A/N: So I recently found myself rewatching the Green Mile after rediscovering Barry Pepper (because I rewatched Saving Private Ryan, and am now on a merry ride of 'damn this guy is a great actor, what else has he been in?!') and this idea randomly popped into my head. Dean's wife is alluded to in the film, and given the fact his character is a sweetheart who was very nearly killed by Wild Bill, the idea was 'what would his wife say when she found out he'd been hurt'. And voila. 4.5k words of what happened when she found out.
Keep in mind, I've never read the books (I'd like to!) so I'm not sure how the characters 'talk', their language style is based on the movies and the more Southerner accents/way of speaking we hear. Also, I'm not American, so I really don't know how 1935 American's speak, other than what I saw in this movie!
If anyone sees this, I hope you enjoy it! If not, I'll just shout into the abyss - at the least it's out there and won't bug me anymore! :D
It was another fine day, the sun shining through the windows, the slightest chill in the air signaling the arrival of winter, and most importantly, the atmosphere in E Block was relaxed.
Paul looked around the table at the other guards sitting with him, enjoying the quiet company of his friends as the radio played quietly in the background. It was calm, it was relaxing, and the tension that had been running through their shoulders the last few days was nowhere to be seen.
Brutus was filling out some paperwork the State wanted on Wild Bill as they arranged his execution date, and the man was far too chipper than anyone should've been, writing such forms. The thing was, though, he couldn't help but agree. By all that was good and holy, he couldn't wait until the day came that Wild Bill walked the Mile for the last time – something he'd never thought for a prisoner before, but then again, there was a first time for everything.
The slimy bastard had kicked off again the night before, hooting and hollering about wanting a steak like the idjit was in the goddamn Ritz, and had lunged for Dean when he walked past to deliver John's dinner. Bill hadn't had a hope in hell of getting near him, given everyone was making sure to stick to the middle of the corridor so they were out of reach of any attacks the mongrel might think to try, but it hadn't stopped him from giving it a go.
Brutus had threatened the hose on him again to make him pipe down; Dean had threatened to poison Bill's yet to be delivered food with the promise of making it a particularly slow and painful death if he didn't shut it that instant.
According to Brutus, Wild Bill had laughed and said Dean couldn't do that to him 'cause it wasn't legal. When Dean reminded him he was on death row, and none of the guards would speak out against him because he'd be doing them all a favour – supported by Brutus' statement that he hadn't heard anything about no poisoning, despite standing right next to Dean when he'd said it – Wild Bill had shut up for the rest of the evening.
Harry was reading through the newspaper, twirling a pencil between his fingers absentmindedly and his brow furrowing deeper with every page he turned. He'd been muttering under his breath about the new Boulder Dam that had not long ago been dedicated by President Roosevelt, and based on his choice of words, Harry wasn't a fan of the new construction.
Dean was running an errand and was due back any minute. His youngest guard had had a quiet talking to from Brutus after threatening Wild Bill the night before, but Brutus had made it clear to him when they'd been talking over a freshly brewed pot of coffee that it was more of a "ignore the slimy sunovabitch, Dean, he'll be dead soon enough" followed by a pat on the shoulder than any real reprimand.
Given the kid's neck was decorated with some nasty bruises that were only just hidden by the collar of his shirt, he didn't blame Dean for being fed up with Bill's behaviour and having a go, despite knowing better. God knew he'd like the bastard to get his ticket called as soon as possible, rather than cluttering up his run.
"Seriously, who in the hell thought building that Dam was a good idea, huh?" Harry scoffed, drawing Paul from his wandering thoughts. The older guard turned the paper around to show them, waving it as though it had personally offended him. "And overseas we got the Germans making waves again. I tell you, the way they're going, they're going to bring the war back." He shook his head irritably, before adding far more quietly, "It was bad enough last time."
