Folsom Prison Blues (10/11)
Cas was running on autopilot. His parole hearing was in less than 48 hours and if everything did not go as planned, they’d be, as Dean said, up shit creek with a turd for a paddle. Like most large scale operations, the slightest mishap could mean disaster. Or even death. Prison guards were not known for their especially forgiving ways.
He aimed for peace, but it was more of a complete detachment from the world around him. Dean was scurrying across the prison during rec times getting things organized, and Cas was busy practicing his speech to the parole board. He knew there was nothing the board that the board could find wrong with his behavioral history in Folsom, his record was spotless. He just had to prove to the board that being locked up at fundamentally changed him, and he wasn’t going to go burning down houses anymore. Which of course, was a moot case because Cas hadn’t really burned down that warehouse because he was some sort of firebug in the first place.
During the day, both he and Dean were lost inside their own heads, fine-tuning their plans that they had been subconsciously been forming for months. If Castiel was honest with himself, he had been planning for them since their first night together. But it wasn’t until recently that he had entertained the plans of having any basis in reality. At night, they lay as close as their slim prison issued cots would allow, until just before day break when the prison guards started their morning rounds. Only then did Castiel’s mind run blank with only thoughts of happiness and fulfillment. On his darker nights, he wept bitter tears while Dean slept unaware.
He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost Dean. It seemed so intensely unfair that the one time Castiel found somebody he cared with, somebody he’d be willing to spend his entire life with, it was in prison. And so in the days leading up to Castiel’s trial, he was quiet and contemplative, returning to the bookish man he had been before Dean Winchester had barreled into his life. If Dean noticed, he didn’t say anything and only offered comfort in quick touches in public and long embraces in the cloak of night.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Crowley was a happy man. He was always happy when he made deals with desperate men, because desperate men were always willing to pay his prices. That was what the backbone of his business was based on. Men in prison were notoriously anxious, add a half-baked plan in the mix and it was like shooting fish in a barrel. Take for example, Dean Winchester, who was undoubtedly planning something big. Considering the payment that he gave Crowley, it couldn’t be anything less than murder. But, the price was right so Crowley was willing to do everything in his power to ensure that Dean’s plan went smoothly. He didn’t ask for details, it was unprofessional. And sloppy. All he needed were the times, items and most importantly, the fee.
The first part of what Dean had asked for Crowley had been fairly run of the mill. He needed a file.
“Fairly typical, eh Winchester?” Crowley had asked, smirking. “Those guards will be outside your cell faster than you can whimper your boyfriend’s name.”
“Who said it was for the door?” Dean muttered, before staring Crowley down. “And that brings me to the second part of our agreement.”
Crowley would collect his payment in thirds. One third upfront, one after Dean received the file and the third and final installment would be buried in the rec yard, underneath the bleachers. He was turning quite the profit on this little deal, and whatever was good for business was good for Crowley.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Dean was an absolute wreck. He always got this way before a big mission. He had even picked up the unfortunate habit from youth, nail biting. It had to be bad because even Cas commented on it, and for whatever reason the guy thought that everything Dean did was adorable. Even his snoring, which for the record, sounded like a cat being strangled. Sam had recorded it once after Dean had been in denial. It wasn’t pretty.
He honestly couldn’t help it though; the plan was high risk high reward. If it was good, he’d be set for life, out of the clutches of the prison guards and the government. If something went wrong, well, he’d rather not think about it. Dean had been shot at before, and it was not a fun time.
A few days after Sam’s visit the week before, Dean’s items had arrived in the prison store for him. Sam had been as good as his word and delivered on the goods and with some extras. Waiting on his bed one day after rec hour, were three little packages that could possibly be the most important three items that Dean would ever touch.
So at night, after lights off but before he wandered into Castiel’s cot, he worked on the apparatus. It wasn’t pretty or durable but it would work for what Dean needed. It was just every other part of the plan that could go bottoms up at any moment. He had covered all his bases, and all he had to do was wait.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
“Mr. Novak, please sit down.” The president of the parole board gestured to a metal folding chair in front of the table which sat all five members of the board. His name plate read ‘Bradley Chan’. He was an older Asian man with thinning grey hair and sharp black eyes. Castiel was uncomfortably reminded of a shark. “You are here to hear the results of your parole for your crime of…?” He trailed off, looking up to Castiel through his bifocals.
“Arson and manslaughter, sir.” Castiel answered dutifully, sitting straight up in his chair.
“And what were the terms of your sentencing?”
“Four to nine years, with the first eligibility of parole at the start of my fourth year.”
“Good, good.” Chan made a note in his folder. “And you’ve been keeping up with all your parole work, I assume? You have the plans all sorted if you’ll be granted parole today?”
