I will admit for anyone interested in knowing these things that a lot of thought went into the jail of choice. Folsom was picked primarily because of its mention in the show; though considering the nature of Dean's crimes I almost placed this work of fiction in ADX Florence in Florence, Colorado. The reason Dean was not placed in maximum security, was because in maximum security you are in solitary confinement 22-23 hours a day (see: wiki, cause I'm not die-hard enough about this to find credible sources right now). It is very hard to write a fic when your character is in solitary confinement all day every day. So. He's not in maximum security, although Folsom was at one point a maximum security place. Also, for those interested, according to said wiki research, the point of maximum security in general and ADX Florence specifically is to "transfer [prisoners] to a less-restrictive prison to serve out the remainder of their terms." So yes, we may have some characters who will come from there to Folsom. Anyway, as I said, a lot of research went into this fic, so I hope you like it.

As a matter of course I feel I should tell you that I've never been to prison, I've never known anyone who has gone to prison. All things that happen and events are written from what I've garnered from movies, TV shows, and my imagination. If I get some detail wrong, just assume I'm taking an artistic license. Please don't be ridiculously mean about it. I'm looking at a few of you as I say this, so consider yourself warned.

Also, just in case anyone is wondering, unless the state is Colorado, all cities and places are made up inside this little head of mine.

And, bonus points to whoever catches The Mentalist and X men reference. They are so very small… blink, and you'll miss it…

Dean had been sentenced to life in Folsom on his eighteenth birthday. It was the first and only birthday present he'd ever received.

The court had been filled with a stony silence as the sentence was handed down by twelve jurors who could barely manage to look at him.

Dean supposed it was hard to look at what the press had dubbed, "Satan's Son."

He was being tried for twenty attempted murders, fifteen kidnappings, a bank robbery, identity fraud, credit fraud, impersonating all manner of officers and government officials, as well as half a dozen counts of grave desecration.

And that was just what they could prove. He was suspected for eleven other murders, but there had been no substantial evidence to link them to him. Before the trial had begun the police had attempted to make a deal with him; if he told them explicitly about everyone he'd ever killed they'd… well, that was the thing. They really had nothing to offer him. Nothing he wanted anyway.

In the end the officers had gone with the pity plea; the parents needed comfort, they needed to know what had happened to their babies. Dean was unmoved. His father told him what happened in situations like this. People were liars. Once Dean confessed, they could do whatever they wanted, they didn't have to come through, in fact it was almost a certainty that they wouldn't. It was true Dean was in this situation because of his father, but that didn't mean he loved the man any less, and he was nothing if not obedient. So Dean kept his mouth shut about the actual body count attributed to him. After all, he was sure even his lawyer would ditch him if he knew.

With his lack of cooperation, it was a miracle, his court appointed lawyer told him later, that he hadn't received the death penalty; it was because of his age he said. Or maybe his good looks. Or maybe it was because his father had all but forced him to do it. Trained him like an animal, encouraged him to kill.

Dean wanted to explain they'd only been trying to help. The men and women he'd killed had been monsters; he knew they were, his dad had proved it. No one, not even his lawyer, had believed him, and ultimately the DA had convinced the jury that this was some ridiculous attempt to escape responsibility through a false insanity plea.

Dean didn't try to hard to fight this opinion – he didn't want to end up drugged in some padded room.

The thing was… Dean enjoyed prison. He'd been staying there during the five week trial, and while he knew he'd be moved to a different, more secure location if, (when his lawyer would occasionally slip), they lost the case, he knew the atmosphere would stay the same. He would finally be somewhere he could call home, as weird as that sounded. He'd have some place where he had a bed of his own, maybe even a window, and, if he was lucky, a friend. That was more than he'd ever had on the run with his dad. They'd stayed in a different motel every night, and he'd never been able to make any lasting connections with anyone his own age. All he'd had was his father, and for a time that had been all he'd wanted.

It was when his dad started sending him out on his own that he'd ran into problems. Instead of killing first, he'd tried to make friends, and to his shock, people had liked him. For four memorable months he'd ran away from his dad, posing as a car mechanic named Kris Warren. He'd found a beautiful town in Battle Creek, Michigan and an even lovelier woman named Lisa Braeden, and for the first time in his life, he'd felt like he'd found his place in this world.

Then his dad had found him, and the town had all but crumbled beneath them. They'd killed almost a dozen people before they'd left, including Lisa and her young son Ben.

At the start of the trial, his lawyer, Erik Donaldson – a fat, balding man, who always smelled faintly of sweat – had tried to prepare him for what could (would Donaldson had to stop himself from saying) happen if they received a guilty verdict. He explained the death penalty and the appeals process they would have to go through. He also explained what life in prison would entail, and how the world would change for him if this happened; certain freedoms he would no longer have, and the different relationships he'd have to form with people. Dean didn't really understand the difference between life in prison and the death penalty, they both had the same end after all, but he humored Donaldson, feigning interest in their increasingly short meetings.

