Thanks to all that took the time to review.

Again, this one is for Jana. I still can't believe you meet Jensen Ackles. One day we'll be friends again. It's just going to take some time to tuck away all the jealousy in my heart. I guess this chapter can be a peace offering for all the names I've been calling you behind your back. ;)

More Folsom Prison Blues

Continued

Sam sat mouth open watching and listening to a news clip about the escape at Green Valley Detention Center. He couldn't believe it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, observing the digital face display.

No missed calls.

It made sense. He hadn't called yet.

A major heart attack claimed one of the guards several hours after he was attacked. How was this possible?

It couldn't be, could it?

Deacon.

He stood up and locked his hands behind his head. He began pacing the hotel room. They didn't burn Glockner's bones in time. Whatever she did to Deacon, the damage was done. He couldn't be saved. Were they missing something? Was Glockner still roaming the detention center?

Dean unceremoniously dropped his backpack next to the tub and leaned into the sink cabinet. He looked into the mirror at his pale sweating features. "No beauty pageants for you any time soon," he whispered to himself.

He examined the cut below his eye. The bruising was now a dark purple covering most of his cheek. Yellow mixed with violet swirled directly below his eye and wrapped around the corner of his nose, extending up into his eyebrow.

He rolled his shoulder blades and allowed his jacket to slip to the floor.

He slowly began the task of removing the prison issued jump suit. He physically winced when he pealed the now brown and crimson red stained top from his flesh. He could feel the tug over his heart as numerous scabs stuck to the garment, tearing open as they ripped away from healing skin. Blood began to ooze from several areas. He held his breath as he observed the damage.

Over his heart was what looked like a third-degree burn. The skin was charred in several areas, bleeding in others. Around the edges were a dark swollen red display of infected flesh. The most disturbing part of it was it formed the shape of a hand print.

He didn't bother looking down at his ribs. The pain there was mild in comparison.

He ghosted his finger across the tender wound and gasped, "Son of a..."

He jumped at the pounding on the door behind him.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean grinded his teeth at the pain that flared up just about everywhere from the sudden movement.

"Hurry the hell up, Dean, I need to... use the can," Sam's voice boomed from the other side of the door.

So much for getting cleaned up. A few ibuprofen and a siesta would do him some good. He'd deal with this mess after Sam went to bed. "Hold your bladder a minute noblewoman," Dean responded. He focused on the doorknob to verify he had in fact locked it. He hurriedly began removing the rest of his soiled clothing.

"Just let me in, I'll just take a second," Sam pleaded.

"Yeah, right," Dean replied, "it takes you girls longer than a second to squat." He could practically hear Sam's eyes rolling and grinned despite the pain he was in.

Sam leaned against the doorframe. His stomach twisted in several knots he was sure he was going to vomit what little he had eaten the past couple days.

He was going to lie to his big brother. Dean didn't need to know the fate of Deacon. Knowing Dean, they'd end up right back in prison just to verify the job was finished. For all he knew the job was complete. It wasn't worth risking it. Not with Hendrickson hot on their trail. They got lucky the first time around. If Dean knew... no... he wouldn't tell Dean. He'd avoid eye contact as much as possible. Dean could read him like a book. They'd get some rest and find someone else to save. Preferably hundreds of more miles away.

He almost fell into the bathroom when Dean opened the door. Dean shook his head and weakly grinned at him. "All yours," he said motioning slowly with his head for Sam to move it.

Sam just moved swiftly out of Dean's way, allowing him to pass. The bile was climbing up his esophagus and it wouldn't do any good to respond. Hopefully Dean wouldn't hear him throwing up. Maybe he could conceal the noise if he flushed simultaneously.

Wearing only a navy blue undershirt to conceal any blood stains and a pair of black boxers, Dean shuffled his way over to his bed. Sam's laptop was still open and he thought about checking out his mug on the news. He wondered if they had a better picture of him this time around. Probably not. Just the one Hendrickson had of him during the bank robbery. The one with the deer in the headlights look on his face. He so hated that picture.

Instead he settled on unmaking his bed. With the blankets back he slowly eased his aching body onto the comforter sheet. A groan of displeasure escaped his throat as the back of his head hit the pillow. He totally forgot about the knot back there.

If he only had a dollar every time he was tossed into a wall he'd never have to resort to credit card fraud... again.

He maneuvered his body into the most comfortable position he could. He ended up on his side facing Sam's bed. One arm curled around his bruised ribs, the other wrapped into the soft blanket fabric. He could feel his shirt already sticking roughly to his chest again. Each move brought a nagging painful pull around his heart. He decided this was the best position he was going to get and seized all movement save his breathing.

By the time Sam emerged from the bathroom, his entire body was numb. His eyelids were heavy and fluttering as sleep attempted to suck him under.

"You look uncomfortable Dean," Sam said, pulling him back to reality.

"Huh?" He strained to focus on his little brother.

"I said you look uncomfortable," Sam repeated himself, "you should be used to an uncomfortable bed the nights we had to spend in prison."

Not this again. Apparently Sam was still bitter over this gig. "Not again," he voiced his thoughts. "We made it out free men, we helped Deacon, we saved lives, Sammy. You should pat yourself on the," Dean yawned around the last word, "back".

Sam bit his tongue. He wanted to tell Dean so bad. It wasn't right keeping this from him. They couldn't go back there. "Dean. We almost gave up our freedom on that gig! How many lives would be lost if we weren't free men? We were so close!"

Dean didn't really hear the question. "Small price to pay, Sammy," he whispered, eyes closing again.

Sam sat down on the edge of his bed, running his hands through his hair nervously. "You'd be willing to do that all over again, wouldn't you?"

"Damn straight," Dean replied, forcing his eyes to open again. "What's the news sayin'? Any word from Deacon?"

Sam's jawbones flinched. He leaned back on one palm, using the other to shut his laptop. "The usual. The FBI is confident they'll have us back in custody shortly. A little rest then we should hit the road again."

"Dumbfucks," Dean let out a chuckle, regretting it instantly. He snaked his hand up to his heart, gently pressing on his wet shirt front. "Deacon?" He managed to gasp, willing the pain to go away.

Sam averted eye contact as he moved his laptop to the night stand. "Yeah... no word yet. I'm sure he'll contact us once the dust settles. It's probably not safe."

"Yeah," Dean's voice was a near whisper now, "it felt so good to help him out, repay dad's debt."

Sam knew the guilt Dean was carrying over dad's death. He was dealing with a heavy dose of personal guilt himself. He understood completely why this was so important to Dean. He was already regretting his negative attitude about it. It should have been equally as important to him.

At the time, it wasn't.

After meeting up with Deacon and watching the pride in Deacon's eyes, the glow of Dean for doing dad proud, Deacon embracing them both into warm thankful hugs, he knew. He knew they had done the right thing. He knew how much this helped Dean on the road of recovery. How much it helped him.

But now... Deacon was dead. He wasn't willing to go back to prison. He knew Dean would be and that wasn't going to happen. They had no one on the inside this time. They were good, but not that good.

Dean would fry in the electric chair. He was lying to Dean for his own good.

"Get some sleep, Dean, we have to leave soon." Sam reached out clicking the light off.

"Thanks for trusting me, Sammy," Dean slurred right before giving in to rest.

Sam couldn't muster a response.

TBC...