Dean gets to show his worth in this chapter, plus we find out how Mick fares in the kitchen! Cast your votes below for who oatmeal you would prefer!
Daisysakura, Roman is the best friend ever. He's just such a protector/provider. Plus he probably knows that Dean will get into trouble with him or without him so therefore with him is better than the alternative! Now I just need to see some Ambreigns brotherhood back on my TV and I'll be a happy little girl again!
Cheryl24, Awww, yep, very happy that he's back but I will probably spend the rest of my natural life worrying about his arm or him doing anything with it, near it etc. Not sure I could cope with another lay off, it has been a long time. Lucky for me I've been pumping out stories!
Wolfgirl2013, Yay, thank you so much, got a bit more action in this chapter coming and then a whole lot of action coming after that as we build to our big climax!
LHisawesome4ever, No. You. Didn't?! Oh my goodness you lucky thing! Did you have any clue it was coming? Sounded super loud on TV so I'm guessing some/most of that noise was from you then?! Awww, glad you were there for it.
Stingerette1975, Dean is totally ready to get Bray gone from his life, plus having Roman in his corner definitely helps up his confidence levels. Dean will totally go for living with Roman, after all, he has nowhere else and nobody else come to think of it *cries hysterically*
SkittlezLvr79, Haha, well, the oatmeal question will be resolved in this chapter, which means the new question is who's to blame, the substance or the chefs?! Glad you brought up Bischoff because we've been away from him for a bit, but he'll be coming back big style!
Mandy, Aww, remember to take it one step at a time, day by day, I try not to look too far into the future. I like thick oatmeal too, can't have it too sloppy. I like brown sugar in mine, cranberries sound far too healthy for me, lol! More goopy oatmeal in this chapter too!
Minnie1015, Yep, I wrote this story as a one off, but I figure there may be room for a sequel some time when I hit on a good enough plot. Always love coming back to my creations, it's like putting on a comfy pair of pants!
Skovko, Haha, well, it took a couple of re-watches but I'm already used to it now, so it's good by me. Need to see him being a bit goofy or carefree/smiling then it'll look more like him. Not ready for a heel turn quite yet so lets hope they hold off on that…at least until I get some Roman/Dean.
Yippi-kay yay motherfucker, Yeah, there may or may not be room for a sequel after this one some time in the future. Ha, Dean may lose his fluff in one story in the future, because I like to keep up to date, but I'm not sure in what or when! From bangs to fuzz!
Here comes the master lockpick…
Make No Mistake
Dean gets his very first shift cleaning the offices the next day after the transfer goes through so which means that for the first time since he entered the prison, he eats a lukewarm breakfast he hasn't made.
It isn't good.
Roman grins wryly and then watches sympathetically as he pushes the unappetising oatmeal around, before handing over a small packet of sugar and nodding towards the counter,
"You'll hurt his feelings uce."
Foley is standing like a tower behind the sneeze guard with an actual oversized apron in place and a hairnet that he has swiped from where-the-hell-ever but also with a big old grin slapped on his face, ladling out portions of cement textured oatmeal like he's feeding the five thousand and has plenty left to spare and he has such a long reach that even those shuffling past him trying to grab a slice of toast end up with a pile. He sees them looking then waves at them excitably and lifts up a thumb,
Dean groans,
"Jesus Christ."
But they both raise surreptitious hands in his direction before the undercover policeman thumps on the table top and sweeps his tray up off the sticky feeling plastic before turning towards the cleaning station,
"We'll be late, come on."
In stepping through the locked doors that lead towards the offices, the copper blonde is leaving the prison block for the first time, in what is fast turning into a day of new happenings and is a tantalizing glimpse of the world he left behind. There are desks spread out in neat lines in front of them and all of them filled and topped with normal things, like pens and phone receivers that don't have card swipes on them and computers that aren't limited to one or two sites, not to mention family photos and candy bars and flowers and a million other items he has forgotten all about.
It's kind of too much.
Roman palms at his neckline and then steers him further into the room, while dropping his voice to a low sort of murmur that is easy and understanding,
"I know uce, I know."
For the first few minutes they do what they are meant to and push vacuums and dusters and spray polish around the room, all beneath the ever watchful eye of the prison guard who perches up against a printer and simply watches them work in between checking his watch for lunchtime and then blowing out breaths that sound idle and bored. Roman nudges the copper blonde at one point and then nods across the room,
"You see it?"
