Unexpected cameo in this one that I genuinely was super unsure of while I was writing it. Back now I'm glad I put it in. Hope you like it (hint: it's not a person!)
Daisysakura, Twisted in a good way though right?! Anyway, you're right of course but you can't blame me for the last chapter (entirely) because I got that whole part from a backstage segment where Bray jumped Dean in a corridor IRL so I kinda might be in the clear on this one! Good news too because Roman will be on the warpath coming up!
Stingerette1975, Yep, Roman is going nowhere without his brother. Foley is going to be in and out of this story too, so the good news is he's sticking around. Besides which his experience in the concussion department certainly comes in handy in this chapter as does one of his other *ahem* unique skills.
Hayley1001, I honestly feel like now that Bray is diluted on TV and not the same creepy cult leader he was, that WWE needs a new really freaky, sort of supernatural villain. But Bray will always be my go to bad guy! More angst coming up in the story (lots of it) and lots of protective Roman coming up too.
Cheryl24, Haha, thanks. Skin crawling is totally what I was going for with him. But it's not too hard because the guy is so creepy that he pretty much manages to write himself. Even without his creepy little lantern and being rocking chair-less doesn't take off his edge. More creepy Bray coming up for you too!
Mandy, Glad I put you on the edge of your seat. Got some more chapters like that coming up (or at least I hope they're like that!) Fiercely protective Roman is the best type of Roman. Being like a lion when he's facing off with the bad guys and then being all touchy feely and sweet with his buddies once he's cooled down. I love writing that!
Wolfgirl2013, Yay, thank you. In this chapter we have the fallout from the last one because boy is there a lot of that. Not that Dean is going to remember much of it…
SkittlezLvr79, True, the chapter wasn't very Dean angsty, but poor old Roman was certainly feeling it. I like to think that Bray has an inbuilt compendium of creepy lyrics that he kind of pulls loose to up the chill factor when he has some poor soul in the clutches! Or maybe he's just a big Phil Collins fan? Stranger things have happened right?!
Guest, Aww, thank you, I'm so glad you're enjoying it. Got a little way to go with this story yet but I love my boys too much to hurt them too bad. Well, that's a lie, I like hurting them a lot but usually not irretrievably if that helps?!
Raze Olympus, Haha, nope, firstly you cannot smuggle shotguns into prison because they have that netting over the top to stop drone deliveries (Warden Bischoff is smart like that). Also, Bray is going to around for a little bit longer because…well, he's Bray so that's kind of his thing. He pops up next chapter too so look out for that one!
Minnie1015, *Takes bow* Why thank you very much. I wish I could say I planned that from the beginning but even though I have the bare bones of a story I pretty much make up the minutiae as I go so as impressed as you were when you read that part over, I was probably more impressed that my brain came up with it in the first place!
Skovko, Nope, I think slopping oatmeal into plastic trays may have suddenly lost its appeal for him! Not that I can exactly see him brandishing a hoover anymore than I can see him brandishing a hairnet and a ladle. But hey, it's prison so he doesn't really get to make the choices (plus more importantly it fits my story…shhh!)
Concussed Dean coming up…
Real Friendships
Between them they manage to get Dean vaguely upright although he doesn't so much stand as instead sort of slump, with an arm wrapped heavily around each of their shoulders and his poor broken head lolling and bobbing with every move but totally clueless as to where he is going which he tries to put across in a series of mumbled grunts,
Roman soothes him as he braces the lighter body,
"Alright babe, you're gonna be alright."
"Ro – ,"
Dean can't manage the second of the syllables because clearly it means putting in too much work, but the hint of awareness is reassuring in spite of it and makes the big man fight down a tiny hitch,
"Yeah, it's me."
"Bray – ,"
"Easy, I know uce and you don't have to worry babe, his ass is gone."
Except not in the fire and brimstone way he should be since the bayou man is still somewhere lurking around and therefore still poses a threat to their safety which is unsettling at best and potentially ruinous at worst.
Roman looks up,
"Can help me get him back to our cell man?"
Foley nods his big head quickly,
"Sure."
Dean grunts too but it isn't coherent and nor is the general manoeuvring of his feet since he can barely knows his own name or birth date or gender and so therefore simple walking is almost completely out. Nevertheless they still manage to shift him, partly suspending him between them as they strike towards the doors, inching their way as he slaps his soles down heavily and encouraging him like proud parents watching their kid at the big game,
"I gotcha uce, that's it, you're going great babe."
