Back to Dean for this one then and what has our boy been going through in the hours since they took him away? Time to find out… (I'm a little bit early today by the way so enjoy!)
Guest, Hmmm, well, I can never promise a happy ending, because I want to keep that suspense up for as long as I can, but I can promise that things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. Does that help?!
Stingerette1975, Mick rocks, I'm so glad I snuck him into this story. Don't worry, Mick will be back before the end and we're going to find out some more about him as well. I totally have his back in this one! Yep, Roman would have done whatever it takes to get in solitary and he still will do whatever it takes to get to Dean.
Cheryl24, If I keep posting every three days (like I have been) then there's about another week and a half of this story left to go, so we are definitely in the final phases of this one. I think this is the second or third longest story I've ever written? *Goes off to check*
Wolfgirl2013, Yay, glad you're still on board and especially as we get to the craziness of the end. Plenty of action to come and then the obligatory rounding up chapters. But who makes it through to the end in one piece? Hmm…
Minnie1015, I'm not sure even Roman's superman punch is that strong. Nah, what am I talking about. It's Roman so of course it is. Hmm, maybe that should be my next story? Roman as a superhero (with Dean as the plucky reporter/best friend who follows him around…I'm kidding by the way…but only just!)
SkittlezLvr79, Haha, I never realized what a position of power I had put Mick in! Probably not my smartest idea. But hey, Mick's a good guy with only a hint of catastrophic brain trauma so maybe he'll remember to make the call, but then maybe won't, who knows? * shrugs then walks off coolly whistling*
Mandy, More action and drama in this one too, and the next one because you have to go out on a bang right?! Thank you, I'm actually very proud of my mum for recovering so well and adapting. Plus, the powers of modern medicine can be amazing. Take that cancer! Hope you've been feeling better recently too *hugs*
Martha, More 'babe' content to come too. I would honestly love to be a (non-creepy if possible) fly on the wall in their real life friendship. It seems like Roman is super happy to have Dean back, so I like to think there are lots of real life babes going on right now too!
Skovko, Yep, Mick is just stitching a big 'S' onto a bedsheet now to make a cape…but wait…Mick stop stitching and go and make that phone call! *Sigh* Poor guy, I think he's hit his head on one too many lamp posts! Still love him though!
Yippi-kay yay motherfucker, I have always been a sucker for a good bromance. I love watching the eternally mysterious close male friendship in action and there is NONE better than Roman/Dean. Big burly Roman using 'babe' so freely is part of the magic, hence me using it A LOT!
Daisysakura, I've always loved Mick. He literally looks like the last guy you would expect to be a wrestler or like some demented spaniel but it sure worked out for him! So glad I put him in this fic. Besides, Roman and Dean sure need all the help they can get!
Here's Deano…
The Golden Boy Of Prisons
Dean looks up as the heavy locks buzz open and then struggles to right himself from his slumped position on the bed, which is pretty much how he has been forced into sitting since his hands have been restrained for his own safety behind his back.
Bullshit.
He has seen inmates getting trussed up before and they are usually swearing and kicking up a storm. He on the other hand had barely even struggled and yet there he is with his arms fully twisted and fixed in place with cold metal cuffs.
He's defenceless.
He knows that's the reason they have done it and to say it makes him feel just a little bit jittery is a pretty big understatement of the bleak looking facts. Because the only fucking reason he would need to be pinioned is if they are planning on doing some unpleasant messed up shit.
His stomach flips over but he chooses not to show it since he juts his chin out as a figure steps in, who he twists himself away from before getting a good look at to waggle his tied wrists,
"Gonna let me outta these now?"
Bischoff is the man who answers the question which is genuinely surprising since the copper blonde had figured that his general visitation list would comprise only the guards and so he therefore pivots back with a blink of bewilderment which he cannot quite conjure up the wherewithal to hide.
Brown eyes narrow over the distance at him smugly,
"That depends?"
"On what?"
"Have you learnt your lesson yet?"
Dean glowers back, not sure of his answer because he isn't too sure the lessons to be learnt here are his, considering that the man who is standing in front of him is a bonefide murderer with the fucking brass to lecture him.
"Don't steal things from assholes, got it."
Bischoff responds with an actual grin and then snorts a little and looks briefly away from him like he is trying to find the patience not to break, or else is fighting down a hint of genuine amusement that he thinks would look contrary.
