Okay folks, time for one of our enemies to pop up, so place your bets on who we've got because from here on out it's going to be drama all the way!
Guest, Thank you so much, glad it's still got you and especially as we creep towards the end now (but lots of crazy still to come before that!)
Mandy, I love writing about Dean doing good, especially since I figure he's the sort of person that has probably never been given too much praise before, so getting it from Roman is even more special to him, plus he gets to help avenge Sami. Go Deano!
Wolfgirl2013, Aww, many thanks, these next few chapters are going to be dramatic because I've got lots of different threads to tie up, starting with this one and some unfinished business…
SkittlezLvr79, Yep, time is now of the essence, but Roman has it in hand in this chapter…even though they have another problem too as it turns out (you'll see what!) But yeah, the boys are right in the thick of it now and are going to have to watch their backs. Drama coming!
Minnie1015, Only now we're getting to the good parts?! (Kidding, totally kidding!) But yep, here cometh the drama, starting with this chapter and then turning up to eleven beyond, because there's nothing like a mad scramble to the ending. Ahead be cliffhangers (said in pirate voice).
Yippi-kay yay motherfucker, Hmmm, maybe…I mean, when is that big swamp idiot never not wandering about, waiting to be a pain in the ass for them? Or maybe its Bischoff...hmmm, so many bad guys not enough time!
Cheryl24, Yep, the smoking gun is in possession. The good news however is that Roman is all over it in this chapter…the bad news is that they now officially have more enemies than friends, so the next few chapters are gonna be interesting (well, at least I hope they are!)
Skovko, Haha, I can see Roman sitting with his eyes shut and his fingers in his ears giving Dean five minutes alone with Bischoff. But on the plus side, Dean gets the chance to have a little retribution on someone in this chapter…or does he? Hmmm, not telling!
Martha, Aww, thank you, I'm really happy you're enjoying the story. Always makes me smile when I know that people are reading along and itching to find out what happens next. Makes all the blood, sweat and tears of writing these things worthwhile! Hope you like this chapter too!
Daisysakura, Um, okay, so apologies in advance here but the suspense is going to kind of go into overdrive coming up in the next few chapters, so I'm going to need you to do some meditation before and after each reading, okay? BUT on the plus side, you know, protective Roman!
I love the chapter title for this one btw…
Fucker Number One
Dean leans back against the wall and blows a smoke ring, or pretends to at least since he doesn't have a butt and nor has he had once since his second week in prison when he realized that his credits wouldn't stretch to food and smokes.
Fuck, he misses them.
Nicotine was comforting and he even liked the smell of the smoke stains on his skin in the same way a regular not messed up person might like the scent of a perfume their mom used to wear, or the aroma of cookies crisping up in the oven.
Dean isn't normal though –
It's cancer sticks for him.
He is stood in front of the door to the phone room and trying to look cool but at the same time stand guard, since his undercover cellmate is inside with a receiver, making what is likely the most pivotal call of his life.
Except not his life, more like the mission –
But it is still fucking important and that fact can't be changed, which is why the copper blonde has been given the duty of somehow trying to keep the prison populace away which would frankly be hard if he were shepherding cattle but with murderers and kingpins is suicidal at best.
Bright orange threads lumber up from his right side,
"Uh hey man, where y' going?"
Dean is there in a flash, inserting himself between the inmate and the phone room and shouldering the man's hand clean out of the way.
Piercing blue eyes frown down at him crossly,
"I'm going to make a call."
"You can't."
"Why not?"
In the grand scheme of things it is a very good question and one that he hasn't managed to think of an answer for, which is probably why the sentence that falls out of him surprises them both.
"Infestation."
"Huh?"
Dean jerks a clumsy thumb over his shoulder like the gesture is proof he knows what he's talking about and then blows a breath out like it wouldn't be the first time before patting the man's shoulder,
"There are a lot of bugs in there, but I'm with cleanin', so we're gonna fix it."
He receives a baffled blink,
"An' then I can make my call?"
"Sure thing buddy."
