Fic ~ The Strong Survive
Title ~ The Strong Survive
Fandom ~ The Green Mile
Pairing ~ Brutus Howell / Dean Stanton
Rating ~ PG-13
Disclaimer ~ I am both Stephen King and Steven Spielberg. Bow before me.
Author’s Note ~ So, yeah, hi, random. I’m just living up to my name, is all. I don't know if anyone will have any interest in this story, but I figured I'd post it anyhow. I’ve found myself on a Barry Pepper kick lately and decided to watch a bit of "The Green Mile" earlier today, which of course flipped all my David Morse switches as well. There are several slashy moments in the movie, mostly little touches and looks between them. Watching the scene where Dean is nearly strangled by “Wild Bill” Wharton, only to be saved by Brutal, inspired this story.
From “The Green Mile” by Stephen King: Together the three of us hauled the unconscious Mr. Wharton into his cell while Brutal helped Dean to his feet and held him as gently as any mother while Dean bent over and hacked air back into his lungs.
The Strong Survive
The Mile was quiet when Brutus came on duty, just how he liked it. He stopped by the desk where Harry was sitting and looked down the wide corridor. The older man glanced up from his cards.
“How’s our new boy doing?” Brutus asked.
“Oh, he’s been pretty quiet. Griped a bit about that knot on his head earlier, but not much since.” Harry made a sour face in the direction of Wharton’s cell. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s just resting up some. I expect he’ll be up to no good before we know it.”
“Yes, I expect he will.”
Brutus was tempted to go down to the cell to look in on “Wild Bill”, but he hadn’t even put his lunch pail down yet, and there would be time for that later. “Dean come in today?”
“Yep. In Paul’s office.” Harry lowered his voice and added, “Don’t know why, looks terrible and he can’t hardly talk at all.”
Brutus tried to keep the anger from his face, but gripped the handle of his lunch pail so tightly it nearly creaked. Giving Harry a short nod, he walked away.
Dean was right where Harry had said he’d be. He was sitting at the desk when Brutus came in, bent over some paperwork. The pen in his hand didn’t move while Brutus watched, though, and his gaze was someplace far beyond the desk top. There were shadows under his eyes, but they were nothing compared to the ring of angry red scrapes and dark bruises that showed just above his unbuttoned collar. Hearing the door close behind Brutus, he blinked, and for a moment Brutus saw something in his face that made his stomach clench. But he was on his feet a moment later, face turned carefully away from Brutus as he swept the papers into a tidy stack.
“Sorry, Brutal.” As Harry had said, his voice was a rough, painful sounding whisper. “Lost track of time.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Dean moved to the filing cabinet as Brutus stepped closer, giving the larger man his back. “Be done in a second. I just gotta…”
Anything else he might of said trailed off when Brutus settled his hands on Dean’s shoulders. For a moment, they just stood there in silence.
“Brutus…”
“Hush.”
As Dean fell quiet once again, Brutus rubbed at the taunt muscles in his shoulders and tried not to think about how close he’d come…how close they’d come.
In his lifetime, Brutus had gotten used to being bigger and stronger than most people. He’d recognized from the first moment he’d met Dean that the younger man was not just smaller than him, but most of the other guards as well. He was tall enough, sure, but not as thick. But Brutus had learned that Dean could handle himself, that his thin frame belied his real strength and a quickness that Brutus himself once would have been jealous of. He’d never thought of him as frail, until now.
“Dean, you shoulda taken the day off.”
Dean shook his head quickly, a little too quick.
“Paul could have gotten someone to cover for ya.”
“That ain’t it.”
Sighing, Brutus glanced back at the office door before stepping closer to Dean. He let one hand slide from Dean’s shoulder up, gently rubbing at the back of his neck. Dean braced himself against the filing cabinet under this tender onslaught, but didn’t move away.
“What is it, then?” Brutus asked. “Hm?”
Dean took a deep, slow breath. Brutus saw his hands tighten on top of the filing cabinet and thought about how painful even something as simple as that must be. He had to swallow hard to keep down his anger.
“I’ve been in tough spots before,” Dean rasped out then. “Over in C block, my first week on the job, some con pulled a piece of pipe on me and tried to bash my head in. Another time a few of them took down another guard and I was the only one there to pull them off him before they kicked him to death.”
Brutus let himself lean forward so his forehead rested against Dean’s hair and was relieved when Dean leaned back a bit into the touch.
“I ain’t never been scared before. Never was time before. Yesterday…yesterday I got scared.”
“We all of us got scared yesterday, Dean.”
Dean pulled away. Brutus straightened up to let him go, but Dean just turned, allowing Brutus’s hands to slip around his body as he faced him. The fierce light in Dean’s eyes made Brutus regret thinking him frail only moments before.
“Yesterday, yeah. But what about today? Today, Wharton’s locked up in his cell. What if I go down there and I’m still scared? I can’t do this job scared, Brutus.”
He wanted to argue, but he just couldn’t. “I know.”
“The thing of it is, I don’t really know if I’m scared of Wharton, or just scared that I might be scared…” Dean voice caught and suddenly he couldn’t meet Brutus’s eyes anymore. “Dammit.”
Brutus let him gather himself, still rubbing at his shoulder with one hand. The fingers of the other traced the bruises on Dean’s neck, and he was surprised to realize that his anger had been replaced by something else that burned just as bright.
“You listen to me, Dean,” he growled. “I know you, and I know you can get by this. Yeah, Wharton got the drop on you, and he scared you pretty bad. It’s like Paul said, you gotta learn from it. You gotta be stronger for it.”
Dean turned his face up to Brutus’s, and his heart lurched at the tears in his eyes, but he merely tightened his grip on Dean’s shoulder.
“You understand me?”
Dean lifted both hands to wrap long fingers around Brutus’s wrists. He seemed about to say something, but swallowed hard, wincing.
“You survived Wharton, and you’ll survive whatever else this place throws at you. I know you will.”
Dean nodded then, squeezing Brutus’s wrists hard with that hidden strength.
Nodding as well, Brutus bent to kiss him. It was rushed and awkward, because they were standing in Paul’s office in the middle of the day, and because Brutus hat bumped Dean’s forehead and popped off to tumble to the floor. Other stolen kisses they had shared had been more graceful, more passionate, but Dean was smiling when he pulled away, and that was all that mattered.
THE END