Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2008-08-05 03:15 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2008-08-05 03:15 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Fox River State Penitentiary Blues (Supernatural/Prison Break), Part One
You know how it goes: you're watching the first season of Prison Break, and you're really enjoying it. You like the characters, the setting, the premise. The only problem is that there just aren't enough Winchesters.
Oh, you know you were thinking it.
Title: The Lesser-Known Fox River State Penitentiary Blues
Fandoms: Supernatural/Prison Break
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 12,500 (complete, divided into two parts)
Summary: When Operation Folsom Prison Blues goes horribly wrong, Sam and Dean Winchester find themselves in Fox River State Penitentiary. Fortunately, Sam's new cellmate has a plan.
Spoilers: minor for the Supernatural episode 'Folsom Prison Blues' and the first season of Prison Break.
Disclaimer: The characters and locations portrayed do not belong to me.
Author's Notes: A thousand, million thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nomelon for being a wonderfully helpful and encouraging beta reader. You are amazing.
Sam's hated this idea since the moment Dean came up with the stupid thing, and had he been more sensible, he thinks now, he'd have run far away before Dean had finished saying, "Okay, so first we get arrested." But they had a debt to repay, and people were dying, and Dean kept assuring him that it was okay, it was all going to be fine, he had a sure-fire escape plan in place.
After all they've been through, Sam thinks, they should probably have realised that nothing is sure-fire.
Here's the problem: the escape plan hinged on Deacon, and Deacon is dead. He suffered a mysterious heart attack hours after the Winchesters were admitted to his prison. With no way for them to avoid it, the date of their hearing has come and gone, and now they're both doing life in Fox River State Penitentiary.
There's no supernatural problem they need to solve at Fox River State Penitentiary. More importantly, they've got no way of getting out of Fox River State Penitentiary.
Sam is never going to forgive his brother. Ever.
-
Sam has a cell in the centre of the middle tier; he has been informed that it is a perfect placement and he should appreciate it, but somehow he can't bring himself to be especially grateful. The guard who escorted him was not reassuring. "Last guy here put in a request for a transfer. Fernando Sucre. Hope it wasn't the cellmate who drove him out, right?"
Sam's cellmate is sitting on the lower bunk, regarding him with an unreadable expression. He hasn't said a word since Sam arrived. Sam has been trying to ignore him, but eventually the reality of the situation filters through his mind; he could be here for a long time, and if he's going to be stuck in a confined space with some guy he should at least try to see whether there's a chance of getting along with him.
"Uh, hey," he says, awkwardly. He really, really doesn't know how people introduce themselves in prison. "I'm Sam. Um, Winchester."
"Michael Scofield," his cellmate says, with a very slight smile. His eyes don't move from Sam's even for a moment. It is beginning to make Sam feel distinctly uneasy. "What brings you here?"
Sam shrugs, looking at the tattoos winding down Scofield's arms so he doesn't have to focus on his penetrating gaze. "You know. Made some mistakes." He's half-expecting interrogation, aggression, and when it doesn't come he's encouraged enough to add, "Mainly listening to my brother."
"Your brother?" Scofield asks, looking slightly more interested. "Is he in here with you?"
Sam looks out through the bars of the door. Dean is standing at the front of one of the lower cells, watching him.
He looks back to find Scofield's eyes on him again, and he has the sudden realisation that this isn't just getting-to-know-you conversation. Scofield is collecting information on him, and he has already given away far too much. Sam doesn't know this man, doesn't know his motives, and he has just unthinkingly revealed his weak spot to him.
"No," he says.
From the way Scofield's eyes flick from Sam to Dean, it's obvious he knows it's a lie, and Sam's pretty sure he knows Sam knows he knows, but he seems to accept it as a signal that the conversation is over. "Good to meet you," he says, swinging his legs back onto his bunk.
They don't speak much after that. Sam paces the floor or sits on his bunk with his head in his hands, trying to think of some way of getting out of here, and then, when he fails to come up with a feasible plan, of every name he would like to call Dean right now. When he looks at the lower bunk, Scofield is usually examining his tattoos; he's taken his shirt off, and Sam can see that the intricate designs cover his entire torso. He's sometimes watching Sam, but his gaze feels more analytic than hostile, and when the lights go out Sam doesn't feel that he's about to be murdered in his sleep.
Scofield makes Sam uncomfortable, but he seems to keep to himself most of the time and he hasn't actually tried to scalp Sam or anything yet, so Sam supposes it could be worse.
-
Dean figures it's not a good sign when a passing inmate gives you a sympathetic look as you're being shepherded into your cell. His new roommate is a skinny guy with seriously alarming eyes, and he looks Dean up and down as the door closes behind him. And then licks his lips. Pointedly.
Okay, so Dean wants a transfer already. There's no way he's going to let himself look like he's running away this early in the game, though, so he pretends not to notice.
"T-Bag," the guy with crazy eyes says, holding out a hand.
"Winchester," Dean says, not taking it. Crazy Eyes smiles and folds his arms.
-
"How's your cellmate?" Dean asks Sam the next morning, when they're getting breakfast in the cafeteria.
"I hate you, Dean," Sam says.
"He can't be worse than mine," Dean says. "My one spent the whole time looking at me like I was a piece of meat. That he wanted to have sex with."
Sam looks at Dean in horror. "Promise me you'll never use a simile again."
-
Dean asks around the other prisoners as they're being led back into the building, hoping for reassurance that T-Bag isn't actually as creepy as he seems. He doesn't get it, and when he returns to his cell it's with the knowledge that he's sharing it with a serial rapist-murderer-necrophiliac.
When T-Bag, after looking at Dean for a while with a predatory expression, asks how he got landed in this place, Dean tells him about being convicted of torture, multiple murders, armed robbery. He neglects to mention that he didn't actually do any of those things. In fact, he throws a couple more murders in there, just to make sure T-Bag knows he's really not someone to be messed with.
T-Bag only smirks.
Yeah, Dean's going to miss being able to sleep. He tries to distract himself from T-Bag's presence by inspecting the bars, and then by sitting on his bunk and mentally listing all the dangerous creatures he knows and how to kill them. He looks out at Sam for a while, and when he looks back T-Bag is watching him, smiling, his lower lip between his teeth.
"If you want the one over there, you'll have quite a fight on your hands," T-Bag says. "He looks like a prize."
"He's my brother," Dean says. "Nobody's touching him."
T-Bag raises his eyebrows. "Well, we'll just see about that. Brothers, you say?"
Sam will be okay, Dean thinks. He'll be able to take care of himself. Dean's going to need to meet Sam's cellmate and make sure he's not T-Bag levels of creepy, though. Just in case.
"We can't be calling you both 'Winchester'," T-Bag says, leaning back against his bunk. "You're going to need a nickname."
"How about 'Batman'?" Dean suggests.
-
Dean's pissed. He's pissed because not only has his psychotic new cellmate nicknamed him 'Pretty', but with T-Bag boasting about his new acquisition at every opportunity Dean's seriously worried that it might actually catch on. If he had to have a prison nickname, 'Pretty' would definitely not be the one he'd choose. Someone named 'Pretty' does not command respect.
He pays Sam's cell a visit when the doors open for lunch to express exactly how unhappy about this he is. It is fairly obvious that Sam thinks this is the best thing that has happened since they got arrested.
"Come on," Dean says, looking longingly at Sam's bunk. "Let's swap cells. You'll like T-Bag. He's very, uh, friendly."
"I think I'm okay where I am, thanks," Sam says, grinning.
-
They make their way to the cafeteria together, and, much to Sam's amusement, Dean seems to feel the need to inform every inmate they pass on the way that his name is Winchester. Most of them look extremely unimpressed.
"I wanted 'Batman'," Dean mutters to Sam as they collect their trays, "but right now I'll settle for anything that isn't goddamn 'Pretty'."
They sit opposite each other at one of the little square tables, as far away as they can get from anyone else; as Dean points out, they don't know any of these people well enough to know they won't be hiding a knife. "Might want to shave your hair off, Sam; you don't want to give them anything they can grab."
This is very definitely not going to happen, and Sam is still trying to find words strong enough to inform him of this when an inmate passing by their table taps Dean on the shoulder. "You're Pretty, right?"
"Winchester," Dean snarls. Sam hides his snicker behind his hand.
"Winchester, then," the inmate says, holding his hands up and dropping onto a seat. "I just heard you were T-Bag's new roommate. Came to offer my commiserations."
Dean looks at him with a hint of suspicion. "Thanks. I think I can handle him, though."
"Yeah, well, keep your eyes open." He holds out a hand. "Sucre."