Dean grins like an idiot and then carefully steers the far bigger man off and thankfully manages to avoid taking a beating by the fact the bulky lug is so totally confused.
Jesus.
Dean huffs out a breath and sinks back again, resisting the urge to stomp through the door to see what in the hell is taking so long and then being thankful that the cell block is largely empty since the rest of prison is having lunch in the chow hall.
More steps trudge towards him and he grumbles,
"Fuckin' roaches man, m' tellin' you, they're like freakin' everywhere."
He turns towards the newcomer with a grin of apology but finds pretty quickly that the beam slides right off since standing in front of him are not more baffled prisoners, but three very bearded and unflinching men.
Bray and his minions.
Fucking great.
He glowers at all three of them,
"What the hell do you want?"
"Now, now is that anyway to talk to a friend?"
Dean lets loose a bark of derisive laughter and then tries not to rein back and punch the ugly head because the swamp man simply has one of those faces that makes his fingers twitch and which the asshole seems to know.
Bray taps his wrist in the spot where a watch would be,
"You're late."
"For fuckin' what?"
"Have you forgotten our rumble?"
"Our – ,"
Realization hits him bodily.
Shit.
Bray grins broadly in response to the reaction and the obvious curse word hung on the lips and then holds out his hands and tips his head back proudly like he has already won it.
"I knew you'd chicken out boy, you're no match for these hands."
Dean bristles on instinct,
"You think m' fuckin' scared?"
He laughs to make the point but the bayou man keeps on grinning right back at him and then tilts his head in that weird ass dog way he has that is so sort of violent it risks snapping his neck off and is too god damn totally creepy for words.
"Well if you're not scared how about we do this right now?"
Dean falters –
Crap.
Roman is still on the phone and totally unaware of the storm that is brewing a mere fifteen feet away from his nose and which is frankly a fucking curveball that seems unimportant given that the warden is murdering men.
Petty grudges and weird ass hillbillies can wait their damn turn.
Dean shrugs,
"Rain check, don't wanna get hillbilly caught up under my nails."
Evidently that is the wrong thing to say to a person who spends his hours talking with the spirits or brushing bird feathers and human teeth out of his beard and who therefore doesn't take insults or accusations all that kindly as he then makes a sudden attempt to have known. Bray puffs his barrel chest out and then struts forwards until Dean is being pinned by the blubber against the wall and feeling every inch of the gut through his thin shirt front and hating it with a passion.
He tries to shunt back,
"Fuck you man."
Bray grins wickedly an inch from his features and then chuckles until the copper blonde can feel the tainted breath and it makes him push back and struggle even harder as images and memories of being trapped in the kitchens and then fucking stroked come flooding to the front.
He isn't letting that happen again ever.
Bray laughs louder,
"I'm your reckoning boy, I ain't scared of nothin'."
"Except for soap and water an' a mouthful of listerine I'm gonna guess."
Behind them the two forms of the gigantic lackeys move in a little closer and block out the light and Dean figures the movement also hinders the monitors that watch over the prison floor to prevent flare ups and fights. Not that technology is needed in their case, since their three-on-one pretty much promises a brawl and yet the space around them remains open and empty.
Not one single fucking moron guard is in sight.
Dean grits his teeth –
It has not been a good week and he is fast losing hold of any patience he has left since he has already had to endure one swamp based beatdown, not to mention undercover work and then almost being caught and which hadn't even mentioned the realization that their warden was an asshole who had killed his helpless friend.
His fingers twitch like a current is passing through them,
"M' givin' you fair warnin' here man, step back."
Dean figures that he says the words pretty politely given that he wants to gouge the eyeballs from the man, but instead of doing the sensible thing and moving off him, the trouble seeking hillbilly bellows in his face,
"Not until you have learnt who your master is."
Dean reacts before he even knows that he has, lifting his fist and throwing it into the brow line between the wild hair encased, unblinking white eyes and feeling something sort of snap as he does it that he hopes is the swamp man's skull but is actually his own mind.