"Watch your step now, easy man."
It still takes them pretty much a god damn age though and by the time they hit the threshold, the copper blonde is half spent not to mention vibrating with effort and grumbling his dissent with every eked out step. His head is pillowed up against his cellmate's rib cage and his awareness is floating rapidly between there but mostly not when Foley stops them with his fingers around the handle,
"We're going to have to play this next part carefully."
"What for?"
"Because if we go out there with him looking half conscious, then the guards will know that something went down,"
Roman grunts back then clenches his fist tightly and it sinks without him knowing deeper into his brother's arm and elicits and small sorry mutter of protest that jolts him back out of it and makes him briefly calm down.
"Something did go down and they should damn well know that."
Mick shakes his head,
"Not how it works, they'll likely throw your buddy here into solitary for fighting, you want that?"
Roman sucks in a sharp breathe.
"Hell no."
He means that too, with every fibre of his being considering that those who get punished with time in isolation have limited chances of making it back out unless they are being wheeled to freedom on a trolley in the direction of the prison wing morgue.
Dean will not be having the same fate.
Especially not when he hasn't done anything wrong other than try and get on with his existence, which has for unknown reasons caught the attentions of a madman with a penchant for violence and the trilling out of folk music not to mention unwanted tousling –
Foley nods,
"Okay partner, leave this to me."
"Leave what?"
"You'll see."
He is off and away again before the big man can question what he means in a delft little slide between the doors into the cell block but with enough of a bounce to hint that something is coming up, which from a man who enjoys headbutting things for amusement could either frankly be brilliant or else truly bizarre.
"Ro – ,"
Dean mumbles then slumps down a little further without the bulk of the second man to keep him held up and in spite of it sounding like the start of a question, it falls into concussion based nothingness instead.
"Still here babe, I've still gotcha."
Roman hefts him a little higher instead and then tightens his grip around the skinny little middle all the while listening out for the distraction or the signal to move, whatever the hell that is. It comes however, in the form of sudden laughter and the muffled sounds of speaking like someone is holding court, but is happily void of the crash of falling furniture or the mass wave of bellowing that usually comes with a full scale brawl and so the big man pokes his head out, then blinks –
He blinks several times and then splutters out a mystified,
"What in the hell?"
Mick Foley is stood up on one of the tables that the facility has set up for the inmates to sit around, holding one hand towards his face by the elbow and staring intently at the well hidden fingers which seem to be encased in an off-white sock.
Roman blinks.
Nope, it's definitely a sports sock and one which the floppy haired man is chatting with before going through the motions of listening to the answer as if the thing has the ability to physically speak.
Foley nods at it,
"That's right Mr. Socko, it is getting pretty kinda dull around here, what can we do make it feel better?"
He bends his hand in closer and then looks pointedly across the cell block, meeting the brown eyes of the undercover officer and giving a tiny, surreptitious little nod before going right back to being a party entertainer for a roomful of convicted murderers and baffled looking guards.
Go.
Roman moves quickly and pushes across the threshold while bracing his copper blonde cellmate to his hip and hauling him clumsily behind the impromptu puppet show and past the thick cell doors to the mezzanine steps. He latches firmly onto the railing and then pulls hard against it in a hand over hand ascent, lifting his battered brother up with his other arm and grunting with exertion as they slowly inch up each tread.
He is halfway up when he hears a guard sigh heavily,
"Foley, come on now, that's enough."
It is an order that is met with genuine consternation as if the big and burly men who are hanging in the cell block are reluctant for the man and sock sideshow to end and which they probably are since the usual entertainment is guys trying to shank each other with knives whittled from toothbrushes and cans.
"What's the harm boss?"
"Get out of here, the lot of you, this ain't a damn theater."
Roman clears the top step and then braces the copper blonde as he stumbles against the grating before turning him swiftly in the direction of their cell and grunting as they cross the threshold together in a tangle of heavy and overworked limbs.
Dean screws his face up,
"Nuh – wher' m' I?"
Roman backs him up until his legs hit the bed and then steadies the sudden downwards shift in trajectory by grabbing his friend's shirt folds and lowering him onto the sheets since letting him hit the mattress from a height or too heavily is likely to jolt his poor battered head.
He grunts under the weight,
"Easy babe, we're back home now."