"Wait," Sam says. "Fernando Sucre? Scofield's old cellmate?"
"That's right," Sucre says, looking at him, suddenly wary. "You my replacement?"
"Why did you move out?" Sam asks. "Is there something about Scofield I should know about?"
Sucre shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "He's okay. We just didn't click, you know?"
'Just not clicking' doesn't sound like a very solid reason to put in a transfer request to Sam. Not feeling hugely reassured, he shakes Sucre's hand and watches him go on his way.
-
The next morning, inmates are smirking to themselves, snickering pointedly as Sam passes. Sam looks questioningly at them, but nobody offers an explanation, and he's not quite curious enough to directly confront anyone about it.
The explanation comes when he finds Dean in the cafeteria. Dean is staring at him like his eyebrows have been shaved off, which sounds exactly like something that would happen in prison to Sam, so he quickly raises a hand to make sure they're still there. They are.
"Dude," Dean says. "What the hell?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Sam says, sitting opposite him. "Why is everyone staring at me?"
Dean looks at him. "I don't know, maybe it's because you've been having sex with Fish?"
Okay, Sam has definitely not been having sex with fish. He doesn't know who started that rumour, but it's just stupid. He's not even sure it's physically possible. "I – what? Fish?"
"The new fish. Your cell buddy."
"The new – Dean, he's been here longer than we have." Sam blinks. "Wait, you think I've been having sex with Scofield?"
"You dropped the sheet," Dean says, still looking at Sam as if he's some kind of new species. "What, am I supposed to think you were just playing poker or something?"
"The sheet?" Sam asks. He feels vaguely as if he's trapped in some bizarre dream. He hopes it started before they got arrested.
"The sheet!" Dean says, with a gesture that means absolutely nothing to Sam. "You – Sam, did he drug you?"
"I haven't been having sex with anyone," Sam says. "What do you mean, the sheet?"
"The bedsheet you drop over the bars," Dean says. "So people can't see in. You know."
Sam frowns. "I don't remember a sheet. Must've been asleep."
There is a pause.
"That dirty fucker," Dean mutters, getting to his feet. "I swear, I'm gonna – "
"Dean," Sam says, staring, "I don't think he did anything to me."
Dean looks over at Scofield, who's sitting a few tables away, leaning over to speak quietly to Sucre. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Okay," Dean says after a moment, sitting down again. He hesitates. "But if he tries anything – "
"Dean," Sam says.
"Yeah, all right," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "What was I supposed to think?"
-
"Hey," Sam says in the evening, "my brother tells me you put a sheet over the bars last night. May I ask why?"
"Why do you need to know?" Scofield asks, with the half-smile he adopts whenever Sam asks him a question.
Sam hesitates for a moment, but there's no way of approaching this subject that isn't awkward. "Because everyone thinks you're molesting me in my sleep," he says, "and I'd like you to tell me it's something else."
Scofield laughs. "They can think what they want. I'm just trying to block some of the light out. Sleep better."
Somehow, Sam doesn't believe him, but he doesn't ask any more questions. This is largely because he has just been hit by a premonition so strong that he stumbles backwards and collapses onto the floor.
a girl who can create fire – she's angry – she loses control of her powers – a burning building – no way out –
The pain in his mind is building and it keeps building, becoming stronger and stronger until he is certain that his head is going to explode. He clings to consciousness through the pain for long enough to feel fingers pressed to the side of his neck and hear Scofield yelling for help, and then he gives up and passes out.
-
Sam comes to in a bright, well-aired room, and he thinks for a moment that Dean must have found a way out and dragged him along before he notices the bars on the window. He sits up slowly, rubbing his head and trying to work out what the hell just happened, and the young woman sitting nearby notices he's awake and comes quickly over to the bed.
"Hey, I'm Dr. Sara Tancredi," she says. "How are you feeling?"
"Felt better," Sam mutters. "What happened?"
"Your cellmate says you just passed out," Dr. Tancredi says, checking his eyes. "Has anything like this happened before?"
Sam frowns, trying to remember, and the vision flashes across his mind again. "Oh, right. Yeah, it's just a dizzy spell. I've been having them for a couple of years now. They're not really a problem."
"Pretty severe for a dizzy spell," Dr. Tancredi says.
Sam tries to give her a grin. Someone outside this prison is dying, he thinks, and he can't stop it. Maybe his being trapped made the vision stronger. "Well, I don't normally pass out."
"Have you been eating properly?" she asks.
"I think so." If he's honest, he's been eating better in this prison than he has for the past two years. The Impala has always been a vegetable-free zone. "It's really not something you need to worry about."
"Maybe not," Dr. Tancredi says, "but I'd like to run a few tests, just to see whether we can determine the cause of the problem." She takes his blood pressure and checks his blood glucose levels, despite Sam's half-hearted protests, and then asks if he'll come back in two weeks.
The tests are almost certainly no use, Sam thinks, but they're not doing any damage, and it's nice to be away from the chaos of the cell blocks for a little while, and if there's even the slightest chance that this woman can help him figure out what's wrong with him he thinks he should probably take it. Besides, he has to admit that Dr. Tancredi is extremely pretty.
"Okay," he says.
-
Now that Sam knows Scofield's been up to something while he's been sleeping, his senses are on high alert, and as soon as the sound of Scofield quietly climbing out from his bunk the next night registers in his subconscious he's awake. He keeps lying there, very still and very tense, as he listens to the soft rustling noise that must be Scofield draping the bedsheet over the bars.
Scofield's soft footsteps head towards the back of the cell, and then there are two or three minutes of near-silence. Sam almost drifts off again a couple of times, but the occasional faint squeaking noise brings him back to awareness, reminds him that something is going on here and he needs to stay alert.
After the squeaking has stopped, Sam hears a scraping sound like something being moved across the floor, and then there's some more rustling. Scofield lets out a very quiet grunt; from the sound of it, he's crouching or kneeling. There's a brief silence, then the scraping noise again, and then nothing.
It doesn't seem as if Scofield is doing anything to harm Sam in his sleep, but he's definitely doing something, and Sam wants to know what it is. He opens his eyes and cranes back to look at the wall behind him, trying to be as quiet as possible to avoid alerting Scofield.
Scofield is not there.
That can't be right.
Sam drops down from his bunk in order to look around more thoroughly. Scofield doesn't seem to be in the cell at all, and that really can't be right. Sam lifts his pillow and takes out the packets of cafeteria salt he's stashed under it, mentally running through everything that he knows can walk through walls as rapidly as he can.
"Scofield?" he asks.
No answer.
Sam's been trained to be observant from a very young age, because an unobservant hunter is a dead hunter, and when he looks around the cell again his eyes fall on the leaking toilet, the bolts lying next to it. He's able to move the toilet fairly easily, and it looks like he's discovered Scofield's hiding place.
Okay. So there's a secret passageway at the back of his jail cell. Sam doesn't really know what to do with that. On the one hand, he'll be surprised if it actually goes anywhere, and even if it does he doesn't want to leave without Dean. On the other, if it does go somewhere and Scofield has chosen tonight to break out, the guards will find the passage in the morning and Sam will have missed a perfect opportunity.
"Scofield," Sam says, quietly. "It's me. Are you there?"
There are a few seconds of silence, then Sam hears quick footsteps, and a moment later Scofield appears in the passageway outside, crouching, staring at Sam through the hole in the wall.
"Scofield," Sam says. "What are you doing?"
"Don't call the guards," Scofield says, urgently. "I can explain."
-
Sam has heard of the Burrows case, of course; who hasn't? Lincoln Burrows, emotionless killer, murdered the vice-president's brother in cold blood. Waiting on death row.
Burrows is at Fox River. And Scofield deliberately got himself arrested and is trying to break him out. Because apparently they're brothers.
It seems that he and Dean may have competition in the dysfunctional sibling relationship stakes.
"Don't tell anyone," Scofield says. "Please." It's the first time Sam has seen his composure shaken.
Sam hesitates. He doesn't know what the moral thing to do here is. If Scofield is telling the truth about why he's in prison, he's innocent, but when Sam was following the Burrows case the evidence looked pretty solid. "I'll need to talk to my brother about this."
Scofield glances towards the cell door. He drops his voice. "If you think he can stay quiet, I can get you and your brother out of here."
-
"We're helping them," Dean says, as soon as Sam has explained his dilemma. He seems surprised that Sam would even need to think about it.
"Dean," Sam says, "these are criminals. Scofield tried to rob a bank. Burrows murdered the vice-president's brother."
"Hey, technically, we're criminals too," Dean points out.
