Folsom Prison Blues (9/11)
As always, this is also available on FF.
Sam had never had a strong relationship with his father. After about age eight he realized that there was at least a 50/50 chance that his dad wasn’t going to be coming back from one of his ‘hunts’. It didn’t exactly foster a sharing and caring environment. Not to mention the nearly doglike devotion that his brother had for their father. It wasn’t until Sam had left puberty in his dust did he see Dean actually stand up for himself. Even so, losing his father to death and his brother to prison in the span of a few months took its toll on Sam. And that’s why he joined the support group.
It wasn’t exactly grief counseling nor was it a group for family members of prisoners. The small group that met in the basement of the Lutheran church was united by one thing, how fucked up their lives were. One of the girls just came to terms with the fact that she had been sexually abused as a child, another man had outlived every single member of his family, including his children. They all had sob stories, lifetimes of guilt, frustration and denial on their shoulders. And so they worked together to help alleviate the pain. Only one of them was a licensed psychiatrist, but they were all encouraged to share their opinions and methods of coping. As long as they were healthy exercises.
And that’s where Sam met Jen. Jen was smart as a whip, had the driest sense of sense of humor out of anybody Sam had ever known, and was arguably one of the most beautiful women that he had met. Jen’s parents were of different races, her mother was black and her father was white. When Jen’s mother announced that she was pregnant, both sides of the family shunned them. And when her parents died in a car wreck when she was only two, she was placed into foster care. After sixteen years of bouncing around from one house to the next, Jen was free and she left her tumultuous childhood behind her and left for college on a full ride. Jen and Sam had bonded after they realized that neither of them had had a permanent address for most of their life.
It had taken Sam three sessions to work up the courage to ask Jen out on a coffee date. She had accepted and then punched Sam on the arm demanding to know why it had taken so long for him to ‘nut up’.
All in all Sam’s life was going pretty well. Which is why it could be forgiven that he didn’t realize something was off with Dean right away. It wasn’t that Sam thought that Dean was having trouble in Folsom or was on the brink of suicide, it was that he looked happy. Not just happy, ecstatic. And that stupid toothy grin only made an appearance on Dean’s mug for two reasons, he had just played with a puppy or he had just gotten laid. Since Sam knew for a fact that there was no puppies for prisoners program at Folsom, he figured it was the second option. Which terrified him.
Dean was nattering on about he had ‘totally kicked the Crips asses in softball’, when Sam figured it out. Granted, it had taken him a little while to connect the dots, but he got there. Dean was boning his cellmate. Which was a Not Good situation. Capitals necessary. Sam needed to make it clear that this wasn’t a dude on dude problem. It was a problem in the sense that there was no good outcome of this situation. He distinctly remembered Dean telling him that Castiel was up for parole, and if Cas was half as good as Dean said he was, it was a sure thing that he’d be granted parole. Sam did not want to think about what Dean would be like if Castiel was released. From the few long term relationships Sam had seen his older brother in he had been able to discern that Dean went from about zero to sixty in terms of emotional attachment and it wouldn’t be long until Dean needed Cas as much as he needed oxygen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You’d have to be blind to miss what was going on between Castiel and that Winchester boy. Of course, Crowley reminded himself, most of the inmates here couldn’t see beyond their own greasy noses. He was made of a different stock, secrets and deception were his trade and business was booming. Although he wasn’t sure how he would play the information quite yet, Crowley was assured that regardless of the terms, it would end up being quite lucrative for him. Word had it that Castiel hadn’t smoked a single one of his cigarettes since entering the clink, a veritable fortune at Folsom, and Crowley was itching to get his hands on it.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Since the night of the riot, Dean and Castiel had fallen into a bit of a routine. Dean, under some mistaken impression that he needed to rile up Castiel, would do everything in his power to make his cellmate hot and bothered by lights out. At which point, Castiel would do everything in his power to make Dean lose basic cognitive skills and his grasp on the English language. In short, they were blowing each other like horny teenagers. Also like teenagers doing the dirty in the bedroom down the hall from their parents, Dean and Cas were forced to keep it silent and quick. Essentially they were doing sparknotes style banging. And due to a distressing lack of lube, they were pretty restricted in their activities. Cas had suggested something called ‘dry style’ that made Dean balk and refrain from so much as kissing Cas for the rest of the night.