"Like to run your mouth don't you son?"
He spits the word out with the patronizing timbre of somebody who is telling off their kid but with an extra type of calm that wouldn't be half so chilling were the copper blonde not tied up and trapped.
Fucking shit.
Dean shuffles closer to the edge of the mattress in response to the uncomfortably even sounding tones, hoping if he needs to he can launch himself upright and headbutt the guy or run for his life.
Not that he would get very far with his hands tied.
In the meantime however he shrugs at the question and replies with laugh that bubbles from his throat and bleeds into the room as a goofy sounding chuckle that hides the wild alarm bells that are ringing in his head.
"I mean, everybody needs a hobby am I right man?"
Bischoff smiles thinly,
"Not everybody, no."
Dean lifts his gaze up and then matches the expression that is burning across the room at him like a poison tipped dart, because there is no way he is going to let the fucker win their ass stare down regardless of how badly that might turn out for him and ignoring the fact it is by far his very worst plan since shouldering the whole fucking notebook theft blame.
He is not going to give an inch to the man stood in front of him –
Healthy death glaring is just part of the game.
Besides he only really needs to hold out just long enough for the police to swoop in and haul the beaming bastard away and which will take no longer than forty eight hours so is therefore not a totally impossible task.
Better him in there than his cellmate anyway.
Roman.
He fucking pins for the oversized lug and not least of all because his height and mass make him feel safer but also on account of his natural predisposition for continually carding tousling fingers through his hair and for calling him uce and babe and all that shit.
He misses the comfort of it and yet it's only been an hour.
Remembering his cellmate however fuels his conviction since it's the bigger man for whom he has taken the blame and the undercover lawman that he is trying to keep protected and so to that end he grins broadly and then lifts up his gaze,
"So then boss, when's the food getting' here? M' gettin' all hungry just sittin' waitin' y' know?"
"Being a criminal works up an appetite."
"Whatever you say man – you're the expert after all."
He throws the words out with a bite of accusation that cascades unannounced off his unexpecting tongue and which proceeds to plunge them both into a silence that is every part as furious as it is bizarrely sort of stunned. Dean has never been good at staying quiet but there are moments in his life when he wishes that he had, which include when he had tried to talk back to his dealers but is fast being surpassed by having let the last line slip out.
Bischoff sneers at him,
"You god damn bastard."
He is just about as livid as the copper blonde has seen, which admittedly isn't a good indication since he has never seen the guy even riled before and is probably because their leather loving warden has been careful to craft a loose and easy appearing style. Like the mildly drunk uncle in the corner at a party who everyone loves but only sees once in a while, or the old guy at college who thinks he's a tweener and stills hangs with the kids.
It's a pretty good front.
No one would expect the biker jacket wannabe with his nicknames and grinning features to be a killer behind the scenes and in all honesty he plays his part to such pure perfection that it would almost be impressive –
If not for the sketchy murdering thing.
Dean smirks back,
"Yeah well, I've been called worse man."
"You're not like him are you?"
"Not like who?"
Bischoff ignores him but keeps on talking in a wildly offhand and sort of spacey kind of way, like he is harkening back to something locked in his memories and which makes him tilt his head in a Bray Wyatt type way.
"When he was down here he was sweating and crying, it was pitiful really."
Dean fast seizes up and then narrows his blue eyes in over the concrete because a horrible suspicion is beginning to rise up and claw at his body like a handful of talons as he holds his damn breath.
Nuh uh, no way.
Bischoff continues with a flicker in his direction and then the ghost of a smile as he goes in for the kill, not in the literal definition but just as brutally as he reaches his crescendo.
"Sami begged before he went."
"Fuckin' asshole."
Dean surges up from the mattress in a turn of pace that frankly surprises even himself considering that his hands are still twisted behind him and have put him off balance, but he is working on rage and being propelled by an incoming cloud bank that is flooding his senses and filling up his head, until all he has before him is the man who killed his cellmate and made him suffer in the final seconds of his life.
"You bastard, fucker, son of a bitch, cocksucker – ,"
Bischoff steps back in response to the spiel but he's actually fully grinning as well at it, which is vaguely disconcerting since he should be backing up, given that the copper blonde wants to tear his arms off or more than likely bite the nose from his face.