"It's not the same, Dean. We don't hurt people."
"Whatever," Dean says. "We're helping them bust out."
"Why? I mean, I know we need Scofield to get us out of here, but why do we have to help him break Burrows out as well?"
Dean looks at him. "Because they're brothers."
Sam is silent, looking around uncomfortably.
"We don't deserve to be here," Dean says, lowering his voice. "Why shouldn't these guys be innocent, too?"
Sam gives him a significant glance. "You think being brothers means they're innocent?"
"No," Dean says. "But it means we're going to help them."
-
Sam's still not really at ease with the situation, so he confronts Scofield when they've been herded back into their cells and the doors have shut behind them.
"How do we know we can trust you?" Sam asks.
"What do you mean?" Scofield asks, looking shrewdly at him. "You think I've been digging tunnels in the dead of night just so I can report myself?"
"You say Burrows is innocent."
"He is."
"But you're saying you can break us out as well. For all you know, we are murderers. You could be putting people on the outside at risk to save your brother."
Scofield's expression doesn't change. "Wouldn't you?"
-
The next day, Sam spends most of the morning standing at the bars, keeping watch for guards with a small handheld mirror, because if anyone notices that Scofield has absented himself from his cell in order to work on the escape route they're in trouble. Apparently, his life has come to this: being arrested and helping convicts break out of prison. He hopes that Burrows is as innocent as Scofield seems to believe.
-
When the cell door opens for recreation, Sam's immediate instinct is to go looking for Dean, but then he notices that Sucre is trying to catch his eye from the lower tier. He doesn't have any particular reason to avoid him, so he leans back against the bars and waits for Sucre to make his way up to him.
"Saw you with the mirror earlier," Sucre says. "So I guess that means he told you."
Sam watches him warily. He's pretty sure Sucre means the escape, but he's got a feeling that actually blurting out 'you mean the escape?' would be a bad idea.
"He plays games," Sucre says. "I don't think he's one of the bad guys, but he plays games. Watch out for yourself."
"Thanks," Sam says, after a moment. Somehow, puppyish earnestness and looking out for other prisoners isn't really the behaviour he was expecting from convicts, but Sucre seems genuine enough. "I'll be careful."
"And, hey," Sucre says, looking slightly sheepish. "If you think it looks like it could work, if you want to invite me along, I'd be okay with that, you know?"
Sam laughs a little. "I'll tell him you asked. Why did you move out if you wanted to go with him?"
"'Cause I didn't know how quick I had to be to save my marriage," Sucre says. "My girl might not wait for me for ever. And 'cause he lost me my conjugals with some stupid test of my loyalty or something. He do the same to you?"
"I just had to find the tunnel," Sam says. "You're married?"
"Not yet," Sucre says, grinning. "But I will be. I just have to get out of here and show my baby I love her."
There's something strangely endearing about Sucre, and Sam finds himself grinning back. "Yeah, I'll let him know. Good luck."
-
Sam finds Dean and Scofield sitting together on the bleachers. "How's the cellmate?" he asks, sitting next to Dean.
"Still incredibly disturbing," Dean says. "Seriously, if you think yours is creepy, you should swap with me."
"Uh," Sam says, glancing awkwardly at Scofield, "I don't think I ever said I thought he was creepy."
"Well, he kind of is," Dean says.
Sam glares at him, then becomes distracted when he realises that Scofield is laughing quietly. When he looks back, Dean is grinning.
"Calm down," Dean says. "If he's getting us out of here, I like him. Where were you?"
"Talking to Sucre," Sam says. "He was wondering whether he could come along."
Dean stares at him. "You've been telling people about the escape? Sam, if you mess this up – "
"He already knew," Scofield interrupts, looking at Sam. "Sucre's going to be out of here in eighteen months. Why would he want to break out now?"
"Apparently, he thinks it's going to save his marriage," Sam says.
"Only if his fiancée's willing to go on the run from the law," Scofield says. "You're both serving life sentences, so you don't have much to lose, but I think Sucre's going to be better off if we leave him here than if we take him with us."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Sam says, looking at the fence. Sucre is so in love with this girl that he'll throw away any chance of a normal life to be with her, he thinks. Even though a normal life is just a matter of waiting eighteen months.
Definitely not the behaviour he was expecting from convicts.
-
They catch Sucre on the way back to the cells to tell him what they've decided. Sam knows that letting him serve his sentence is the best thing they can do, but that knowledge doesn't stop him from hating himself when he sees Sucre's expression.
"I could report you," Sucre says, looking back and forth between Sam and Scofield. "I could tell the COs."
"But you won't," Scofield says, smiling.
"Come on, please. Please."
"You're a good man, Sucre," Scofield says. "You'll be out in eighteen months. If you escape now, it's going to ruin your life."
"Losing her is going to ruin my life," Sucre says. "Let me go with you."
"Cons!" a guard shouts. "Move along!"
"At least think about it!" Sucre calls, as Sam and Scofield hurry to their cell.
-
Sam feels guilty about Sucre, but he decides that he's not going to let himself dwell on him; the escape is what he needs to focus on at the moment. He likes to know the details of a plan before he goes through with it, so he asks Scofield exactly what they're going to be doing on the night.
"I can't reveal all my secrets," Scofield says, with a sidelong glance and a smirk. "You might decide to go without me."
Sam laughs. "Don't worry; I think it's pretty obvious you're the expert here."
"There's a wall we need to get through," Scofield says, leaning against the bars. "There's an old drainage pipe on the other side, and we can use that to get to the infirmary. We'll want Lincoln to be there. Then it's just a matter of getting out of the window and over the wall. And becoming fugitives. You ready for that?"
"Yeah, we've had practice," Sam says. "So how do you know so much about the structure of this place?"
Scofield smiles. "Blueprints."
"You've memorised them?"
"Tried. I don't have a photographic memory."
Sam stares at him, then looks quickly around the cell. "You've got them here? Scofield, if they find them – "
"Calm down," Scofield says, still smiling. "They're not going to find them."
"You can't know that," Sam says. "They – " and then he realises, he remembers seeing Scofield studying his own body as if it were a book. "Your tattoo?"
Scofield raises his eyebrows.
"That's brilliant," Sam says, after a moment. If they manage to get out of here, he's half-tempted to ask Scofield whether he would be interested in becoming a hunter.
"So, you say you have experience with being a fugitive," Scofield says. "What did you do for money?"
Sam hesitates. He's not proud of it, but there's no point skirting around the subject when he's in jail. "Credit card fraud, mostly. We moved around a lot. You'll want to talk to my brother about that."
-
Sam and Scofield slip out of the cell in the night to finish off the wall Scofield's been working on. Sam's uneasy; they know more or less when the bed checks tend to be, but they're not as predictable as six-o'clock count, and they've hung a sheet but Sam has a feeling the guards aren't really going to respect their privacy.
"You sure we don't need a lookout?" he asks.
"If we don't have two people drilling, we won't get through this wall tonight," Scofield says. "If we don't get through it tonight, we'll need to trigger a lockdown to keep the breakout on track. Trust me, this option's safer."
When they've weakened the infrastructure enough to knock the wall down easily when there's enough daytime sound to mask the noise, they creep back to the cell. The guard twitches the sheet aside half a second after Scofield moves the toilet back into place. Sam immediately tries to look as if he's just been hastily dressing. The guard rolls his eyes and moves along.
-
"Escape is just the beginning," Scofield says, as they walk around the yard the next morning. "We need to be able to disappear."
"If you or your brother need any ID, we'll be able to help you with that," Dean says.
"Don't let him pick the names," Sam advises.
"The names will be awesome," Dean says. "And we've got plenty of contacts. Think you'll need discounted United Britannia Airlines tickets?"
Scofield raises his eyebrows. "Think you'll be able to persuade your Britannia Airlines contacts to have a plane ready for four fugitives at the airport ten miles from here?"
Dean snorts. "Okay, so our contacts aren't that good. And it'd have to be two fugitives, anyway, because there's no way in hell I'm getting on one of those things."
"We could find a car," Sam says. "Then we just need to stay on the road until we can get you onto a plane."
They continue to walk in silence for a while.
"So," Scofield says, looking over at Dean, "your brother tells me you've been living off credit card fraud."
-
Scofield's said they're going to be out of here within three weeks, but Dean has a feeling that even that may be too long a time to spend sharing quarters with T-Bag. T-Bag will creep up behind him, breathe into his ear, rest a hand on his thigh. The more obviously uncomfortable Dean is, the more his cellmate seems to relish it. Dean's pretty sure it's going to drive him into the psyche ward sooner or later.