Paul wasn't sure what to say to that, given Harry had served in Europe during the Great War with the Military Police. He was lucky enough to have walked away with his sanity and his body intact, but he'd seen some horrors in his time there. If anyone had a reason to wish for the everlasting peace the world leaders had promised them at the end, it was him.
Aside from Harry's grumblings, the reason it was nice and peaceful on the Mile because Percy was off for the full day. Not having that snot-nosed little weasel running about was doing wonders for his mood, that of his guards, and his prisoners. Hell, even Wild Bill hadn't said a word that morning, which was a nice change.
Maybe the threat of poisoning had gotten to him, or maybe not having Percy about – who he knew was easy to wind up and took great joy in doing so – had him dour and mute.
He scoffed quietly to himself. Yeah, like either of those things would put Bill off being a nuisance.
"Don't you worry yourself none," Brutus said, patting Harry's shoulder absentmindedly with his free hand, not looking away from his report. "Germany ain't got the balls to wage war again, and if you don't like the look of the Dam, don't go see it." He barked a laugh when Harry tutted and swat a hand at him. "I for one might go visit it; thing like that, mighty impressive what they've done."
"Yeah you'd say that," Harry grumbled as the door leading into the block started to open. "You been reading the news about what that Hitler fella has been doing? It ain't good, Brutal."
Paul was about to take a sip of his coffee when the new arrival entered, and he just about dropped his cup when someone who was decidedly not Dean, or any of the guards for that matter, poked their head around the door. "Annabelle?!" Brutus and Harry looked up in alarm as Annabelle Stanton entered the room, smiling sunnily at them.
"Well howdy boys," she greeted, her lips quirked at the corner as though she'd expected their reaction and found it highly amusing. "It's good to see you."
Paul gaped at the young woman, lost for words. Dean's wife was as beautiful as always; her sun kissed skin gleaming in the natural light while her brunet hair cascaded in loose curls down her back, tucked behind a sapphire blue headband that matched the day dress she was wearing. The dress sat tastefully on her lean frame without revealing much – although it couldn't hide the small swell of her stomach that reminded anyone who knew her of the baby she carried.
Her outfit was completed with a pair of black heels, caramel leather wrist-high gloves, and – "Is that Dean's lunchbox?" he asked, pushing out of his chair and coming around to give the young woman a hug in greeting. Dean had been bellyaching all morning when he realized he didn't have any food for the day, so he'd be happy to have it now. "Annabelle, what are you doin' here?"
Annabelle smiled and set the lunchbox on the spare chair that she'd undoubtedly figured was her husband's. "Yes, it is," she laughed, giving the metal lid a small pat. "He got sidetracked playin' with Lily and Danny this mornin' so had to hightail it outta the house to get here on time. I didn't want him goin' hungry, so I thought I'd bring it over for him."
"You could've left it at the gate," he said, exasperated. He'd be having words with whichever numbskull let himself be sweet-talked into bringing her through the prison in full view of the inmates on the yard. They'd rip her to shreds if they managed to get their hands on her. "Annabelle, you know this ain't no place for – where are you goin', girl?"
He watched, distressed, as Annabelle looked around the block before strolling casually towards the cells. "Annabelle, what are you -"
"Relax, Paul," she replied, raising her eyebrow at him over her shoulder. "I ain't stupid."
See, there were very few people who could say that to him while on the Mile that he'd believe. Mrs. Annabelle Stanton was one of them.
The daughter of a well-respected and imposing jail warden a county over, Annabelle, along with her two sisters and three brothers were all taught to defend themselves from a young age. Their father, Mr. Johnathan Pierce whom Paul had met at the couples wedding five years back, had made it clear to his wife that there was too much evil in the world and that he wasn't going to lose any of his children to the likes of them – not when he had the means and knowledge to stop it.
His teachings had paid off because when Annabelle was twenty, a bag snatcher had targeted her and her friend while they were out shopping, shoving the pair to the ground and taking off with their purses. Dean, who'd been visiting his older brother who had settled in the county a few months prior and had not long started working at Cold Mountain, had heard the commotion from across the road and took off after the thief, catching him quickly.