"Uh huh."
In one far corner of the big open plan style office is a smaller partitioned off section with its own door that he assumes is where their leather clad warden spends his hours and potentially hides evidence for all the things he has done wrong, which includes but is not limited to stealing medication and potentially being complicit in the hangings of several men.
Dean twitches –
Sami.
He can see it in his mind's eye and the thought of it makes his stomach flip and turn as he imagines his friend at the mercy of the warden and kicking his helpless legs out as he struggles in the noose. Dean swallows back a sudden ball of nausea and the spinning sensation that is making it hard to breathe and then physically tries to shake the vision loose again because that shit is something that he never wants to see.
Roman is watching him quietly,
"You okay babe?"
But before he can answer the guard pipes up and lifts a nasally voice above the desktops as he spies the lack of movement,
"Less talking, more work."
Dean rolls his eyes but then gets back to the business of pretending like he gives a shit about the hygiene of the place, while keeping his attentions fixed firmly on the corner where the warden likes to hang out and where the evidence could be kept.
Roman clears his throat,
"I've run out of product."
By which he means he has uncapped the bottle and poured the contents into a plant pot but which the guard has managed to overlook in his boredom and so doesn't suspect anything although he isn't pleased,
"What?"
Roman holds up the newly empty spritzer and then pumps the nozzle to further his point, which creates a hissing noise and a tiny spit of liquid but nowhere near as much as they both know should come out. In response to it the guard sort of huffs a weary breath out and lets his shoulders slump a little in defeat because the lack of cleaning liquid presents a real conundrum that he clearly has no previous training in dealing with.
Roman smiles thinly,
"There's more in the cupboard, I could just duck out and – ,"
"You're not going anywhere."
It is precisely the response that the bigger man has bet on and so he blinks in return and then holds his hands up, throwing in a shrug as a good natured gesture before chuckling mildly,
"Then this place won't get cleaned."
Dean is still hunkered down by one of the monitors pretending to empty out the trash but he still has a view of the baffled seeming prison guard who is standing in the doorway looking vaguely harassed. Eventually the officer gestures in his direction,
"What about him?"
"We'll be gone for two seconds man, what do you think he's gonna take in that time?"
Roman makes it sound like the whole thing is easy and the tentative looking officer seems to take him at his word, with a trustworthiness that will soon be drilled out of him in disciplinary action or potentially a prison brawl. It helps them however that the guy is a youngster and someone that they have only seen once or twice before and is therefore new to the life of prison guarding and the various pitfalls and unflinching rules.
Like leaving an inmate unattended for example.
Dean sighs –
Poor fucker.
The guard nods,
"Alright, but you stay here and keep doing what you're meant to, no touching anything."
Dean lifts his hands up and responds to the order that is flung in his direction with an actual snort that implies perish the thought and then follows through with a heart crossing gesture and a loose looking smile,
"I hear ya boss."
No sooner than permission is granted for the refill than the undercover policeman heads straight towards the doors and blisters through them with such sudden purpose that the poor greenhorn prison guard briefly struggles to keep up, but eventually slides from view hot on his heels anyway which leaves Dean standing still and very alone.
"Fuck."
In coming up with the plan to afford him some precious snoop time, the copper blonde had figured that it would take a while to come and that maybe he would be running his ass around with a vacuum for potentially a couple months before they got their big break. The first day therefore has not been on his radar but makes sense given the obvious lack of experience in their guard and so the moment the two of them have vanished from his sightline he turns and heads towards the sectioned off room, trampling over the thin office carpet and then letting himself in.
He doesn't have a lot of time.
Roman has already explained the sanctum to him so that he doesn't need to stop and get his bearings once he's in, which allows him to cross towards the big desk quickly and then hunker in low beside the precious locked drawers.
"Well hello there flimsy locks."
Dean fumbles in his pocket and then pulls out two small and tapering thin metal rods, which have been borrowed from the broken down springs of his mattress to make two tiny prods much like a bobby pin in size and that fit like a glove as he pushes them both gently and then arranges them in the lock in the place of a key. He bites his lip too like always does when he's picking because going through the motions of getting a lock open is a highly skilled and also pretty delicate thing and one he is surprised to find he's been actually fucking missing since doing it again brings a hell of a rush in.
