pinning him down, having their way like (Schibetta and the Aryans) he was some pussy ass prag to be used. Forcing him to feel their hands on his body, hear their amusement, bear the humiliation as they...
He wanted to throw up, that's what he wanted to do. He wanted to scream and fight and throw up at once. There was no way out of this now. The hacks were coming for him. And either they were going to take his ass, or take his life. Miguel quivered, staring at the door as the steps closed in.
Until they passed him.
He blinked, still on edge but legit surprised. So Lopresti wasn't after him tonight?
The Latino didn't have a chance to feel relief as he heard another door creak open. Then he heard his familia's voice.
"What the fuck is going on? Who's there?"
Schibetta? They were going after Schibetta?!!!
Something in him actually raged and he threw himself against his door screaming, trying to break through. Schibetta, he had to protect him. He couldn't let those sick raping fucks get to him. Not again!
""LOPRESTI YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!"
He imagined Peter lying helpless and pale on that cold hard floor. Italian eyes wide in fear as that hack piece of shit leered down at him. Schibetta frozen, unable to move or even defend himself.
"YOU'RE DEAD!! YOU TOUCH HIM AND YOU'RE DEAD!!"
He continued his rant, even as other prisoners woke and began yelling for him to shutup. He recognized Jaz Hoyt but gave no shits about that biker trash. He just wanted Peter safe. For his familia to be safe.
The harsh slamming of the metal door momentarily paused his tirade but he could not relax. Not when Lopresti was still out there and Peter was still alone. He heard footsteps rushing past, a swift bang to his door as they went.
He yelled out a few more insults in Spanish before he went to check on Peter.
"Schibetta, you good?" he called.
Hoyt cut him off.
"Shut the fuck up you cock sucking--"
"Schibetta?!"
"Shit he's calling his girlfriend!"
Miguel pressed against the door, everything in his body straining to hear. He pushed out the other voices, ignored their banging as he searched for the one that mattered. The one of his familia.
"M-Miguel?" he sounded shaken.
"No te preocupes. Yo me ocuparé de ti. No dejaré que te toque. Tu eres la familia."
And he meant every word of it.
Before long a couple of hacks came by banging on doors and demanding they quiet down. It took a while but eventually everyone settled. When he didn't hear Lopresti, Miguel too lowered his voice. With the ruckus he'd risen no way the pig would make another attempt tonight. For the moment Schibetta was in the clear.
But Miguel wouldn't delude himself. There would still be tomorrow and the night after that. And the night after that too. Twenty years of tomorrows...
0_0
For the first time since his return to Em City, Peter didn't dream of Adebisi. He didn't dream of the Aryans pinning him down and laughing. He dreamed of his familia.
Miguel is holding him. Just holding him close. And talking quietly in that language of his that he seems to use when he's upset. But in this dream he is far from upset. He is calm, protective. His arms warm and secure around him.
"Miguel?"
They're facing each other. His head in the crook of Alvarez's neck.
"Familia," Miguel whispers to him.
He holds him closer, his body heat warm and welcoming.
"Mi familia."
Peter glances up at him, feeling for the first time since his father's death... safe. Cared for.
Miguel returns the gaze and they wallow in each other's eyes. Miguel's both fierce and brown and soft at the same time. He loves those eyes, so expressive and oh so Latin. So full of emotion for him. He can drown in them forever.
Peter draws closer. Miguel holds his gaze. Then their lips touch and he feels himself releasing a sigh of content.
"Tu es mi familia."
Peter jerked awake just as he heard the bolt of his door being unlatched.
What the fuck was that?
Confused both by his dream and the noise of metal, he pushed himself up from the fetal position he'd slept in, attempting to shield his erection with his hands.
"The fuck is going on?" he shakily demanded before the door could open.
"Who's there?"
The dream had him unsteady and he hated the lack of base in his tone.
The door began to crack when he heard Miguel's voice yelling from his cell.
"LOPRESTI YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!! YOU'RE DEAD!! YOU TOUCH HIM AND YOU'RE DEAD!!"
Lopresti? What? The door halted before suddenly slamming shut. Now Peter's pulse began to hammer as there was a whispered exchange outside. Two men, though he couldn't make out who they were. Between Miguel's noise and their low hisses all he could make out was a "...move it hombre!"
Miguel was banging on his own door now, his threats in Spanish. Despite his alarm, Peter shuddered warmly at the reminder of his dream.
"Shut the fuck up Alvarez!" another prisoner screamed from his cell.
Quick steps scurried away.
"Fucking loudmouth spic!"
That inmate was definitely Jaz Hoyt. It seemed Miguel was waking the whole unit.
Confusion and fear began to battle within the young Sicilian as he tried to grasp what was happening.
Someone had just tried to enter his cell.