What neither man had expected was Miss Annabelle Pierce to come charging up to them, barefoot so her running wasn't hindered and with righteous indignation scrawled across her face. They certainly hadn't been prepared for the right-handed punch worthy of a boxing champ to knock the thief out, either – along with breaking his nose, cracking his right eye socket, and removing three of his teeth in the process.
As Dean had told them when he'd practically floated his way through the door when he returned to work; it was love at first punch, and he was going to marry that girl.
They'd married within the year.
For Annabelle to tell him not to worry, he surprised himself by not doing so. Brutus and Harry came around and stood either side of him, Brutus going so far to give him a 'why aren't you stopping her' look. He shook his head before turning to watch her curiously. It was clear Annabelle was up to something - what it was, he couldn't say – and he knew asking wasn't going to get him anywhere.
So, watch it was.
It was a testament to her father and her childhood that she stuck to the center of the corridor, moving slowly; acting as though she were nothing more than a curious young woman in a strange, scary place – but her posture told those who knew to look for it she was anything but.
They were watching a predator on the prowl.
"Mm-mm," Wild Bill said, smacking his lips together as he eyed the young woman. Paul shot him a warning look, but aside from pressing himself against the bars, the man stayed silent, tracking her every move.
Annabelle ignored Bill entirely, instead coming to a standstill outside of Del's cell, tilting her head curiously. "Why hello there. Who might you be?"
"Eduard Delacroix," Del said, bowing low. He was standing in front of his bars, too, but unlike Bill he kept a respectful distance between him and the metal. "But you can call me Del."
Annabelle smiled and gave Del a small courtesy. "Hello Del," she greeted sweetly. Paul shook his head, impressed. "I'm Annabelle."
"She's good," Brutus muttered, eyebrows halfway up his forehead. "She's got Del eatin' outta her hand."
"Maybe she's just curious," Harry whispered lowly. "Hell of a thing to get curious over, though." Paul shrugged. He wasn't sure what she was doing, either.
"Wait a second," Annabelle said slowly, before gasping theatrically. "Del? As in the Del? Del and Mr. Jingles? That's you?"
Del puffed up with pride, his whole face lighting up at being recognised. "Well yes ma'am, that us!" He turned around and hurried over to his bed, scooping Mr. Jingles up into his hands and bringing him over, displaying him proudly. "You see him? You wanna see what he do?"
Annabelle nodded, and Del pulled the empty thread spool from his pocket, crouching down so he could set the mouse on the floor. He nudged the spool about a foot out of the bars into the corridor, and Mr. Jingles dutifully fetched it.
"That's one talented mouse you've got there," Annabelle said after giving a soft smattering of applause, smiling in delight. "You got yourself a circus mouse there, that's for sure."
"Yes ma'am, when we gets outta here, me 'n Mr. Jingles gunna go down to Florida, go join them circus folk at Mouseville in Tallahassee."
"Mouseville?" Annabelle echoed. Paul bit back a groan as he turned to Brutus, worried their well-constructed story was going to come crashing around their ears, but Annabelle's next words put him at ease again. "I've heard lotsa good things about them. You and Mr. Jingles will be well looked after, there. You need to make sure he practices though, there's lotsa competition to get in - but skills like that, it'll be easy for you."
"Merci, mademoiselle."
"You let me know when you get there, and me and the kids'll come visit, okay?"
Del nodded, clearly delighted at the promise of an audience. "Yes ma'am."
Annabelle nodded, and with another small courtesy, she continued down the Mile until she came to John's cell. "Big, tall, handsome - you must be John."
John's hands wrapped around the bars of his cell, and Paul noted the hesitancy in his eyes. He shook his head. How anyone could believe he'd raped and murdered those little girls, he had no idea.
"Y-yes ma'am."
"John Coffee. Like the drink?"