There's –
There's just something about the precision of the manoeuvre and the concentration he has to pour into every last twist and how the delicacy of finding the angle of the channels stills his usual twitches and his bullishness a bit.
He actually grins when he hears the metal clicking sound,
"There you go baby, looks like we're in."
He slides the drawer open with his heart fucking pounding and then narrows his eyes a little because he's way out his depth now and staring in bewilderment at a ton of scrappy papers and scribbled in notebooks and messy files and bills.
"Shit."
He has no earthly idea what the hell he is searching for and so starts to hopelessly sort of rummage about, like his hands might land on the key piece of evidence if he simply bats papers around for a minute or more, but won't because that isn't the way the god damn world works and he curses to himself because he can't fuck things up.
Callihan needs him to get them some vengeance.
Dean curses once more and then really starts to look, picking up books and scanning them quickly in the hopes that a key word might suddenly stand out and being careful to put the pieces back where he found them since he doesn't want to blow it three hours down the line. Beneath the largest stack of loose files lies a notebook that fits in a palm and has obviously been well used since the cover is bent and the leather effect binding is halfway through the process of breaking up and peeling off. Dean frowns a little and then quickly flicks through it before catching sight of something that fast chills his blood and then peers in closer like he is somehow maybe dreaming it –
But nope.
Bischoff has written the names of inmates and staff.
Pages and pages of them, filling the notebook and each with random scribbles and annotations by the sides which the copper blonde is pretty much desperate to go through but is too busy flipping through in the hunt for one man and which he finds on the third page from the back in spidery handwriting and it's own set of notes.
Sami Callihan.
"Fuck."
His eyes scroll along to the first line of the comments but then quickly spring up at the sound of traipsing feet and although common sense says it is probably his cellmate, he can't hear any warning or the chatter of the guard.
Shit.
He slides the drawer back and then conceals the little notebook hastily in the pocket of his threads and has only just lifted the duster to the computer screen when a figure walks in and then stops dead.
Eric Bischoff.
The warden frowns at him for several long seconds then opens his mouth like he's not sure what to say but he doesn't scream at him or yell for any backup and in the grand scheme of things that's a positive leap of faith.
Dean blinks back,
"I – ,"
"Ambrose, isn't it?"
Blue eyes stare back across the room in surprise because somehow the fact that the prison boss knows him is by strokes an unexpected and chilling new step. But then maybe it isn't considering the booklet tucked in his pocket and burning a hole in his damn side and in which is a handwritten list of the inmates and enough further scribbles to imply opinions on each one besides.
He swallows down a lump,
"Uh, yeah, that's me y' know?"
"What the hell are you doing in here son?"
Bischoff asks the questions in tones that are easy but the words and his eyes don't carry it off and instead burn across the small space with such intensity that the copper blonde shivers a little but at no point breaks his gaze.
He holds up a duster,
"Uh, I got transferred onto cleanin', was told to spruce up the office an' whatever – ,"
"Not in here you didn't."
Dean plays dumb at once,
"Huh?"
"I only let guys I know and trust in this office and you haven't earned that right yet by any means."
Dean nods slowly,
"Sorry man – oh, uh – sir, I mean sir, y'know, not man."
Eric Bischoff eyes him back steadily and for a second it is like he is drinking the inmate in, or else maybe trying to commit him to memory and process and file every little detail. It isn't a particularly reassuring silence but there is precious little else that the prisoner can do and so stands and takes the mental assessment with a steely expression until the warden sucks in a breath,
"You've been here nine months, is that right?"
"Yeah, nine long months."
"Kept yourself out of trouble I believe."
"I try."
Bischoff nods,
"Good, best for you to keep it that way, now get out of my office."
"Absolutely sir."
Dean in no way needs to hear it second time and so quickly skirts back around the overly cluttered looking desk and across the plain blue carpet towards the doorway, but is stopped on the threshold as the warden calls out in tones of false cheer that carry added weight in them and succeed in sending a fucking bolt through his bones since it holds the punishment that he never wants ever,
"If I catch you in here again, it will be solitary at once."
Hmmm, so Bischoff now has Dean on his radar...that can only be a good thing right?!
Next chapter we find out what is in the book, be there or be square (nope, even I can't believe that I really said that!)
