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Jailhouse Rock

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They’d been caught. Dean couldn’t say he’d never expected it to happen, but he hadn’t anticipated it so soon. Well, soon was relative in that context, it’d been years since his first kill and they’d been chased by the FBI for months without success since they were killing together. Dean was quite proud that they were both proclaimed number one on the most-wanted-list. For a while it’d looked like they’d never be caught... but one mistake had been enough. They’d just taken a little too much time, with a little too much enthusiasm to revel in their latest kill. Cas had looked so beautiful covered in blood, Dean just hadn’t been able to help himself. It’d been perfect. A true blood wedding. And look where it got them.

They were sitting in the back of the police car, hands cuffed, waiting to be transported to prison. The leading agent was still talking to the local authorities, probably patting their shoulders, telling them what great work they did in helping to catch the most wanted serial killers in the US. All empty phrases of course, it was written across the man’s features clear as day.

They were both quiet as they sat next to each other. No one was blaming the other. They had both known it was going to happen sooner or later. But they’d hoped to have more time together. Dean reached to the side to take Cas’ hand and squeezed gently. The other man turned to look at him and smiled, his hand squeezing back. It was a silent goodbye. Probably the last quiet moment they could share only between the two of them.

It made Dean feel slightly melancholic, knowing that their adventure was over, that they’d get separated and might never see each other again. The thought made his chest hurt.

Suddenly a car door opened and the lead agent’s partner got into the passenger seat. At first she didn’t say anything, just stared out of the windshield at her partner. Then she drew in a harsh breath and spoke, “I called the prison director. You will be in the high security tract, but you’ll be sharing a cell.”

Dean’s mind came to a sudden halt. He glanced at Cas to find their stunned expressions matching.

“Why would you do that for us?” Cas asked.

She was quiet for a long moment, then her eyes snapped up to the rearview mirror and her gaze found their still intertwined fingers. “Because I know a unique love-story when I see one. And I believe yours deserves a happy end. Or at least as close as it can get under these circumstances.”

It just didn’t add up. Why would an FBI agent care for their love-story? Did she just want to keep them tame by making sure to not separate them? Or did she follow other motives, less moral motives...? It was almost ridiculous to think that, were it not for the strange look in her eyes that spoke of hidden truths. There was something about her that made Dean wonder who she really was underneath that FBI suit.

A few more seconds ticked by until Dean managed to ask, “How’d you convince him? The prison director.”

Her eyes went back out of the window as she sighed. “It was easy. I just had to tell him why it isn’t a good idea to separate the most dangerous killers on the continent and put them into cells with other people.”

Dean snorted at that, “You’re probably not wrong.” He looked at Cas and saw his eyes smiling.

At least they would be together after all.


Their process wouldn’t be for another few months, so now that they were behind bars, they might as well get used to it. Arriving in their cell, they assessed the situation. It was small and there was only a bunk bed, but the individual beds were big enough for them both to fit. They’d make do. Dean was glad that he wouldn’t have to sleep alone, but he didn’t say it out loud, didn’t have to. He knew the feeling was mutual after all. That night they fell asleep to reverent touches and soft kisses, whispering the fear of loss into each other’s skin.

The next day was the first time they met their inmates. Most paid them no mind, only a few — probably the ones with tv privileges — looked at them in either awe or horror. Sometimes even both.

They observed quietly, collecting information about their inmates and their positions in the food chain. As they were talking to a man named Benny, hell broke loose on the other side of the hall. A tall, thin man was punching and kicking at another man on the floor, yelling profanities like “Dirty little bitch” or “Fucking fag” as he beat the young man to mush while two others were watching. The guards reacted shortly and subdued the three raging men, but not without being spit and hissed at.

Looking at Cas, Dean found burning anger in his blue eyes.

“What the fuck was that?” Dean asked Benny, who just sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes.

“His name is Alastair. You should keep away from him. Everyone does…”

“Is he always so… disrespectful?” Cas asked slowly.

Benny nodded, “You could say that. If you ask me, he’s just an asshole. Seriously, try to steer clear of him, brother. You don’t wanna get involved with him and his henchmen. Would be a pity to see your pretty faces end like that poor boy.” He nodded towards the young man who was being carried out of the room to the hospital tract.