Right now, T-Bag is lounging against the bars, watching him lazily. Dean doodles pentagrams on his hand, pretending not to be acutely aware of his gaze.
"Word is you've been spending a lot of time with Pretty over there," T-Bag says.
Dean is confused for a moment, but catches on when he sees T-Bag jerk his head towards Scofield. "Oh, so you can't deal with two Winchesters, but two Pretties is fine?"
"Easier to say," T-Bag says. "You want to tell me what you've been up to?"
"No," Dean says.
T-Bag tilts his head. "Not very co-operative, are you? Fine."
Neither of them says anything for a while. Dean is careful not to look away from T-Bag; he doesn't like the speculative expression on his face.
"It gets mighty dull in here, Pretty," T-Bag says. "And there ain't no point having lips like that if you ain't going to use them. Entertain me."
"Yeah," Dean says, "I don't think that's going to happen."
T-Bag smirks, lazily, and walks Dean back against the wall. "Really, Pretty?" he murmurs into Dean's ear.
Dean's not putting up with this crap any longer.
-
"I'm Dr. Tancredi," the doctor says, swabbing the cut beneath his eye. "You might want to avoid doing that. Bagwell's not someone you want to pick a fight with."
"Bagwell's not someone I want to share a cell with," Dean mutters. "Any way I can put in a request for a transfer?"
"After that? You could be getting a transfer whether you want it or not," Dr. Tancredi says. "Did he knock any of your teeth loose?"
"They're fine," Dean says. "Do I get to choose where I get transferred to?" He grins, looking her over. "Which cell are you in?"
The doctor looks a little uncomfortable, and Dean realises a moment too late that the people who work here think he tortured and murdered half a dozen young women. "Sorry," he says, and then, after a moment, "I'm not a bad guy, you know? I didn't do those things."
"There's one I haven't heard before," Dr. Tancredi murmurs, but she's smiling a little. "If you're hoping to pick me up, maybe you should try again when you haven't just assaulted someone."
"He deserved it," Dean says. "You've met him, right? You can't say he didn't deserve it."
She laughs. "I can't really comment on that. Try not to pick any more fights, though."
-
Dean gets sent to solitary as soon as he's out of the infirmary; apparently you're not supposed to punch your cellmates in the face, no matter how much they deserve it. They keep him there for two days.
"Why don't these guys ever hit on you?" Dean hisses to Sam, when he's out and being dragged past him to see, apparently, the Pope. Not exactly what he was expecting, but okay.
"I don't know; maybe they're worried about how Scofield will take the competition," Sam says, unable to hide his smile.
-
The warden introduces himself as Henry Pope and asks Dean to take a seat and generally treats him like a person, rather than a block of wood with 'CRIMINAL' stamped on it. Dean doesn't like him, because Dean doesn't like anyone involved in the running of this place he and his brother are trapped in, but he thinks he might dislike him a little less than he dislikes the guards.
"We can't tolerate fighting under any circumstances," Pope says. "However, you're not the first not to get along with Theodore Bagwell, and I'm sorry to say I don't think you'll be the last. As, under the circumstances, I think it would be unwise for you to return to your cell, I've put through a transfer request on your behalf."
Okay, scratch that. Dean frigging loves Henry Pope.
-
After spending a week in T-Bag's company, Dean thinks that even sharing a cell with Meg would be an improvement, but it's better than that; it turns out that his new cellmate is Sucre, who's probably the least demonic person in this place. Dean likes Sucre. When Sam skips meals to keep watch for Scofield, Sucre's the one who notices Dean is on his own and waves him over to eat with his group.
"Hey!" Sucre says when Dean enters his cell. He gives him a hug, which Dean's not totally sure how to deal with. "You got out!"
"Yeah, missing T-Bag already," Dean says, grinning. "Do I get the top bunk?"
Sucre snorts. "Dream on, Winchester." He glances around and lowers his voice. "Michael say anything about letting me go with you guys yet?"
Dean winces. "Uh, will you send me back if I say no?"
"Hey, don't worry; I wouldn't even send a clone of T-Bag back to that guy," Sucre says. "And, you know..." He shrugs. "I guess I don't want the feds busting into the church when I'm getting married. Maybe I can wait eighteen months."
-
As soon as eight o'clock count is over, Scofield begins unscrewing the toilet bolts. Sam immediately moves to block the view of anyone who might be looking in. "Where are you going?"
"Last stage of preparation," Scofield says.
"Need any help?"
"One-person job. We'll need to climb up a drain to get into the room below the infirmary, so I'm going to tie a rope. How's your climbing?"
Sam smiles. "I think we'll be okay. Good luck."
"After this, it's just about finding the right opportunity," Scofield says. He ducks and crawls through the hole in the wall. Sam moves the toilet to cover it and goes to the front of the cell with the mirror.
Scofield is away for longer than Sam was expecting, and Sam is on the verge of going in himself to drag him out before the guards come by when he hears the scrape of the toilet being moved. He turns to see Scofield struggling out of the tunnel.
"Did you manage it?" Sam asks.
"Not yet." Scofield gets to his feet and moves to let Sam set the toilet across the entrance again. He seems for a moment as if he's about to say more, but checks himself. Sam glances up at him, kneeling to screw the toilet back into the wall, and then does a double-take.
"You're bleeding."
Scofield looks down at the blood staining his sleeve. "Had an encounter with a railing," he says. "Must have broken the skin."
Sam stands and gently takes hold of Scofield's wrist, peeling the sleeve of his uniform back from the cut. "Scofield, this looks like a knife wound."
"I'm fine," Scofield says. "Screw the toilet back in before somebody sees."
"Did someone attack you?"
"I was backstage," Scofield says. "There'd be no reason for anyone else to be there."
Sam's not falling for that. "No reason, maybe. Was someone there?"
Scofield looks steadily back at him. He seems as impassive as ever, but Sam thinks that perhaps his voice is a little less level than usual. "No."
-
Scofield seems to be paranoid the next day, on edge. He keeps taking the bolt he uses to unscrew the toilet out of its hiding place and turning it over in his hands, glancing up and gripping it tightly at unexpected noises. Sam asks him what's wrong a few times, but when Scofield eventually looks at him and says, "We both know I'm not going to tell you anything, so I'd suggest you stop asking if you don't want me to lie to you," he stops trying.
Sam's not only worried about Scofield; he's worried about the escape. Whatever happened seems to have disturbed Scofield to the point at which he's reluctant to go through the hole in the wall again. Sam offers to work on the escape route while Scofield keeps watch, but Scofield shakes his head, not offering an explanation.
When recreation comes around, Scofield, rather than spending the time checking on aspects of the escape route, goes out into the yard in the thick of the crowd and spends the entire hour talking to Sucre, and that's when Sam realises that he's afraid of being left alone.
"He said anything to you?" he murmurs to Dean.
"Dude, if he hasn't told you he's not telling me," Dean says.
Sam squints at the other side of the yard, where Sucre is gesticulating broadly with a hand on Scofield's back. "Sucre's in your cell, right?"
-
"So," Dean says, casually, when recreation is over and they've been locked up again, "I hear Scofield was acting pretty weird today."
"Can you blame the guy?" Sucre asks. He's resting his arm against the bars, looking up towards Sam and Scofield's cell.
Well, this sounds like a lead. "Don't know," Dean says. "No one seems to know what's going on."
Sucre looks back at him with a grin. "Really?"
"Guy keeps to himself. I guess he didn't tell you anything, right?"
"Never assume, papi," Sucre says, still grinning proudly. "Maybe some of us know him better than others."
"You telling me he told you what happened?" Dean asks, assuming an expression of incredulity.
"Hey, you telling me you don't think he would?" Sucre asks, pulling himself up to sit on his bunk. "There was a fight here, few days after he came in. Blacks versus whites, you know? Anyway, I didn't see it, 'cause I was locked in the Shoe, but the way he tells it some kid had something he needed – some screw, he uses it to take off the toilet in the cell. So he's fighting the kid for it, something goes wrong, Michael's holding him, he dies; it's enough to give anyone nightmares." He pauses, impressively. "And now he's seeing him again."
Dean spends a moment trying to figure it out, but he's lost. "Who's seeing what now?"
"Michael," Sucre says, dropping his voice to a dramatic almost-whisper. "Seeing the kid."
"The kid who died?" Dean asks.
"Scary, right?"
Part Two
Oh, you know you were thinking it.
Title: The Lesser-Known Fox River State Penitentiary Blues
Fandoms: Supernatural/Prison Break
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 12,500 (complete, divided into two parts)
Summary: When Operation Folsom Prison Blues goes horribly wrong, Sam and Dean Winchester find themselves in Fox River State Penitentiary. Fortunately, Sam's new cellmate has a plan.