Castiel nodded briskly. “Yes, of course. I have an entry level job waiting for me at a paper mill outside of Sacramento and a pre-approved by the prison apartment downtown.”
“Excellent work, Mr. Novak. It is always good to see such ambition with our prisoners.”
He allowed himself a terse smile. He needed this; he could play along for a half hour.
Chan flipped through a couple of papers in Castiel’s folder and hummed to himself. “Your behavior has been exceptional over the past four years. No problems with the guards, fellow inmates, respectful of prison property and best of all, no gang affiliations.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, Mr. Novak, this is perhaps the most important question that I will ask you today so I want you to answer very carefully. Take all of the time that you need.” Chan took a deep breath, obviously feeling very important. “If you could go back in time and take back the actions that led you to Folsom, would you?”
Castiel frowned, his lips pursed at the thought. It had been naïve to assume they wouldn’t ask him if he regretted his actions. However, he did not come totally unprepared.
“I feel like that is a difficult question to answer, Mr. Chan,” Castiel began slowly, searching for the right words, “for I do deeply regret that my actions resulted in the death of a bright and charismatic young woman.” He paused, collecting strength. “However, I do believe that my time in Folsom has changed me for the better. It helped me realize that I was dealing with a cult and dangerous people, and it terrifies me to know what could have happened to me if I had allowed myself to go deeper within that organization. So, my answer is twofold. I will never forgive myself for allowing Meg Masters to die in that fire, but I believe that prison was the wakeup call that I needed to help turn my life around. And if I had the option to change my actions, I would only wish that Meg had been unscathed.”
Castiel held his breath. That was it; he had no other chances until the next time they decided he could go up for parole again. If they didn’t buy that, he was out of luck. Nervously, he met the eyes of the parole board, but they weren’t looking at him.
Nodding to the prison guard, Chan said “Take Mr. Novak out to the hall while we deliberate, we won’t be more than twenty minutes.” And so, Cas was escorted out to the hallway with the cheap linoleum tiles and the flickering florescent lights. The lights were clearly older, and gave the hallway an eerie yellow glow. Castiel looked at his hands, they looked sickly and sallow under the light.
He unsuccessfully tried to keep his mind off of the board’s decision while he waited. All he could think was what if he didn’t get to Dean in time? What if something terrible happened and it was all for naught? Castiel thought bleakly that his freedom wouldn’t be so free if it didn’t have Dean in it. He would never be so drastic as to kill himself, it would be an insult, but his life would be noticeably darker without his cellmate.
Finally, the doorknob turned and one of the women from the board spoke the guard.
“Bring him back in, we’ve reached a decision.”
Castiel stood in front of the table of the parole board, staring at the slip of paper in front of Chan. He couldn’t read the words from this distance, but it didn’t stop him from trying.
“Mr. Novak…Castiel.” Chan started again, going for easy familiarity but missing his mark. Castiel hated him for it. “We’ve reviewed your case and there was a unanimous decision. Without a shadow of a doubt we have decided that you have reformed and are more than capable of starting your life over outside of Folsom.” Chan grabbed a rubber stamp and pressed it onto the paper. “Congratulations, Castiel. You’re a free man.”
Unbidden tears sprung to Castiel’s eyes, but he was hardly aware of them. He was free, totally and completely. Well more or less with some stipulations that he had no intentions of following. Cas figured that he would have felt badly about so clearly duping the parole board, but he figured they made these kinds of mistakes all the time. After all, paroled prisoners were notorious reoffenders.
“T-Thank you.” He choked out, the hand and ankle cuffs already feeling too tight. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
One of the men on the board who hadn’t spoken before, smiled kindly up at Castiel. He had bright blond, almost white, hair. “You’re welcome, Mr. Novak. Enjoy your life on the outside.”
Chan handed Castiel the release papers. The guard swiftly took off his shackles. Clutching the papers in his hand, he answered roughly. “I will.”
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Dean smirked into the darkness. Lights out had been forty-five minutes ago and already the screams had died down and the snores had started. Castiel had never returned from his parole hearing, a guard had swung by the cell though and informed Dean that he would be meeting his new cellmate tomorrow. Dean resisted the urge to laugh in his face.
The file that Crowley had got for Dean worked wonders. It had taken far less time than Dean had expected to cut through the thick bars of the window between Dean and Castiel’s old bed. The window was not large, probably three by two feet, but it was enough to work with.
Grabbing his makeshift tool, and saying one last goodbye to the cell, Dean disappeared into the night. If one listened very carefully, they probably could have heard a muffled splash coming from the old mill pond.
An owl hooted across the prison yard and the nightly train sounded its three short blasts, and Folsom was short one prisoner.
NEXT