Dean turned to look at Cas and they made eye contact. They would keep an eye on those men.


Cas just set his lunch tray onto an empty table and sat down to eat, when suddenly Dean slid smoothly into his lap.

“Dean…” He rolled his eyes dramatically but he couldn’t help but smile.

Dean gave a smirk, trying to look perfectly innocent, “Sorry, you just look too good in orange, what am I supposed to do?”

They didn’t intend to keep their relationship a secret of course, not even in here, but this was… well, he didn’t even know what this was, it was just Dean . Dean being overly touchy and flirty and overdramatic and… Yeah well, basically just Dean being Dean.

Cas shook his head but wrapped his arms around him all the same, smiling fondly.

“Well look at that…” A voice sing-songed to their left. It was Alastair, the grade A asshole who’d turned out to be in here for serial rape, followed by his two dancing monkeys whose names Dean had heard at some point but now couldn’t remember. They’d only just gotten out of solitary confinement after beating up that poor fellow, but apparently they were already looking for trouble again.

Alastair’s smile was cruel, his voice sultry when he said, “Only in here for a few days and already got yourself a little bitch.”

Cas’ look turned sour and Dean’s jaw muscles twitched, fingers jerking to grab a weapon that wasn’t there, but all of that escaped Alastair’s notice. More importantly yet, he was obviously not one of the lucky ones with tv privileges, because he just kept on talking, unaware of the danger just simmering beneath blue and green eyes, “And such a pretty one too, maybe we can share him.”

Now Cas’ eyes narrowed, his lips twisted into a sneer and he said in a low and dangerous voice, “That’s. My. Husband.”

Alastair raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t take you for a fag.”

When Dean got up, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes hard, Alastair barely reacted. Clearly he didn’t know what he got himself into… The inmates around them were watching quietly, but with interest. Some of them almost pitied Alistair. Almost. If he wasn’t so hated among the whole prison, someone might’ve even been crazy enough to help him or at least enlighten him about whom he was insulting. But as it was, everyone was just curiously watching and waiting for things to unfold.

“Oh babe, I think he really doesn’t know who he’s dealing with…” Dean said.

“I assume he hasn’t been able to watch the news lately, Dean.” Cas responded evenly.

“Maybe he should ask around a bit. I’m sure many know who we are and what we’re in for…”

Cas hummed thoughtfully, “Yes, I think you should do that. And once you’ve realized your terrible mistake, we will come to collect the prize for your insults.”

“Yeah, that sounds great, Cas,” Dean agreed and stepped right into Alastair’s space, “It’s time to go now.”

Alastair looked bewildered but his two companions seemed thoroughly scared. He would too, soon enough.

That night, they laid in bed talking about how to best skin the man without leaving evidence with the very limited resources a prison offers.


Alistair quickly learned exactly who Dean and Cas were. There was an impeccable shift in his posture, the way he carried himself. It was less aloof, his shoulders hunched, his eyes searching. He was always alert, permanently on edge, simply scared. Everyone else avoided him, even his two monkeys didn't want to be seen with him. Cas and Dean delighted in it.

“Not so strong now, huh?” Dean whispered in passing and Alastair almost jumped. What a sight to behold.

The next morning, Alastair’s body was found in the showers, skin peeled off in long stripes. There was blood everywhere, the stripes of skin strewn across the floor, one of them wrapped around his throat like a rope and another one shoved into his mouth and down his throat. Oh it had been a fun night for Dean and Cas.

There were interviews of the inmates, but no one dared to say a word about the conflict between Alastair and the killer couple. They valued their lives and the man would not be missed.

The guards never found out who killed him in such a gruesome way, but it became an unspoken rule to never make offensive jokes about sexuality. No one wanted to end like Alastair…

When after that Dean and Cas kissed in the prison yard, no one said a word.

They gained a reputation very quickly as the smart and brutal killer couple. Soon enough they found themselves on top of the food chain, even the mafia treating them with respect.