"Oof – ,"
Bray stumbles back towards his towering minions who catch him in a less than graceful tangle of limbs and then struggle to put him back up onto his feet again since he is thrashing against them like they have just reeled him in.
Dean grins –
Fucker.
He feels pretty elated and so is primed for further action when the enemy stomps back in with one big hillbilly forearm swinging rapidly in a move thrown to take off his copper blonde head, but which whistles over the top as he bobs down below it before responding with an uppercut right to the big chest. Bray throws his fist out again on instinct but is reddening from having taken two successive hits and it leaves him open to making an error, which he does two seconds later after another useless swing.
"Boy, I'm gonna beat your damn ass senseless."
Bray bellows the intent as he launches his body in, but then fails to block the open space around him, which allows the fast-paced, leaner man to duck once again, skipping around the flailing cult leader and then throwing himself onto his back from behind and wrapping his own arm tight around the windpipe as he latches himself on in a full spider monkey style.
Bray grunts hard in response and then panics as he suddenly realizes his breath is being cut and he throws his hands up and starts scrabbling at his nemesis with hot and clammy but thickly battering hands.
Thwack, thwack, thwack.
Dean tucks his head in closer and weathers the storm of rained down blows, but then doesn't have the hands or the means to defend further as from the corner of his vision he sees Harper and Rowan blunder in, clearly looking to prize him from their master in a way he knows he won't be able to fight off. Bray is gasping and bucking underneath him and so he cinches himself tighter.
He cannot let go.
Harper puts a large meaty paw out towards him and it arcs towards his hair in what will be a painful hold but then never gets further than a fingertip away from him since someone else suddenly bursts into the fold and pushes the big man back with a body check that startles them all.
"Don't you put a hand on him."
Dean grins and lets out a loopy little chuckle.
Roman –
Impeccably timed like he always is and standing tall like an actual granite monument and a physical barrier between the freaks and his friend.
He looks back briefly,
"Uce?"
Dean pants a breath out and then tightens his committed to and locked in choke hold, which means that he can only offer scant reassurance through tightly gritted teeth.
"M' okay, m' not hurt."
Roman turns back to the hovering lackeys and then glowers across the distance with feeling,
"Good."
Bray is wheezing and turning puce underneath him, which the copper blonde can see by the color of his head and then from the way the bastard drops onto his kneecaps in a subsidence that brings Dean back down onto his feet.
"Pl-please – ,"
Dean keeps his hold a little longer until his hillbilly enemy is pretty much at a slump and then finally lets go and backs up with a rumble that growls from his lips like an angry junkyard dog,
"From now on, you keep your creepy ass the hell away from me."
Bray coughs out a breathe and then struggles to get up, making it as far as his hands and wobbly kneecaps before stumbling a little and then sprawling again, his throat sort of gurgling with unpleasant little spasms that are beautiful to hear.
Dean thinks so anyway.
Roman points up at the two hovering minions who are staring wide eyed with the wind gone from their sails and who are itching to close the distance to their mentor who is flopping on the ground like some gigantic beached whale.
"Same goes for you assholes too, you hear that?"
Neither of them bother or make the effort to respond but based on their solemn and shell shocked looking faces the message has been delivered and received loud and clear.
Dean grunts,
"An' no more blood an' shit on the walls either."
His missive is interrupted by the squeaking of footsteps and the whoosh of heavy fire doors being pulled open as a guard steps back out onto the empty cell wing floor and then casts around in a sweep of the area that will only take seconds before it tracks around to them.
Roman grabs his cellmate's arm,
"Come on babe."
Bray is still slithering around on the floor but manages to manoeuvre into a wheezing sit position as his two taller brethren hurriedly slip in, the three of them fixing the fast retreating figure with deep looks of hatred but also with defeat and the copper blonde can't help but grin in response to it.
Fucker number one down –
Fucker two still to beat.
I thought it was about time I gave Dean a victory and besides, since when has he ever backed down from a fight?
Next chapter...well...next chapter things happen, which is all I'm going to say right now!