Spoilers: minor for the Supernatural episode 'Folsom Prison Blues' and the first season of Prison Break.
Disclaimer: The characters and locations portrayed do not belong to me.
Author's Notes: A thousand, million thanks to
nomelon for being a wonderfully helpful and encouraging beta reader. You are amazing.Sam's hated this idea since the moment Dean came up with the stupid thing, and had he been more sensible, he thinks now, he'd have run far away before Dean had finished saying, "Okay, so first we get arrested." But they had a debt to repay, and people were dying, and Dean kept assuring him that it was okay, it was all going to be fine, he had a sure-fire escape plan in place.
After all they've been through, Sam thinks, they should probably have realised that nothing is sure-fire.
Here's the problem: the escape plan hinged on Deacon, and Deacon is dead. He suffered a mysterious heart attack hours after the Winchesters were admitted to his prison. With no way for them to avoid it, the date of their hearing has come and gone, and now they're both doing life in Fox River State Penitentiary.
There's no supernatural problem they need to solve at Fox River State Penitentiary. More importantly, they've got no way of getting out of Fox River State Penitentiary.
Sam is never going to forgive his brother. Ever.
Sam has a cell in the centre of the middle tier; he has been informed that it is a perfect placement and he should appreciate it, but somehow he can't bring himself to be especially grateful. The guard who escorted him was not reassuring. "Last guy here put in a request for a transfer. Fernando Sucre. Hope it wasn't the cellmate who drove him out, right?"
Sam's cellmate is sitting on the lower bunk, regarding him with an unreadable expression. He hasn't said a word since Sam arrived. Sam has been trying to ignore him, but eventually the reality of the situation filters through his mind; he could be here for a long time, and if he's going to be stuck in a confined space with some guy he should at least try to see whether there's a chance of getting along with him.
"Uh, hey," he says, awkwardly. He really, really doesn't know how people introduce themselves in prison. "I'm Sam. Um, Winchester."
"Michael Scofield," his cellmate says, with a very slight smile. His eyes don't move from Sam's even for a moment. It is beginning to make Sam feel distinctly uneasy. "What brings you here?"
Sam shrugs, looking at the tattoos winding down Scofield's arms so he doesn't have to focus on his penetrating gaze. "You know. Made some mistakes." He's half-expecting interrogation, aggression, and when it doesn't come he's encouraged enough to add, "Mainly listening to my brother."
"Your brother?" Scofield asks, looking slightly more interested. "Is he in here with you?"
Sam looks out through the bars of the door. Dean is standing at the front of one of the lower cells, watching him.
He looks back to find Scofield's eyes on him again, and he has the sudden realisation that this isn't just getting-to-know-you conversation. Scofield is collecting information on him, and he has already given away far too much. Sam doesn't know this man, doesn't know his motives, and he has just unthinkingly revealed his weak spot to him.
"No," he says.
From the way Scofield's eyes flick from Sam to Dean, it's obvious he knows it's a lie, and Sam's pretty sure he knows Sam knows he knows, but he seems to accept it as a signal that the conversation is over. "Good to meet you," he says, swinging his legs back onto his bunk.
They don't speak much after that. Sam paces the floor or sits on his bunk with his head in his hands, trying to think of some way of getting out of here, and then, when he fails to come up with a feasible plan, of every name he would like to call Dean right now. When he looks at the lower bunk, Scofield is usually examining his tattoos; he's taken his shirt off, and Sam can see that the intricate designs cover his entire torso. He's sometimes watching Sam, but his gaze feels more analytic than hostile, and when the lights go out Sam doesn't feel that he's about to be murdered in his sleep.
Scofield makes Sam uncomfortable, but he seems to keep to himself most of the time and he hasn't actually tried to scalp Sam or anything yet, so Sam supposes it could be worse.
Dean figures it's not a good sign when a passing inmate gives you a sympathetic look as you're being shepherded into your cell. His new roommate is a skinny guy with seriously alarming eyes, and he looks Dean up and down as the door closes behind him. And then licks his lips. Pointedly.
Okay, so Dean wants a transfer already. There's no way he's going to let himself look like he's running away this early in the game, though, so he pretends not to notice.
"T-Bag," the guy with crazy eyes says, holding out a hand.
"Winchester," Dean says, not taking it. Crazy Eyes smiles and folds his arms.
"How's your cellmate?" Dean asks Sam the next morning, when they're getting breakfast in the cafeteria.
"I hate you, Dean," Sam says.
"He can't be worse than mine," Dean says. "My one spent the whole time looking at me like I was a piece of meat. That he wanted to have sex with."
Sam looks at Dean in horror. "Promise me you'll never use a simile again."
Dean asks around the other prisoners as they're being led back into the building, hoping for reassurance that T-Bag isn't actually as creepy as he seems. He doesn't get it, and when he returns to his cell it's with the knowledge that he's sharing it with a serial rapist-murderer-necrophiliac.
When T-Bag, after looking at Dean for a while with a predatory expression, asks how he got landed in this place, Dean tells him about being convicted of torture, multiple murders, armed robbery. He neglects to mention that he didn't actually do any of those things. In fact, he throws a couple more murders in there, just to make sure T-Bag knows he's really not someone to be messed with.
T-Bag only smirks.
Yeah, Dean's going to miss being able to sleep. He tries to distract himself from T-Bag's presence by inspecting the bars, and then by sitting on his bunk and mentally listing all the dangerous creatures he knows and how to kill them. He looks out at Sam for a while, and when he looks back T-Bag is watching him, smiling, his lower lip between his teeth.
"If you want the one over there, you'll have quite a fight on your hands," T-Bag says. "He looks like a prize."
"He's my brother," Dean says. "Nobody's touching him."
T-Bag raises his eyebrows. "Well, we'll just see about that. Brothers, you say?"
Sam will be okay, Dean thinks. He'll be able to take care of himself. Dean's going to need to meet Sam's cellmate and make sure he's not T-Bag levels of creepy, though. Just in case.
"We can't be calling you both 'Winchester'," T-Bag says, leaning back against his bunk. "You're going to need a nickname."
"How about 'Batman'?" Dean suggests.
Dean's pissed. He's pissed because not only has his psychotic new cellmate nicknamed him 'Pretty', but with T-Bag boasting about his new acquisition at every opportunity Dean's seriously worried that it might actually catch on. If he had to have a prison nickname, 'Pretty' would definitely not be the one he'd choose. Someone named 'Pretty' does not command respect.
He pays Sam's cell a visit when the doors open for lunch to express exactly how unhappy about this he is. It is fairly obvious that Sam thinks this is the best thing that has happened since they got arrested.
"Come on," Dean says, looking longingly at Sam's bunk. "Let's swap cells. You'll like T-Bag. He's very, uh, friendly."
"I think I'm okay where I am, thanks," Sam says, grinning.
They make their way to the cafeteria together, and, much to Sam's amusement, Dean seems to feel the need to inform every inmate they pass on the way that his name is Winchester. Most of them look extremely unimpressed.
"I wanted 'Batman'," Dean mutters to Sam as they collect their trays, "but right now I'll settle for anything that isn't goddamn 'Pretty'."
They sit opposite each other at one of the little square tables, as far away as they can get from anyone else; as Dean points out, they don't know any of these people well enough to know they won't be hiding a knife. "Might want to shave your hair off, Sam; you don't want to give them anything they can grab."
This is very definitely not going to happen, and Sam is still trying to find words strong enough to inform him of this when an inmate passing by their table taps Dean on the shoulder. "You're Pretty, right?"
"Winchester," Dean snarls. Sam hides his snicker behind his hand.
"Winchester, then," the inmate says, holding his hands up and dropping onto a seat. "I just heard you were T-Bag's new roommate. Came to offer my commiserations."
Dean looks at him with a hint of suspicion. "Thanks. I think I can handle him, though."
"Yeah, well, keep your eyes open." He holds out a hand. "Sucre."
"Wait," Sam says. "Fernando Sucre? Scofield's old cellmate?"
"That's right," Sucre says, looking at him, suddenly wary. "You my replacement?"
"Why did you move out?" Sam asks. "Is there something about Scofield I should know about?"
Sucre shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "He's okay. We just didn't click, you know?"
'Just not clicking' doesn't sound like a very solid reason to put in a transfer request to Sam. Not feeling hugely reassured, he shakes Sucre's hand and watches him go on his way.