More than anything, Dean just wanted to lay Cas out and find all the spots on his body that made his breath hitch. But, their quick gropes in the night didn’t allow for that sort of sentiment or freedom. And Dean thought that it might just be the worst part about being locked up.
And so, Dean became a little more serious. And a Dean with a plan was a Dean Winchester to be reckoned with. He was pretty sure even Sammy hadn’t been able to see past his happy veneer of smiles and rainbows. What he did make sure Sam knew was that Dean had his eye on a shiny new air pump for his basketball that had deflated. And maybe a new bladder too if Sam was feeling generous. And a roll of duct tape, why not? A man could always use a roll of duct tape. The plan was rolling around in his head, gaining momentum and speeding closer to the date of Cas’ parole hearing.
Days melted into weeks, and soon the parole hearing was right around the corner. Cas was getting antsy, Dean could tell, and adamantly refused to talk about it. Dean had never thought that he’d be the most emotionally available person in a relationship, but Cas truly took the cake in terms of constipated feeling talk. Every time Dean so much as broached the subject of Cas leaving soon, Cas got a sort of distressed look on his face and was able to stutter out ‘Dean, no.’ in a strangled voice and then shut off entirely. By no means was Dean the touchy-feely type of guy, but even he had to admit that there was a very real possibility that he would never see Cas again. And he had to talk to him about it. And being the conniving asshole that he was, he waited until after he had given Castiel the blowjob of the century to talk about it.
“Cas?”
“Mhmm?” Cas hummed from his mattress, hair stuck out in every direction.
“You know I care about you right?”
“Yes, Dean.”
“This is the part where you say you like me too.”
Cas sighed, the long suffering sigh of someone forced to deal with Dean Winchester for prolonged periods of time. “I like you too, Dean.”
“Like me, like me?”
Dean could practically hear him roll his eyes from across the room. “Yes, Dean. Like you like you. I’m sorry my note from Susie didn’t make it to you but Mrs. Roberts confiscated it at snack time.”
“Asshole.”
His only response was a chuckle. It apparently didn’t matter if Dean didn’t think Cas was funny, he clearly found himself hilarious.
“Alright, chuckles. I’m gonna be serious here for a split second, so stay with me.” Dean swung his legs around the bed so they dangled over the edge. He tried to peer into the darkness but was only rewarded with a vague outline of Cas’ body. “Okay, what I’ve been trying to tell you over the past couple of weeks and what you’ve been too stubborn to listen to, is that I’m serious about this.” He gestured between them. “I’m in for the long haul, Cas.”
“Dean?”
“Yeah, I know.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s definitely not ideal.” He smiled ruefully. “It’s actually fucking tragic, but we can’t change the cards we were dealt. What I’m trying to say, is that if you make parole in two weeks, I’m gonna make it work.”
Silence. Just dead air. Before Dean could stop himself, he started rambling. “I have a plan though, Cas. Don’t even worry, I need to talk to Crowley about a few things and save up my goods for a coupla months, but I should be good after that.”
“Dean.”
“Let me finish, Cas. It’s gonna be risky as hell, but I know I can do it. The only reason I was caught the first time was because I was half dead and was run over by a goddamn Prius.” He groaned, still humiliated by the accident. “What I’m trying to say is, if you want me, you’ve got me for good.”
For such a nerdy little guy, Cas was pretty fast on his feet. Combined with the pitch darkness of the cell, Dean only had Cas’ footsteps to tell him that he was about to experience a head on collision. Although, for all the times people had run into him, Dean had to admit that this was the most pleasant by far. Mostly because this one included considerably more kisses.
Apparently Dean’s confessional had earned him a second round for the night and a moan from Castiel that probably shook the very foundations of Folsom. So Dean considered it a win.
NEXT