He stared at the door.
Somebody just tried to come in my cell.
Who? Why? What...
Last time Miguel was here he came back with bloody boxers.
Was this what had happened to his friend? Was a hack coming to rape him too?!?
"Payday baby..."
Adebisi.
No.
No! No! No!
"You know I always wondered. Was Adebisi's dick bigger than mine..."
Schilinger.
Peter stared at the door. His body began to tremble.
"Little Nino..." Adebisi whispered in his ear.
His skin began to sweat.
"Heeey Petey," Schilinger greeted.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
He threw his face in his hands. Not again. Oh god not again! Please God make it go away!
"Alvarez you stupid fuck!" Hoyt was screaming.
"...keep your sunny side up..." Schillinger smirked as he left the office.
Peter was barely aware of the hot wetness coming down his face as he crouched in the corner. Dropping his head, he hugged his knees close. He couldn't take this. Not again. He just couldn't!
Pop, where are you?
He felt himself slipping, trying to escape this hard and gray place. He didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to be afraid anymore. He didn't want to be weak anymore.
Pop, please don't leave me.
He just wanted to be safe again. To feel the security he'd felt growing up. With Nino Schibetta as his father no one dared fuck with him. No one dared even glare his way. They'd feared his Pop; they'd feared the Schibetta name.
When his father was around, he was safe.
Please come back, Pop. Please.
"Schibetta, you good?"
Alvarez.
Of course. He'd kept him safe all this time. From Hoyt. From Maxwell. Even now, separated by concrete and metal he'd run the intruding hack off. He was still looking out for him.
"M-Miguel?"
Remnants of the dream he'd had, of Miguel close and holding him secure...
Spanish words flowed from the other side of the wall. Though he couldn't understand, the last word he made out was "familia."
Miguel never leaves me.
He sniffled, wiped his face with his hand. Fuck, he was crying.
"Go to sleep ya fucking fags!" another inmate yelled.
Peter ignored the directive, pining for his familia instead.
Miguel keeps me safe.
Even without his Pop around, he could still be safe.
"M-McDonald's is disgusting and overrated," he blurted weakly.
Miguel didn't miss a beat.
"Mustard is better than ketchup," was the instant reply.
He couldn't help it, even through his tears he smiled in relief. He no longer had his father's protection, but he didn't need it anymore. He had another protector in his corner.
Miguel.
He would always be safe with Miguel.
0_0
Murphy got the call pretty late in the night. His best friend was drunk at the local bar--too intoxicated to drive home. Barely rested himself after staying late to sort things, he went out to collect him. Tim was a mess, blubbering about the system and the governor and mentioning Alvarez's name.
"I can't let him down," Tim was repeating.
"Dino...Kenny...I let them down."
On order to save time and gas, Murphy just brought him back to his own place to crash on the couch. It wasn't the first time Tim had slept over and it probably wouldn't be the last. After tucking him under an extra blanket, he set the bathroom trashcan just within McManus's reach.
"You did the best you could, Tim. Get some rest."
That was his friend, carrying the weight of the underprivileged world on his shoulders. Trying to make a difference one inmate at a time.
"I couldn't save them. I couldn't..."
Murphy sighed, allowing him another incoherent speech until he'd tired himself out. Eventually Tim's eyes closed, his mouth still murmuring about his duty.
"...let him down again...I can't let him down again..."
When he finally drifted off, Murphy shook his head. This job, it was consuming Tim. Eating him alive. His marriage, his relationships...it all came second to Oswald State Correctional Facility. The job had become Tim's world.
He should get out, meet women (who didn't work at Oz because nobody wanted a repeat of Claire Howell), get a hobby of some sort. Find something outside of work to sustain him. But this was Tim McManus. And anyone who knew Tim McManus knew that the likelihood of that happening was zilch. His work was his everything.
And right now everything depended on figuring out this Alvarez case. He'd spoken to Rebadow himself for more details. Busmalis too. And as they'd told Tim, the nearby COs had been Armstrong and Lopresti. He'd had yet to talk to Armstrong but after their conversation in the breakroom Lopresti was definitely hiding something.
He just wasn't too sure if it had anything to do with Miguel's rape or not. There had been something in the CO's eyes when Sean had accused him of sampling the prisoners. The same thing Sean had felt when accused of sampling Schibetta. Not even O'Reily could fake that disgust. Lopresti was dirty, no doubt but he wasn't Miguel's rapist.
That of course didn't rule out his involvement. He wouldn't be the first guard to look the other way as an inmate was attacked. And he did hate Alvarez...
Save this shit for tomorrow.
He would talk to Armstrong and feel him out before making any conclusions. And he would stop by the hole to check on Alvarez too. And maybe by some miracle he could find the answers he needed and save Tim's ass along the way.