The next morning, inmates are smirking to themselves, snickering pointedly as Sam passes. Sam looks questioningly at them, but nobody offers an explanation, and he's not quite curious enough to directly confront anyone about it.
The explanation comes when he finds Dean in the cafeteria. Dean is staring at him like his eyebrows have been shaved off, which sounds exactly like something that would happen in prison to Sam, so he quickly raises a hand to make sure they're still there. They are.
"Dude," Dean says. "What the hell?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Sam says, sitting opposite him. "Why is everyone staring at me?"
Dean looks at him. "I don't know, maybe it's because you've been having sex with Fish?"
Okay, Sam has definitely not been having sex with fish. He doesn't know who started that rumour, but it's just stupid. He's not even sure it's physically possible. "I – what? Fish?"
"The new fish. Your cell buddy."
"The new – Dean, he's been here longer than we have." Sam blinks. "Wait, you think I've been having sex with Scofield?"
"You dropped the sheet," Dean says, still looking at Sam as if he's some kind of new species. "What, am I supposed to think you were just playing poker or something?"
"The sheet?" Sam asks. He feels vaguely as if he's trapped in some bizarre dream. He hopes it started before they got arrested.
"The sheet!" Dean says, with a gesture that means absolutely nothing to Sam. "You – Sam, did he drug you?"
"I haven't been having sex with anyone," Sam says. "What do you mean, the sheet?"
"The bedsheet you drop over the bars," Dean says. "So people can't see in. You know."
Sam frowns. "I don't remember a sheet. Must've been asleep."
There is a pause.
"That dirty fucker," Dean mutters, getting to his feet. "I swear, I'm gonna – "
"Dean," Sam says, staring, "I don't think he did anything to me."
Dean looks over at Scofield, who's sitting a few tables away, leaning over to speak quietly to Sucre. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Okay," Dean says after a moment, sitting down again. He hesitates. "But if he tries anything – "
"Dean," Sam says.
"Yeah, all right," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "What was I supposed to think?"
"Hey," Sam says in the evening, "my brother tells me you put a sheet over the bars last night. May I ask why?"
"Why do you need to know?" Scofield asks, with the half-smile he adopts whenever Sam asks him a question.
Sam hesitates for a moment, but there's no way of approaching this subject that isn't awkward. "Because everyone thinks you're molesting me in my sleep," he says, "and I'd like you to tell me it's something else."
Scofield laughs. "They can think what they want. I'm just trying to block some of the light out. Sleep better."
Somehow, Sam doesn't believe him, but he doesn't ask any more questions. This is largely because he has just been hit by a premonition so strong that he stumbles backwards and collapses onto the floor.
a girl who can create fire – she's angry – she loses control of her powers – a burning building – no way out –
The pain in his mind is building and it keeps building, becoming stronger and stronger until he is certain that his head is going to explode. He clings to consciousness through the pain for long enough to feel fingers pressed to the side of his neck and hear Scofield yelling for help, and then he gives up and passes out.
Sam comes to in a bright, well-aired room, and he thinks for a moment that Dean must have found a way out and dragged him along before he notices the bars on the window. He sits up slowly, rubbing his head and trying to work out what the hell just happened, and the young woman sitting nearby notices he's awake and comes quickly over to the bed.
"Hey, I'm Dr. Sara Tancredi," she says. "How are you feeling?"
"Felt better," Sam mutters. "What happened?"
"Your cellmate says you just passed out," Dr. Tancredi says, checking his eyes. "Has anything like this happened before?"
Sam frowns, trying to remember, and the vision flashes across his mind again. "Oh, right. Yeah, it's just a dizzy spell. I've been having them for a couple of years now. They're not really a problem."
"Pretty severe for a dizzy spell," Dr. Tancredi says.
Sam tries to give her a grin. Someone outside this prison is dying, he thinks, and he can't stop it. Maybe his being trapped made the vision stronger. "Well, I don't normally pass out."
"Have you been eating properly?" she asks.
"I think so." If he's honest, he's been eating better in this prison than he has for the past two years. The Impala has always been a vegetable-free zone. "It's really not something you need to worry about."
"Maybe not," Dr. Tancredi says, "but I'd like to run a few tests, just to see whether we can determine the cause of the problem." She takes his blood pressure and checks his blood glucose levels, despite Sam's half-hearted protests, and then asks if he'll come back in two weeks.
The tests are almost certainly no use, Sam thinks, but they're not doing any damage, and it's nice to be away from the chaos of the cell blocks for a little while, and if there's even the slightest chance that this woman can help him figure out what's wrong with him he thinks he should probably take it. Besides, he has to admit that Dr. Tancredi is extremely pretty.
"Okay," he says.
Now that Sam knows Scofield's been up to something while he's been sleeping, his senses are on high alert, and as soon as the sound of Scofield quietly climbing out from his bunk the next night registers in his subconscious he's awake. He keeps lying there, very still and very tense, as he listens to the soft rustling noise that must be Scofield draping the bedsheet over the bars.
Scofield's soft footsteps head towards the back of the cell, and then there are two or three minutes of near-silence. Sam almost drifts off again a couple of times, but the occasional faint squeaking noise brings him back to awareness, reminds him that something is going on here and he needs to stay alert.
After the squeaking has stopped, Sam hears a scraping sound like something being moved across the floor, and then there's some more rustling. Scofield lets out a very quiet grunt; from the sound of it, he's crouching or kneeling. There's a brief silence, then the scraping noise again, and then nothing.
It doesn't seem as if Scofield is doing anything to harm Sam in his sleep, but he's definitely doing something, and Sam wants to know what it is. He opens his eyes and cranes back to look at the wall behind him, trying to be as quiet as possible to avoid alerting Scofield.
Scofield is not there.
That can't be right.
Sam drops down from his bunk in order to look around more thoroughly. Scofield doesn't seem to be in the cell at all, and that really can't be right. Sam lifts his pillow and takes out the packets of cafeteria salt he's stashed under it, mentally running through everything that he knows can walk through walls as rapidly as he can.
"Scofield?" he asks.
No answer.
Sam's been trained to be observant from a very young age, because an unobservant hunter is a dead hunter, and when he looks around the cell again his eyes fall on the leaking toilet, the bolts lying next to it. He's able to move the toilet fairly easily, and it looks like he's discovered Scofield's hiding place.
Okay. So there's a secret passageway at the back of his jail cell. Sam doesn't really know what to do with that. On the one hand, he'll be surprised if it actually goes anywhere, and even if it does he doesn't want to leave without Dean. On the other, if it does go somewhere and Scofield has chosen tonight to break out, the guards will find the passage in the morning and Sam will have missed a perfect opportunity.
"Scofield," Sam says, quietly. "It's me. Are you there?"
There are a few seconds of silence, then Sam hears quick footsteps, and a moment later Scofield appears in the passageway outside, crouching, staring at Sam through the hole in the wall.
"Scofield," Sam says. "What are you doing?"
"Don't call the guards," Scofield says, urgently. "I can explain."
Sam has heard of the Burrows case, of course; who hasn't? Lincoln Burrows, emotionless killer, murdered the vice-president's brother in cold blood. Waiting on death row.
Burrows is at Fox River. And Scofield deliberately got himself arrested and is trying to break him out. Because apparently they're brothers.
It seems that he and Dean may have competition in the dysfunctional sibling relationship stakes.
"Don't tell anyone," Scofield says. "Please." It's the first time Sam has seen his composure shaken.
Sam hesitates. He doesn't know what the moral thing to do here is. If Scofield is telling the truth about why he's in prison, he's innocent, but when Sam was following the Burrows case the evidence looked pretty solid. "I'll need to talk to my brother about this."
Scofield glances towards the cell door. He drops his voice. "If you think he can stay quiet, I can get you and your brother out of here."
"We're helping them," Dean says, as soon as Sam has explained his dilemma. He seems surprised that Sam would even need to think about it.
"Dean," Sam says, "these are criminals. Scofield tried to rob a bank. Burrows murdered the vice-president's brother."
"Hey, technically, we're criminals too," Dean points out.
"It's not the same, Dean. We don't hurt people."
"Whatever," Dean says. "We're helping them bust out."
"Why? I mean, I know we need Scofield to get us out of here, but why do we have to help him break Burrows out as well?"
Dean looks at him. "Because they're brothers."
Sam is silent, looking around uncomfortably.
"We don't deserve to be here," Dean says, lowering his voice. "Why shouldn't these guys be innocent, too?"
Sam gives him a significant glance. "You think being brothers means they're innocent?"
"No," Dean says. "But it means we're going to help them."