The trial was nothing like what he'd seen on Law and Order, and for that he was a little depressed. That had been the one highlight of those inane procedural cop shows. Rather than give dramatic speeches in chic suits, the lawyers paraded a series of witnesses and victims to the stand, some who starchy defended him, and some who condemned him to hell. Dean was happy to see some of the faces again, a girl named Cassie most especially. His lawyer cringed every time Dean grinned at the stand, and scolded him about 'intimidating' the witnesses. Dean didn't really understand how he could be perceived of doing anything of the sort, especially when the girls waved back.

A lot of the witnesses came through for Dean. Every time a witness told the jury Dean was sent by God to save mankind, Donaldson would nudge Dean's shoulder in excitement, but Dean knew it was a lost cause. He knew the moment they entered the courtroom that he was going to be found guilty. When the gavel fell for the last time it was a relief. Those chairs got rather uncomfortable after a while.

After the trial Dean was processed. It was awkward; especially the very… thorough… search for weapons, but Dean had dealt with much worse. After the cops had had their fun Dean was forced into a jumpsuit, shackled ankles to wrists, and lead outside to his transport; a large bus with a gate halfway down that separated the prisoners from the front. Dean was the only prisoner there, but it was clear no chances were being taken as three armed guards watched him from outside the gate, and one unarmed guard watched him from inside. Dean put on his most charming smile. "A little light today, eh?"

The guards glared.

Dean smiled and turned his back on them, giving the landscape his full attention.

Folsom State Prison was nothing like what he was expecting. For one thing it was large and sprawling; more like a small city than a prison. For another, there was a baseball diamond. That's right, a fucking baseball diamond. One of the guards laughed. "That's for A block only little boy."

Dean frowned curiously. "A block?" For half a second a small part of him wanted to ask, a block of what?

"Shut up, Jim." Another guard answered. He was the unarmed guard who sat with him on the inside of the gate. He was older than the others, and had a dark beard that was slowly turning grey. He turned to Dean. "I believe that if we treat our…guests with respect they will grant us the same luxury, isn't that right?" The last bit was aimed at Dean. Dean felt a smile touch his face, the first honest one in a long while.

"Yeah, that's right."

"A block is minimum security; folks who've been convicted for non violent crimes."

Dean nodded. "In other words, not where I'm going."

The guard grinned.

A few minutes later the bus pulled up outside of a chain link fence topped with barbed wire. It slowly slid open and the bus pushed inside. Outside the window Dean could see tons of inmates in the yard; most of them stopped what they were doing to watch the bus drive by.

The next time the bus stopped, the gate was opened and he was led down the four steps and out the sliding door; a new set of guards waited outside, dressed in Folsom Prison uniforms and carrying high powered rifles. They stopped him just outside the bus. Dean knew they would. This was like every clichéd prison movie ever.

There was only one guard who wasn't holding his weapon at the ready; instead it was slung over one shoulder, complimenting the cruel smile on his face. While he was roughly the same height as the guards he was standing with, the way he carried himself made him seem much taller. It was clear he was the man in charge.

He moved forward, stopping directly in front of Dean. He wasn't officially in Dean's space, but Dean could tell the guard was trying to show his dominance. Dean did his best not to roll his eyes. The guard nodded to the others standing just behind Dean. "We'll take over from here." He grinned at Dean. His eyes flashed in the light and for a moment they reflected yellow.

Dean stiffened.

They weren't black, but that didn't change anything. A demon? Already? He knew they'd come for him but… His hands twitched, reaching for the gun he no longer carried. The one filled with rock salt.

"Welcome to Folsom Prison." The demon said. "I'm Captain Exley. I am your new master. I will tell you when you sleep, when you eat, when you walk and who you talk too, you get me? You obey me, and your time here might be a little easier. You don't, and well…" he chuckled, "you'll get to see exactly why they put me in charge of scum like you. Now move it."

Dean didn't move; he had already stopped listening. Demon's lie; they'll say whatever they want to trick you into believing them. It didn't matter what the bastard was saying.

The demon frowned, and two of the nameless guards moved forward and grabbed Dean's arms. They tried to move him forward, but Dean resisted, his eyes locked on Exley. "Christo." He said.

Exley flinched. "Move him inside. Now."

Dean smirked, and as the guards shoved him passed the Captain he leaned in as close as he could. "I know what you are, you yellow-eyed bitch."

Exley snarled, but Dean had already been moved away. A dark smile crossed Dean's face. The hunt had begun.

He was processed again. The searched him for weapons again, as though he could have obtained one on his wonderful bus ride over. The whole process took longer than Dean had expected. He was stripped of the blue jumpsuit he'd arrived in and forced into an orange coverall all the maximum security prisoners wore. It made them easy to find if they tried to run away in the empty expanse surrounding the prison. His new attire had Folsom Prison stamped on the back, and his prison number stamped on the front: 214782. Before he left the room he was handed a large stack of cloth; he was given a blanket, a jacket, a tooth brush, and a roll of toilet paper. No one spoke to him, and when they'd finished the guards grouped around him once more and lead him from the room.