Life in prison was rather okay…


It came as a surprise when the female FBI agent showed up at the prison. Apparently she’d requested a special visit. No bars or glass walls between them, no phone needed for communication. Dean wondered what kind of connections that woman must have, because she was actually granted the visit and they were brought into a room with a table and four chairs. As soon as they were cuffed to the table, the security guard let her in. She seemed calm. Calmer than anyone should be when faced with two high caliber serial killers that had made headlines more often than they could count. And that was not because they couldn’t count very high…

She sat down opposite them and said, “Forgive me, I believe I haven’t introduced myself to you when we last met. My name is Clarice.”

There was a moment of silence before Cas asked slowly, “Why are you here?”

“Alright, straight to business…” She leaned her arms onto the table and briefly addressed the security guard in the room, “You can leave now.” Surprisingly enough, he did, and she went on. “I find you interesting. Your dynamic is… almost unique. I’ve only seen it one other time and that case has… run cold.”

“You mean that cannibal and his rogue-agent-turned-serial-killer boyfriend?” Dean asked curiously.

Clarice made a face at him but didn’t correct him.

“I heard they escaped about a year ago or something and there hasn’t been a trace of them since.” He chuckled, “Would’ve made for a really interesting double-date.”

“Yes, I’m sure of that. But let’s get back to the topic at hand. You see, I am a writer and I’d like to write about you.”

“About us?” Cas asked with that adorable head tilt of his.

“Yes. Your dynamic as a loving couple while being brutal killers is fascinating. And the story of how you found each other? Flirting and communicating over security camera footage on the news, that’s truly unique! I wanted to write a book about… well, the previously mentioned killer couple, but they escaped custody before I got the chance to bring forth my proposal. But now I am offering it to you.”

“So let me get this straight. You want to write a book about us and our love story, in exchange for…?”

And she honest to god smirked at that. “If you agree to this deal, I will visit you regularly and you will tell me your story from start to finish with every little gory detail you can remember. In exchange, I offer you certain privileges. Cigarettes are the money of prison, I can get you as many as you want. If you insist, I will even pay you in actual money, though that won't be of much use in here. You want a nicer bed? Done. A small tv? If you give me enough info, sure. A bigger cell? No problem. During my visits I can deliver all kinds of small luxuries like food, soap, whatever you need.”

“You can't possibly have that power,” Cas remarked.

It only served to make her smirk grow wider. “I shouldn’t have the power to make this visit happen. Yet, here we are, talking. I know my way around the director and the guards of this prison. My offer stands.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a plastic bottle, set it onto the table and slid it across the surface towards them. It was a bottle of lube, full and unopened. She had a very enticing argument there. They hadn’t really been able to engage in that much intimacy since their imprisonment, mainly due to the lack of lube or any suitable substitute thereof.

“Consider that an advance payment from my side.”

“Will the guards even let us take it with us?” Cas, always asking the important questions.

“They will. And they won't bother you when you… decide to use it.” She paused for a moment to let that sink in, then added, “Of course you don’t have to make a decision right now. Take the bottle and see if I’m telling the truth. I’ll be back here in a week to see how you’ve decided.” And with that she got up, signaled the guard to come back in and left.


It turned out she had told the truth. No one bothered them on the way back to their cell. No one bothered them when the bottle of lube was left, conspicuously, atop the bolted-down table in their cell.

After the first day had passed, Dean voiced the idea that perhaps Clarice had been honest with them about how much power she had, though how she had it was anyone’s guess.

Regardless, it didn’t take them long to decide that using the situation to their advantage was just far too enticing a proposition to ignore. And so, the bottle of lube moved from the table top to the bed.

No one bothered them when it was left on the mattress, on top of Cas’ crisply turned back sheets, and no one bothered them when Dean opened it. They were delightfully alone as he slicked down behind himself and presented temptingly on the thin cell mattress, opening himself slowly while Cas watched, entranced.

“So beautiful, my gorgeous husband, all mine…” Cas murmured, palming at himself almost idly as if he was observing an exquisite piece of art, rather than his panting, gaping husband.

“Mark me up, baby,” Dean begged, looking back at Cas with dark eyes. “Make me remember it, in case they change their minds.”

No one bothered them as Dean moaned under Cas’ attention, his fingers beginning to probe deep, stretch wide, rub firm circles around the red ring of Dean’s ass.