Sam's still not really at ease with the situation, so he confronts Scofield when they've been herded back into their cells and the doors have shut behind them.
"How do we know we can trust you?" Sam asks.
"What do you mean?" Scofield asks, looking shrewdly at him. "You think I've been digging tunnels in the dead of night just so I can report myself?"
"You say Burrows is innocent."
"He is."
"But you're saying you can break us out as well. For all you know, we are murderers. You could be putting people on the outside at risk to save your brother."
Scofield's expression doesn't change. "Wouldn't you?"
The next day, Sam spends most of the morning standing at the bars, keeping watch for guards with a small handheld mirror, because if anyone notices that Scofield has absented himself from his cell in order to work on the escape route they're in trouble. Apparently, his life has come to this: being arrested and helping convicts break out of prison. He hopes that Burrows is as innocent as Scofield seems to believe.
When the cell door opens for recreation, Sam's immediate instinct is to go looking for Dean, but then he notices that Sucre is trying to catch his eye from the lower tier. He doesn't have any particular reason to avoid him, so he leans back against the bars and waits for Sucre to make his way up to him.
"Saw you with the mirror earlier," Sucre says. "So I guess that means he told you."
Sam watches him warily. He's pretty sure Sucre means the escape, but he's got a feeling that actually blurting out 'you mean the escape?' would be a bad idea.
"He plays games," Sucre says. "I don't think he's one of the bad guys, but he plays games. Watch out for yourself."
"Thanks," Sam says, after a moment. Somehow, puppyish earnestness and looking out for other prisoners isn't really the behaviour he was expecting from convicts, but Sucre seems genuine enough. "I'll be careful."
"And, hey," Sucre says, looking slightly sheepish. "If you think it looks like it could work, if you want to invite me along, I'd be okay with that, you know?"
Sam laughs a little. "I'll tell him you asked. Why did you move out if you wanted to go with him?"
"'Cause I didn't know how quick I had to be to save my marriage," Sucre says. "My girl might not wait for me for ever. And 'cause he lost me my conjugals with some stupid test of my loyalty or something. He do the same to you?"
"I just had to find the tunnel," Sam says. "You're married?"
"Not yet," Sucre says, grinning. "But I will be. I just have to get out of here and show my baby I love her."
There's something strangely endearing about Sucre, and Sam finds himself grinning back. "Yeah, I'll let him know. Good luck."
Sam finds Dean and Scofield sitting together on the bleachers. "How's the cellmate?" he asks, sitting next to Dean.
"Still incredibly disturbing," Dean says. "Seriously, if you think yours is creepy, you should swap with me."
"Uh," Sam says, glancing awkwardly at Scofield, "I don't think I ever said I thought he was creepy."
"Well, he kind of is," Dean says.
Sam glares at him, then becomes distracted when he realises that Scofield is laughing quietly. When he looks back, Dean is grinning.
"Calm down," Dean says. "If he's getting us out of here, I like him. Where were you?"
"Talking to Sucre," Sam says. "He was wondering whether he could come along."
Dean stares at him. "You've been telling people about the escape? Sam, if you mess this up – "
"He already knew," Scofield interrupts, looking at Sam. "Sucre's going to be out of here in eighteen months. Why would he want to break out now?"
"Apparently, he thinks it's going to save his marriage," Sam says.
"Only if his fiancée's willing to go on the run from the law," Scofield says. "You're both serving life sentences, so you don't have much to lose, but I think Sucre's going to be better off if we leave him here than if we take him with us."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Sam says, looking at the fence. Sucre is so in love with this girl that he'll throw away any chance of a normal life to be with her, he thinks. Even though a normal life is just a matter of waiting eighteen months.
Definitely not the behaviour he was expecting from convicts.
They catch Sucre on the way back to the cells to tell him what they've decided. Sam knows that letting him serve his sentence is the best thing they can do, but that knowledge doesn't stop him from hating himself when he sees Sucre's expression.
"I could report you," Sucre says, looking back and forth between Sam and Scofield. "I could tell the COs."
"But you won't," Scofield says, smiling.
"Come on, please. Please."
"You're a good man, Sucre," Scofield says. "You'll be out in eighteen months. If you escape now, it's going to ruin your life."
"Losing her is going to ruin my life," Sucre says. "Let me go with you."
"Cons!" a guard shouts. "Move along!"
"At least think about it!" Sucre calls, as Sam and Scofield hurry to their cell.
Sam feels guilty about Sucre, but he decides that he's not going to let himself dwell on him; the escape is what he needs to focus on at the moment. He likes to know the details of a plan before he goes through with it, so he asks Scofield exactly what they're going to be doing on the night.
"I can't reveal all my secrets," Scofield says, with a sidelong glance and a smirk. "You might decide to go without me."
Sam laughs. "Don't worry; I think it's pretty obvious you're the expert here."
"There's a wall we need to get through," Scofield says, leaning against the bars. "There's an old drainage pipe on the other side, and we can use that to get to the infirmary. We'll want Lincoln to be there. Then it's just a matter of getting out of the window and over the wall. And becoming fugitives. You ready for that?"
"Yeah, we've had practice," Sam says. "So how do you know so much about the structure of this place?"
Scofield smiles. "Blueprints."
"You've memorised them?"
"Tried. I don't have a photographic memory."
Sam stares at him, then looks quickly around the cell. "You've got them here? Scofield, if they find them – "
"Calm down," Scofield says, still smiling. "They're not going to find them."
"You can't know that," Sam says. "They – " and then he realises, he remembers seeing Scofield studying his own body as if it were a book. "Your tattoo?"
Scofield raises his eyebrows.
"That's brilliant," Sam says, after a moment. If they manage to get out of here, he's half-tempted to ask Scofield whether he would be interested in becoming a hunter.
"So, you say you have experience with being a fugitive," Scofield says. "What did you do for money?"
Sam hesitates. He's not proud of it, but there's no point skirting around the subject when he's in jail. "Credit card fraud, mostly. We moved around a lot. You'll want to talk to my brother about that."
Sam and Scofield slip out of the cell in the night to finish off the wall Scofield's been working on. Sam's uneasy; they know more or less when the bed checks tend to be, but they're not as predictable as six-o'clock count, and they've hung a sheet but Sam has a feeling the guards aren't really going to respect their privacy.
"You sure we don't need a lookout?" he asks.
"If we don't have two people drilling, we won't get through this wall tonight," Scofield says. "If we don't get through it tonight, we'll need to trigger a lockdown to keep the breakout on track. Trust me, this option's safer."
When they've weakened the infrastructure enough to knock the wall down easily when there's enough daytime sound to mask the noise, they creep back to the cell. The guard twitches the sheet aside half a second after Scofield moves the toilet back into place. Sam immediately tries to look as if he's just been hastily dressing. The guard rolls his eyes and moves along.
"Escape is just the beginning," Scofield says, as they walk around the yard the next morning. "We need to be able to disappear."
"If you or your brother need any ID, we'll be able to help you with that," Dean says.
"Don't let him pick the names," Sam advises.
"The names will be awesome," Dean says. "And we've got plenty of contacts. Think you'll need discounted United Britannia Airlines tickets?"
Scofield raises his eyebrows. "Think you'll be able to persuade your Britannia Airlines contacts to have a plane ready for four fugitives at the airport ten miles from here?"
Dean snorts. "Okay, so our contacts aren't that good. And it'd have to be two fugitives, anyway, because there's no way in hell I'm getting on one of those things."
"We could find a car," Sam says. "Then we just need to stay on the road until we can get you onto a plane."
They continue to walk in silence for a while.
"So," Scofield says, looking over at Dean, "your brother tells me you've been living off credit card fraud."
Scofield's said they're going to be out of here within three weeks, but Dean has a feeling that even that may be too long a time to spend sharing quarters with T-Bag. T-Bag will creep up behind him, breathe into his ear, rest a hand on his thigh. The more obviously uncomfortable Dean is, the more his cellmate seems to relish it. Dean's pretty sure it's going to drive him into the psyche ward sooner or later.
Right now, T-Bag is lounging against the bars, watching him lazily. Dean doodles pentagrams on his hand, pretending not to be acutely aware of his gaze.
"Word is you've been spending a lot of time with Pretty over there," T-Bag says.
Dean is confused for a moment, but catches on when he sees T-Bag jerk his head towards Scofield. "Oh, so you can't deal with two Winchesters, but two Pretties is fine?"
"Easier to say," T-Bag says. "You want to tell me what you've been up to?"
"No," Dean says.
T-Bag tilts his head. "Not very co-operative, are you? Fine."
Neither of them says anything for a while. Dean is careful not to look away from T-Bag; he doesn't like the speculative expression on his face.