John nodded. "But spelled different."
"Oh?" Annabelle hummed curiously. "I didn't know. How do you spell it, then?"
"Damn, she is good," Harry breathed, impressed.
"J...o...h...," John started spelling slowly, and Paul immediately felt bad. It'd been obvious to all of them that the man was slow, but on the night they met he hadn't given John the chance to spell his name like Annabelle was doing now. He'd just cut him off impatiently.
If it had been any other prisoner, such a thing wouldn't have bothered him. But this was the timid, meek man that he'd quickly come to realise wasn't the monster he'd been accused of being.
And there was no way he could do anything to fix it. Not now.
"f...e...y."
"Well thank you, John Coffey," Annabelle said, smiling kindly at him. "I do apologise for thinking it was spelled like the drink. My husband forgot to mention the difference to me. Tell me now, these boys lookin' after you?"
"Yes ma'am. Bossman and the others are lookin' after me. Except Percy, he's..." John trailed off, biting his lip as though afraid to say more.
"Yeah. Percy," Annabelle agreed, her voice turning bitter. "He's not a good man."
John looked at them standing by the desk, as though uncertain. "He... he got evil in his heart," he whispered. "He a bad man."
Annabelle nodded. "I know," she said quietly, entirely truthful. "You just do what Paul and the others tell you, and you'll be alright. Okay?"
John nodded, and Annabelle gave him a warm smile before turning around. The cell opposite John's was empty, so she made her way over to Wild Bill's.
Paul wasn't the only one who straightened, tense and ready to intervene the moment Wild Bill made a move that could put Annabelle in harm's way. He'd hoped she'd walk straight past him, that Dean had warned her about him and she'd steer clear, but apparently not.
Which was strange, given Annabelle had just let slip she and Dean spoke about who was on the Mile, so she must've known who he was.
"And who might you be?" Annabelle asked curiously. "Dean didn't tell me there was another man here. You must be new."
"William Wharton, miss," Wild Bill replied, leaning heavily on the bars, arms curled above his head as though he were a hotshot trying to woo a girl. Paul made a noise of disgust when he realised the bastard was pressing his crotch through one of the gaps, bulging obscenely under the thin material of his pants. He ought to shoot the bloody thing off and be done with it, consequences be damned.
"And what are you in here for, William?" Annabelle asked, unaware of the tension running through the nearby guards. "Good looking man like you surely don't deserve to be in here."
Wild Bill shrugged. "They wrongly arrested me, miss. No reason for it. I'm trying to get the decision overturned, but it's takin' a long while." Paul scoffed none too quietly. He waved a hand in apology when Annabelle glanced over. "To tell you the truth miss, the treatment here is embarrassin'. Percy just highlights how little the guards care about us, y'know?"
Paul shot his arms out in silent warning to Brutus and Harry to stay put. Both men cursed but remained quiet, although the wood of Brutus' baton creaked as he gripped the wood tightly.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Annabelle said sympathetically, and Paul wasn't sure what it was about her that changed, but he knew immediately that it was Wild Bill Annabelle had been looking for. She'd obviously wanted to see the man who'd attacked her husband for herself. But why?
"I'll have a word with these fellas for you, okay? If you're innocent, then they shouldn't be raggin' on you. It just ain't right."
Wild Bill straightened up, no longer slouching against the bars as he bowed. "Well I appreciate that, miss."
Annabelle nodded, and Paul lurched forward when she extended her left hand for Wild Bill to shake. "Annabelle ..."
There was a thud of a body hitting the bars, and Paul knew he wasn't the only one staring in shock. Wild Bill had taken Annabelle's hand, and after one gentle shake, the young woman had gripped the hand she held and yanked hard, pulling the con heavily against the bars. Before he had a chance to recover from the shock, the punch she landed had the man howling in pain, stumbling backwards as he clutched at his face.
"YOU CRAZY BITCH!"
