Dean is busy folding sheets across from another inmate when he hears it. She’d only said a few words to him, all of them meant to get a rise, but he’s good with voices. In his line of work-previous line of work-he’d had to be flawless with memorizing things like that. Pathetically often, it was the demarcation between life and death.
Slowly, he
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I try as much as possible for my fics to not rely too much on suspension of disbelief, but sometimes it's inevitable.
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