"It gets mighty dull in here, Pretty," T-Bag says. "And there ain't no point having lips like that if you ain't going to use them. Entertain me."
"Yeah," Dean says, "I don't think that's going to happen."
T-Bag smirks, lazily, and walks Dean back against the wall. "Really, Pretty?" he murmurs into Dean's ear.
Dean's not putting up with this crap any longer.
"I'm Dr. Tancredi," the doctor says, swabbing the cut beneath his eye. "You might want to avoid doing that. Bagwell's not someone you want to pick a fight with."
"Bagwell's not someone I want to share a cell with," Dean mutters. "Any way I can put in a request for a transfer?"
"After that? You could be getting a transfer whether you want it or not," Dr. Tancredi says. "Did he knock any of your teeth loose?"
"They're fine," Dean says. "Do I get to choose where I get transferred to?" He grins, looking her over. "Which cell are you in?"
The doctor looks a little uncomfortable, and Dean realises a moment too late that the people who work here think he tortured and murdered half a dozen young women. "Sorry," he says, and then, after a moment, "I'm not a bad guy, you know? I didn't do those things."
"There's one I haven't heard before," Dr. Tancredi murmurs, but she's smiling a little. "If you're hoping to pick me up, maybe you should try again when you haven't just assaulted someone."
"He deserved it," Dean says. "You've met him, right? You can't say he didn't deserve it."
She laughs. "I can't really comment on that. Try not to pick any more fights, though."
Dean gets sent to solitary as soon as he's out of the infirmary; apparently you're not supposed to punch your cellmates in the face, no matter how much they deserve it. They keep him there for two days.
"Why don't these guys ever hit on you?" Dean hisses to Sam, when he's out and being dragged past him to see, apparently, the Pope. Not exactly what he was expecting, but okay.
"I don't know; maybe they're worried about how Scofield will take the competition," Sam says, unable to hide his smile.
The warden introduces himself as Henry Pope and asks Dean to take a seat and generally treats him like a person, rather than a block of wood with 'CRIMINAL' stamped on it. Dean doesn't like him, because Dean doesn't like anyone involved in the running of this place he and his brother are trapped in, but he thinks he might dislike him a little less than he dislikes the guards.
"We can't tolerate fighting under any circumstances," Pope says. "However, you're not the first not to get along with Theodore Bagwell, and I'm sorry to say I don't think you'll be the last. As, under the circumstances, I think it would be unwise for you to return to your cell, I've put through a transfer request on your behalf."
Okay, scratch that. Dean frigging loves Henry Pope.
After spending a week in T-Bag's company, Dean thinks that even sharing a cell with Meg would be an improvement, but it's better than that; it turns out that his new cellmate is Sucre, who's probably the least demonic person in this place. Dean likes Sucre. When Sam skips meals to keep watch for Scofield, Sucre's the one who notices Dean is on his own and waves him over to eat with his group.
"Hey!" Sucre says when Dean enters his cell. He gives him a hug, which Dean's not totally sure how to deal with. "You got out!"
"Yeah, missing T-Bag already," Dean says, grinning. "Do I get the top bunk?"
Sucre snorts. "Dream on, Winchester." He glances around and lowers his voice. "Michael say anything about letting me go with you guys yet?"
Dean winces. "Uh, will you send me back if I say no?"
"Hey, don't worry; I wouldn't even send a clone of T-Bag back to that guy," Sucre says. "And, you know..." He shrugs. "I guess I don't want the feds busting into the church when I'm getting married. Maybe I can wait eighteen months."
As soon as eight o'clock count is over, Scofield begins unscrewing the toilet bolts. Sam immediately moves to block the view of anyone who might be looking in. "Where are you going?"
"Last stage of preparation," Scofield says.
"Need any help?"
"One-person job. We'll need to climb up a drain to get into the room below the infirmary, so I'm going to tie a rope. How's your climbing?"
Sam smiles. "I think we'll be okay. Good luck."
"After this, it's just about finding the right opportunity," Scofield says. He ducks and crawls through the hole in the wall. Sam moves the toilet to cover it and goes to the front of the cell with the mirror.
Scofield is away for longer than Sam was expecting, and Sam is on the verge of going in himself to drag him out before the guards come by when he hears the scrape of the toilet being moved. He turns to see Scofield struggling out of the tunnel.
"Did you manage it?" Sam asks.
"Not yet." Scofield gets to his feet and moves to let Sam set the toilet across the entrance again. He seems for a moment as if he's about to say more, but checks himself. Sam glances up at him, kneeling to screw the toilet back into the wall, and then does a double-take.
"You're bleeding."
Scofield looks down at the blood staining his sleeve. "Had an encounter with a railing," he says. "Must have broken the skin."
Sam stands and gently takes hold of Scofield's wrist, peeling the sleeve of his uniform back from the cut. "Scofield, this looks like a knife wound."
"I'm fine," Scofield says. "Screw the toilet back in before somebody sees."
"Did someone attack you?"
"I was backstage," Scofield says. "There'd be no reason for anyone else to be there."
Sam's not falling for that. "No reason, maybe. Was someone there?"
Scofield looks steadily back at him. He seems as impassive as ever, but Sam thinks that perhaps his voice is a little less level than usual. "No."
Scofield seems to be paranoid the next day, on edge. He keeps taking the bolt he uses to unscrew the toilet out of its hiding place and turning it over in his hands, glancing up and gripping it tightly at unexpected noises. Sam asks him what's wrong a few times, but when Scofield eventually looks at him and says, "We both know I'm not going to tell you anything, so I'd suggest you stop asking if you don't want me to lie to you," he stops trying.
Sam's not only worried about Scofield; he's worried about the escape. Whatever happened seems to have disturbed Scofield to the point at which he's reluctant to go through the hole in the wall again. Sam offers to work on the escape route while Scofield keeps watch, but Scofield shakes his head, not offering an explanation.
When recreation comes around, Scofield, rather than spending the time checking on aspects of the escape route, goes out into the yard in the thick of the crowd and spends the entire hour talking to Sucre, and that's when Sam realises that he's afraid of being left alone.
"He said anything to you?" he murmurs to Dean.
"Dude, if he hasn't told you he's not telling me," Dean says.
Sam squints at the other side of the yard, where Sucre is gesticulating broadly with a hand on Scofield's back. "Sucre's in your cell, right?"
"So," Dean says, casually, when recreation is over and they've been locked up again, "I hear Scofield was acting pretty weird today."
"Can you blame the guy?" Sucre asks. He's resting his arm against the bars, looking up towards Sam and Scofield's cell.
Well, this sounds like a lead. "Don't know," Dean says. "No one seems to know what's going on."
Sucre looks back at him with a grin. "Really?"
"Guy keeps to himself. I guess he didn't tell you anything, right?"
"Never assume, papi," Sucre says, still grinning proudly. "Maybe some of us know him better than others."
"You telling me he told you what happened?" Dean asks, assuming an expression of incredulity.
"Hey, you telling me you don't think he would?" Sucre asks, pulling himself up to sit on his bunk. "There was a fight here, few days after he came in. Blacks versus whites, you know? Anyway, I didn't see it, 'cause I was locked in the Shoe, but the way he tells it some kid had something he needed – some screw, he uses it to take off the toilet in the cell. So he's fighting the kid for it, something goes wrong, Michael's holding him, he dies; it's enough to give anyone nightmares." He pauses, impressively. "And now he's seeing him again."
Dean spends a moment trying to figure it out, but he's lost. "Who's seeing what now?"
"Michael," Sucre says, dropping his voice to a dramatic almost-whisper. "Seeing the kid."
"The kid who died?" Dean asks.
"Scary, right?"
Part Two
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I'M SORRY THIS ISN'T A REVIEW OF YOUR FIC.
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Ah, well, it's the thought that counts. You already gave me High School Musical socks! And a book! (I have read the first few chapters! It is exactly as wonderfully appalling as you would expect.)
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OMG I would never deny I was thinking it. You are writing this JUST FOR ME?! I've been wanting this fic for ages!
And now there's something supernaturally in the walls *squee*
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I love both shows and couldn't resist, of course not!!^^
Your description of every single character is perfect and as the good Teddy nicknamed EL DEANO "PRETTY", I couldn't stop laughing, hahaha... O, I could imagime him, the big bad demon hunter, all pissed and grumpy...
Divine, my Dear, still divine!! LOL
And Sam & Mikey are interesting cellmates, no doubt...^^
Again, thank you very much for sharing this fabulous story of yours, my Dear, and with this, I jump over to part II.