Home.
He blows a snort out then smiles wryly back, because that isn't what the tiny whitewashed cell could ever hope to be and yet it in spite of all that it is where they both feel safe not to mention very vaguely settled in the much broader scope of unpredictable prison world.
Dean hums,
"H'me?"
"Back in our cell uce."
"Oh."
Dean then responds by twisting his face into the sheets and rubbing himself a tiny little pillow using the tip of his nose to make a comfortable nest and turning his head in several directions before finally seeming to hit the right patch. He drops his cheek down and then blows a long breath out that sounds a lot like the precursor to sleep and it sends a jolt of panic through the big man who cups his face roughly,
"Dean hey, no, open your eyes up."
"Mmm, f'ck you m'n."
It comes out slurry but by no means lessens the meaning of the words and is why when Mick Foley tramples in through the doorway it is to the bigger man trying to pry open the drawn blue eyes.
"Dean, you gotta wake up for me now babe, your ass can't be sleeping."
Mick brushes him aside and then sets about performing some sort of head inspection that Roman watches from all of two inches away but with big brown eyes that drink in every motion and the big bullseyed welt that stands out red and proud.
"God damn it."
He hisses the words out fiercely then blows out a breath and runs his fingers through his hair, in a tension relieving impulse that usually makes his copper counterpart beat out a tune or twiddle his thumbs.
Normally at least.
"Does he need a doctor?"
Foley chuckles back at him borderline wryly like the mere idea of professional assistance is anathema to how he has chosen to live life and is instead some new-fangled feat of technology that nobody has ever been able to make him use.
He shakes his head,
"Nah, he needs a little bedrest, should be good as new if he can just sleep it off."
Roman nods back but the projection isn't convincing since the copper blonde seems like he is dead to the world and is carrying so much of a ghostly sort of pallor that the whole death analogy doesn't look too far off and sends a shiver through the bigger man's system that he cannot hold back,
He frowns a little,
"You sure?"
Mick glances up then raps his skull with a knuckle like the gesture passes muster as a medical degree but is instead a reminder that head injuries are his business and so his word is therefore law.
He chuckles back not unkindly,
"Oh yeah, I'm pretty sure."
Reassured that his cellmate isn't about to expire, Roman lets the copper blonde pivot himself onto his side and then nuzzle his battered head into his pillow as the full weight of sleep grabs and carries him off. Roman reaches down and pushes the fluffy bangs back in a comforting move that makes the younger man sigh and is so far and away a subconscious gesture that he doesn't even realize he had actually done it until Foley snorts fondly,
"What?"
"No, nothing man, it's just nice, not too many folk in here make real friendships."
Roman blows a breath out,
"Yeah."
Is that what he and Dean have?
Maybe they did once but that's no longer a given considering the fallout of the previous night and the sense of betrayal that had graced the quirky features when the copper blonde had realized that his cellmate was a cop. How or if they can ever get over that pretty much still remains to be seen and yet Dean had called for him in the depths of his concussion and had seemed contented by his presence.
That had to be a good thing?
He is haunted by the image of Bray Wyatt god damn touching him and treating his helpless brother like an overgrown ragdoll and the reasons for which are still a total mystery as are the means by which Dean ended up so hurt. Foley too is clearly thinking along the same lines, or else Roman inadvertently says it out loud, since he takes a seat on the warped mattress heavily which makes it bounce and then dip low beneath his weight so that Dean almost rolls a little and then smacks right up into him which makes him grumble out a little groggily,
"F'ck you."
Roman smiles but Mick seems not to hear it since he instead turns his gaze towards the his co-worker big dog and levels him with an unusually stark expression that clearly wants answers,
"Wanna tell me what that was?"
"Which part?"
"Bray Wyatt, what the hell is going on with them?"
He is fishing for the nature of the relationship with Dean, like the copper blonde has somehow had a hand in the shitstorm and which makes Roman glower back in heavy warning,
"It's not his fault,"
Foley lifts his hands up,
"I'm not saying it is man – ,"
"Wyatt has some god damn obsession with him and I ain't gonna put up with it much longer."
"What are you gonna do?"
Roman pauses briefly but he is mentally replaying the same horrific image from before, when the big clumsy hands were touching and probing and pushing their luck.
"I'm gonna take his ass down."
Next chapter Roman pays a visit to the Wyatt family to end the beef once and for all...he hopes...