Dean is going to murder the asshole.
Except he doesn't because two figures swoop in and hold him in place as he flails and kicks out and screams like a lunatic in his total and utter breakdown-fuelled need for revenge.
"Bischoff you're a dead man."
He bellows it loudly and is wounded when the smug warden doesn't even flinch and instead steps in towards his hopelessly captured inmate before singing a little sentence out,
"Well now, you first."
Dean shivers bodily and then turns towards the threshold as a third guard pulls a folding chair into the space and then sets it up in the middle of the concrete before freeing his shoulder of a thinly corded rope.
Dean swallows,
"Fuck, no – ,"
He has a working timeframe and in it he has to last the precious forty eight hours which means that he cannot be hanged in the next five minutes, because the cavalry will show up too fucking late to help. Worse than that still, Roman might be the one to find him and he hates knowing that the big guy will fully blame himself.
He struggles again,
"No."
But the warden remains unmoving and so do the guards holding tight onto his limbs, who are looking at the scene with completely blank expressions which are functional and loose like it's a totally normal thing.
Bischoff sighs,
"I'm sorry Ambrose, really, but we both know you read the notebook and I can't let that be."
Hands reach in and drop the noose around his neck line and he shakes his head and tries to snap with his teeth, but can't do anything as the loop is pulled tighter until he can feel the knot pushing his trachea like a fist.
"You know they won't let you fuckin' get away with this."
He means it to sound less nineties movie than it does and so deflates a little when the warden laughs broadly, like the warning is the funniest damn thing he's heard in months. He tips up his hands in a totally smug gesture and then clicks his tongue regretfully,
"Have been so far, besides you forget I'm the golden boy of prisons, I turned this place around."
"You call killin' turnin' it around?"
Dean breaks off with a grunt as he's pushed forward and then bodily dragged towards the ominously placed chair. Behind it is a guard tying off the trailing rope end, which has been thrown across a pipe to give an adequate hanging swing.
Bischoff shrugs,
"I do what I have to, I mean, you think this is a glamorous job I got here?"
Dean is brought suddenly to a halt beside the gallows and desperately tries to kick the metal chair up, hoping to stall his fate a little longer like someone might come in and save his ass or call it off. Roman for one, since he's only two floors above them and therefore too damn close to let this crazy play out.
Dean shuts his eyes,
Come on man, help me.
But his brother has been forcibly locked into their cell and even then would have to make it through secure doorways and security cameras and a phalanx of guards to make it down to where they are, which is frankly pretty much totally impossible and so a sadly wasted hope.
Bischoff continues to drone on,
"I mean, I barely earn enough to live on in this place, I deserve more."
"So you kill innocent men?"
"Innocent? You're criminals."
Bischoff spits the word out and the copper blonde sees how far down the hatred runs and finds it twisted around the bastard's frozen morals and seeping it's way into his hard done by pores.
Dean glares back,
"Then guess what – so are you man."
Bischoff turns to scream at the guards,
"Get him up."
Rough hands haul him up onto the chair base and his stomach flips over as the rope is tightened up, holding him in place high up on his tiptoes as his breathing begins to come out in tiny mouse breaths, constricted by the warningly narrowed noose around his windpipe and which hints at far, far fucking worse things to come. Bischoff continues like they are having a casual dinner,
"Men who cause problems have to be removed, but where to with all this prison overcrowding?"
Dean grunts and then his heart flips clean over as one of his feet slips off the faux leather seat and then threatens to start the hanging that second but is averted as one of the guard grabs up his shirt since they obviously want him dead only when and if they say it.
Bischoff holds his arms out,
"I'm just helping with the national inmate burden in the quickest and cheapest way that I know how."
"Yeah you're a regular fuckin' humanitarian."
He croaks the words out since they are stuck in his throat thanks to the rope and the fear and the everything but they still succeed in zinging around the prison cell and then bouncing back in one last final act of rebellion.
Bischoff sighs,
"You know what, I kinda like you, it's a shame to have to kill you."
He lifts a foot up and then presses it gently to the base of the precariously balanced little seat and prepares to kick it out fully from under him.
"Wait – ,"
"Too late son, goodbye Ambrose."
CLIFFHANGER! *Super evil laugh*
Big chapter next time folks (which probably goes without saying at this point) but yeah, basically I'll see you in three!