"You ever touch my husband, or any of these three men here again, and I'm gunna have them hold you down while I rip your goddam balls off, you hear me?!"
"YOU FUCKING CRAZY WHORE!"
"I ain't gunna cut 'em off, neither," Annabelle continued, a look of disgust on her face as she flexed the fingers of her right hand, the leather creaking with the movement. "A few twists and pulls should rip those tiny hazelnuts right off, don't you think?" She followed up her statement by twirling on her heel, her dress whipping around her shins with a flourish as she strode back up to the desk, Wild Bill still hurling insults at her retreating back.
Paul picked his jaw up off the floor, elbowing Brutus and Harry who weren't quick enough to do so. "What on earth -"
"I'M GUNNA FUCK YOU UP, YOU CRAZY -"
The door burst open and Dean came racing in, baton raised and prepared for a fight. The young man just about tripped over his feet when he saw his wife standing there watching him with no small amount of amusement. "Annabelle? What in god's name are you doing here, honey?"
Annabelle waved a hand at his lunchbox that was sitting forgotten on the desk, raising her voice a little to be heard over the ranting that was still bouncing around the room. "Thought I'd bring this to you, seein' as you forgot it."
"You need some ice for those knuckles?" Paul asked, taking her hand when she peeled off her glove, wincing a little. He shook his head at the bruising that was already forming around the joints, surprised it wasn't worse. "They busted?"
Flexing her fingers, Annabelle smiled slyly. "Na, just a little tender. I pulled my punch, so the most he's suffered is a couple of loose teeth. Nothin' worthy of a dentists help, mind you. I wouldn't do somethin' that'd make you fellas have to take him out of that cell any earlier than him goin' to the chair."
"You punched -" Dean cut himself off, shaking his head as everything clicked into place. "Honey, you didn't need to come down here just to lay a beatin' on him."
"He hurt you," Annabelle said, her tone brooking no argument. "And I don't take kindly to anyone who hurts those I love. 'Sides, there's some baking for you boys, too."
"Miss Annabelle, you are a gift sent down from the heavens," Brutus said reverently, lighting up at the prospect of fresh baking. Annabelle's skills with all things sweet was so well known around the county that for the last couple of years people had been begging her to start her own bakery, societal norms be damned.
With a baby on the way it wasn't something she or Dean were looking at doing any time soon, but the idea had been planted and she was now taking orders at home; in fact, she was making enough that she'd been able to resign from her job as a receptionist so she could focus on her baking and her family.
"Cake?" Harry asked hopefully, only to sag in disappointment when she shook her head.
"Apple and cinnamon cookies, straight from the oven."
All four of them perked up at that. Those cookies were some of her best, yet they rarely got them. Tinkling laughter echoed around the cells as Annabelle grabbed Dean's lunchbox and opened it to show them. Paul had to bite back a moan at the smell that wafted free of the metal confines; the other three had no such restraint, their eyes closing in pure bliss.
"Bless you, Miss Annabelle," Brutus said, leaning forward and pecking her cheek. "Lord knows what Dean did to deserve you."
Dean puffed up in pride at that, wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulders. "I thank my lucky stars every day I have her, that's for sure."
Annabelle looked at her husband lovingly before reaching out and taking one of Brutus' hands in her own. "And I have you to thank that I still have Dean with me. Anytime you want some baking, you tell me what you want, and you'll have it, you hear me?" Paul chuckled at Brutus' expression - the man looked like he'd died and gone to heaven. "As for these here cookies, there's a half dozen for each of you, okay? There's a couple for Del and John, too."
"What about me, you stupid bitch?!" Wild Bill yelled, rattling the bars of his cell. "Huh?! Whatchu gunna give me?!"
"The only thing I'm gunna give you is another punch to the face, only this time it'll be so damn hard you'll lose your teeth and be seeing stars for a week, you hear me?!" she shouted back, whipping around as though she was going to have another go. "Ain't nobody gunna care if you're missin' half your teeth when they fry you!"