“Fuck!” Dean cussed loudly, his upper body snapping up off the bed so that he could straighten and pull Cas forward over his shoulder, their lips hard, not soft.

The kisses were frenzied with excitement, manic in a way that they could only possibly be with each other unless there was to be a corpse at the end. Dean pulled Cas’ lower lip between his teeth, biting down until a coppery tang trickled onto Cas’ tastebuds.

In response, a loving moan; Cas’ eyes rolled back in delight, his hands coming forward to claw at Dean’s hips, animalistic, his attentive stretching abandoned in favor of carving trails across Dean’s skin, joining the dots of his freckles with harsh, red lines.

Dean cried out as Cas breached him, a smooth slide straight to the hilt, but still no one bothered them.

The picture that Cas created across Dean’s back and hips — scratches deep enough to bleed — was painted with love; so few people would understand it, would see the beauty in what they made. But as Cas’ fingers trailed across Dean’s skin, his pounding deep but slow, he quilled in crimson the details of devotion. It was a love that was destructive, that was fair — neither of them would deny it. But it wasn’t destructive to them , as so many marriages were. It was a love that would destroy those around them, strangers and acquaintances alike. It was a partnership of pure chaos, controlled and honed to a knife edge.

It showed in every movement and could be heard in every shout.

Castiel pulled out at the last moment he could, to Dean’s delighted cries — adding a new paint color to the canvas of Dean’s back. He trailed his tongue up Dean’s spine before he kissed him, gathering every taste along the way; salt and copper and Cas.

They still weren’t bothered, even as Cas flipped Dean over on the mattress. He went easily, his green eyes blown wide with lust. As Cas swallowed him down Dean buried his hands in his hair, pulling at it with tight fists until Cas’ face was angled up toward him, choking and ecstatic.

Reaching up to his own beautifully stinging back, Dean rubbed a hand across his skin, gathering the trickles of blood from his spine. His back would be sore — and he’d love it. The blood Cas had spilled was too precious to waste in the sheets. Instead, he pressed his hand to Cas’ face, leaving a splayed red handprint across his skin — faint, but deliciously obvious, marking Cas back in turn, even as he fucked up into his face.

They were loud. The sheets were ruined. Cas’ lip was swollen, Dean’s back was torn up.

The way they held each other after was astonishingly gentle; whispered words and smiles in juxtaposition to the minor chaos they’d just caused. But they would always have that contrast. It was who they were.

And even if no one could understand it, no one bothered them.

It only took a week for the bottle of lube to empty. Upon hearing the news, Clarice was delighted.


“Remember how you slit that guy’s throat and smiled right into the security camera? That was the moment I fell for you, and we hadn’t even met yet!” Dean said.

Cas smiled and told him, “For me it was when you shot five people and winked at the camera.”

Clarice was watching with interest, scribbling down notes every so often while the recorder did its duty. The two men looked at each other with pure adoration, before they leaned in and shared a sweet, loving kiss.

“You always look so beautiful, drenched in blood,” Dean breathed against his husband’s lips.

Cas hummed and kissed him again.


“When we first actually met, I thought he was gonna kill me,” Dean told Clarice.

“You did almost kill me ,” Cas replied, “But then we had mind blowing sex instead, so I’m not complaining.”

“Yeah well… but our first shared kill was really mind blowing. Even comparable with the amazing sex after.”

“Oh yes. I remember like it was yesterday. The way you held the knife. Guided it through her flesh like a brush on a canvas. Delicate, but sure.”

“When you broke her neck almost effortlessly? I almost came then and there.”


“We got married in Vegas,” Dean told, taking Cas’ hand in his.

“And we consummated our marriage by killing the priest.”

“And the witness,” Dean chuckled fondly at the memory. Cas looked stunning in a suit, but even more so, when the white shirt was tinted red with blood.

They were reaching the end of their tellings. After months of regular visits, their story reached the day of their imprisonment and Clarice had everything she needed for her book. The visits turned sporadic, only serving to pay off her debt, then they stopped altogether. The small comforts she’d provided them with stayed.

Half a year later, not long after the book had been published, Dean and Castiel Winchester escaped from prison. And if a certain FBI agent smiled while reading the news in her office that day, well… no one noticed.