Now began the long walk to his cell.

Dean was expecting the typical movie scene, with inmates cat calling and throwing shit, sometimes literally, at him.

Instead the walk was almost silent.

Inmates watched him pass, leaning on the walls or bars of their cells, tracking him as he proceeded further down the hallway.

Dean watched them with almost the same intensity they watched him. He'd already found one demon today, and he was on the look out for more. The guards misinterpreted his interest, and as they stopped outside his new cell one of them clapped a hand on his back. "It's okay kid. You're very pretty. I'm sure you'll make all kinds of new friends." He used his hand to shove Dean forward into the cell, and then the door shut behind him, locking soundly into place.

The cell was small and dark. It contained a sink, a toilet and a bunk bed. The top cast a deep shadow over the bottom bunk, obscuring his view of his new roommate. All he could see were a set of long legs hanging over the side.

"Hi" Dean tried. He extended a hand towards the shadow. Behind him a guard snickered, and he felt more than heard them walk away. He figured they thought this was part of his punishment, and they would conveniently not be around to help him when the fight broke out. Fuck them. He didn't need their help. "I'm –"

"I know who you are." The man moved into the light.

Dean blinked.

The guy was huge. Not in the sense that movie stars were. He wasn't a mountain of flesh and muscle. He was broad across the chest, and even though he was sitting it was clear he was at least a head taller than Dean was. Dean wasn't sure if he'd win in a fight, but he'd sure as hell try. The guy didn't move to stand though; just watch him. "You're Dean Winchester. They guy everyone's been talking about. Satan's Son, right?"

Dean cringed. "I hate that fucking name. I mean, how cheesy can you be?"

The guy laughed. Dean grinned. He liked the guy already.

Dean moved forward and dumped his crap on the top bunk; he sat down next to his new roomie. He stuck out his hand again. "Dean."

The guy smiled and shook his head, but he took Dean's hand, so he counted it as a win. "Sam."

"So what are you in for, Sam?"

"You mean what did I do, or what am I in for?"

Dean laughed. "Is there a difference?"

Sam's eyes darkened. "Yes."

The usual carefree smile slid from Dean's face, and his true expression, one of dark intensity shown through. "Tell me the truth, and I'll tell you mine."

Sam frowned distrustfully.

"What?"

"You never know who might sell you out in here."

Dean laughed. "You've heard about me. Satan's Son and all that, right? You know what I'm in here for. You know I'll probably die here."

A slight smile appeared on Sam's face. "Probably?"

Dean smirked. "Probably. What could I possibly sell you out for? If anything I should be worried you'll sell me out."

Dean wasn't sure if that would work, but after a moment Sam seemed to come to a decision. He looked around carefully and leaned in. "I'm in here because my girlfriend, ex girlfriend now I suppose, set me up. She got me good and drunk. Good and high really, and then told the cops where I was."

"Bitch. What was her name?"

"Ruby."

"So what'd they charge you with?"

"A robbery gone wrong. I held up some pissant diner in the middle of no where, and someone tried to be a hero. I, we really, ended up killing everybody in there."

"How many?"

"Six."

"So what's the story behind that?"

"What do you mean?"

"The story. There has to be a story behind something like that. How you two met, what else you got up to, what you are really guilty of, all that."

Sam laughed. "And why the fuck should I tell you?"

Dean grinned. "Who else you gonna tell?"

"God?"

Dean laughed. "Not where you and I are going, friend."

Nothing in Sam's face changed, but it seemed his expression seemed to hardened; his smile became razor sharp. "Thought you were a righteous man, Dean."

Dean shook his head and stood up, climbing into his bunk. "I don't believe in God. Not after the things I've seen."

"That doesn't mean He doesn't believe in you."

"You're right." Dean conceded. "Maybe God exists. But if He does, He's an asshole."

Somewhere below him Sam laughed. "I'd ask what you're in here for, but I think I already know."

"Light's out." A voice intoned beyond the bar's of Dean's new home. Within seconds the lights extinguished and they were plunged into darkness. Dean crossed his arms behind his head and listened to the sounds of the prison at night. "You know the bare bones, most of them anyway, but you don't know the story."

There was a pause. "Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine." Sam said it so softly Dean almost didn't catch it.

"It's a long story."

"We've got a long time."

Dean smiled into the darkness. "We'll see."

Somewhere someone was crying. He continued for a few minutes before someone else shouted for him to shut the fuck up. Dean closed his eyes. Yes, he had a home now. And he even had a friend. All in all, not a bad birthday.

So…. I know I've been writing a lot of police drama, court cases… well, here's a look at what would happen in, let's say, jail. Thoughts? Opinions? Words of undying love? Let me know! Review!