Paul looked at Dean, communicating with the young man silently. Dean nodded, the message understood. "Okay, honey, that's our cue to leave," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist and turning her towards the door. "I'll walk you out, c'mon."
Annabelle huffed, but didn't fight him. "Alright, alright. I'm goin'." She looked over her shoulder. "Enjoy them cookies, lads."
"Oh we shall, don't you worry!" Harry said happily. "Take care of yourself, now."
Paul nodded. "Any time you want an extra set of hands round the house, you let me and Jan know, okay? I know she's been meaning to come see you, she just didn't want to impose."
"She's welcome anytime. You too, Paul," Annabelle replied, bobbing her head and letting Dean guide her towards the door. "Bye Brutus!"
"Bye Miss Annabelle, you take care now. I'm already planning my first order, I'll get Dean to bring it to you tonight!"
Annabelle's laughter followed her out, and Paul shook his head in disbelief as the door clicked shut. "Y'know, I'd always thought Dean was making up that story of her punching that bag snatcher."
"You believe him now?" Brutus asked, cramming a cooking into his mouth and moaning at the taste.
Paul nodded and grabbed his own little buddle of cookies, pulling one from the cloth she'd wrapped them in. "I believe him now."
"Hey! Hey! I wanna report an assault!" Wild Bill yelled, thumping his hands on the bars. "That fucking bitch nearly knocked my teeth out! Broke my nose! I want her punished."
Smirking at each other, the three guards walked down the corridor, coming to a standstill in front of Wild Bill's cell, although Harry handed Del and John their cookies first; both men taking them with murmured thanks, their eyes glued to the other prisoner.
"Sure," he said once Harry had rejoined them. "I'll place a report. Hell, we all will. But then everyone will know that you got punched by a woman."
"And that she punched you hard enough to loosen your teeth," Brutus sneered. "I'll go fill out that paperwork right now, shall I?"
"I'll help," Harry added, biting down on a cookie. "Mm-mm, this is delicious. Now, it was her right hand she used, Brutal – gotta make sure we get them facts right for the judge."
"I'm gunna make you all pay," Wild Bill snarled, shoving away from the bars. "And I didn't kill that little bastard last time, but I won't make that mistake next time! I'll choke the life right outta him! See what that little whore thinks of that!"
"You so much as lay a finger on Dean, and I'll make sure I cut them all off," Brutus threatened, his voice dropping to a growl. "I'll tie you down, burn your hands until they're so damn raw they're all you can feel, then cut 'em off with a blunt knife. You sure as hell won't need 'em when you go to the chair."
The look on Brutus' face was so dark that Wild Bill took a step back, swallowing nervously.
"Now how's about you be a good little prisoner, and we won't chuck you in the straight-jacket so Brutus can get to them fingers of yours," he added, nodding when the man sat down before heading back to the desk, Brutus and Harry on his heels. "Thank the lord that's over with," he muttered once they were sitting down, mopping at his brow with his handkerchief. "I never want to go through something like that again. I don't think my heart can take it." Harry and Brutus nodded ruefully.
A few seconds later, Brutus chuckled quietly. "It's true what they say," he said, shaking his head. "You never know who you're gunna get on the Mile."
Paul saluted him with a cookie, Harry and Brutus mimicking the movement, and the three of them went back to what they'd been doing, waiting for Dean to join them once again.
A/N: Imagine my horror when I read the Wikipedia page about the Green Mile novels, and learned Dean was killed four months after John Coffey's execution, when he transferred to C Block after John's death.
My head canon is that never happened, and he grew old and happy with his wife. If I have to accept what happened to him (which I refuse because I'm stubborn like that), then it's my head canon that Brutus moved Dean's wife and kids in with him to help look after them in his friend's honor, taking up the mantle of Uncle Brutus, because you can't tell me he didn't look at Dean as his little brother that he believes he failed because he stayed at the prison, rather than going with him and Paul.