a/n:

I warned before, but I think it's better to do it again. There will be a rape-scene in this chapter. It's NOT who you expect, though, so that might be another warning OR it might make it better? Also, apologies for not warning for harsh language...So, WARNING: harsh language.

"Kid?"

Someone was talking to him. Had been for a while, Dean remembered but he'd been too in and out of it for the voice to register. He felt pleasantly numb and warm, didn't want to wake now, not ready yet to face the day and Sammy's scowl for once again having to eat Cheerios instead of Lucky Charms. The geek wouldn't be appeased by knowing it had been a bargain, would take it as another reason to bitch at Dad.

Dad… Wasn't Dad home? Why wouldn't he make breakfast then? And why was the bed so freaking hard? Felt like concrete.

"…, boy?"

With a jolt, Dean's brain caught up with the events. Shoplifting, gun, judge, prison. Kitchen, library, Bob O.

Bob O.

A hoarse croak was all that his dry throat managed, not even close to the threatening yell he'd wanted to make. Shit, no, he'd been knocked out. He was alone, had been pinned, to the mercy of that fucking huge-ass pervert!

Scrambling wildly, he tried to get away, relieved when he managed to do so easily. Something tangled with his legs and he was certain that it were his pants but refused to acknowledge that yet. He had to get away, away, away. Had to!

His back hit the wall, again, and he tried to stand. A sharp pain shot all through his elbow when it came in contact with the concrete and his vision, already blurred, went white for a moment. His knees buckled and he dropped back down, fists raised even though they were shaking and wouldn't do much towards protection.

Breath came in short bursts that hurt his throat, and Dean tried to dig himself into the wall. Of course to no avail.

"Hey, calm down kid. Nothing's gonna happen"

Bob sat in front of him, but far enough away to be non-threatening. Or, well. Less threatening than he already was naturally. His face was calm and looked strangely kind, no trace of the leering from before. Most importantly, the way to the door was clear and Dean taxed the amount of strength he would need to get to it and through it. Too much for his state right now.

"You ok? Want some water?" Bob asked and Dean eyed the bottle warily and shook his head. "Sure? Ok" and the man took a big swallow from the plastic-bottle himself, sighing contently. There was a considerable amount less than before, and he had swallowed, Dean was certain. Thirsty, he licked his lips and when Bob O offered it again, he nodded tentatively.

With surprising sense, the big man closed the cap and rolled the bottle over, not leaving his place and not coming closer. The water was cold and ran in a pleasant torrent down Dean's throat, hitting his stomach sudden and unexpectedly hard. He coughed, wiped his mouth, and started to take in his surroundings and his own appearance.

Dean was still clothed. That was the most important and most surprising realization. Jumpsuit where he'd last seen it, shoes and socks and buttons all like they were before. He felt beaten to a pulp, and his elbow hurt so much it was shooting arrows of pain straight to his brain, but he was pretty sure that there was no damage done that couldn't have been done with clothes on. Or that couldn't have come from his own struggles. The thing that had tangled with his legs turned out to be one of the jeans-shirts the inmates were allowed as additions to their jumpsuits.

It wasn't his, and the number on it was clearly the one on Bob's suit.

Huh.

"Huh…" was all he could say, not able to come to any reasonable conclusion on how he wasn't a debauched little victim now.

"So…" Bob scratched his bald head "so you might be wondering why I didn't… you know. Hm?"

"Yeah, well, a little? Maybe?" Dean croaked and took another swig, not leaving the man out of his gaze. He didn't trust him yet.

"I'm not like that" the inmate held up his hand when Dean scoffed in disbelief "I know, I know. It looked differently, but that's not me. Warden Markus asked me to … play a part. I'm in here for life anyway so there wouldn't be any repercussions that I could fear. Also, he trusts me to … well. Know when to stop. He was pretty wrong with that, I guess" he mumbled and looked away in what appeared to be shame.

"Wait, what? You… you played me? You fucking toyed with me? Jerked me around to … to do what? Make me break down and cry like a little bitch? For shit and giggles?"

"No!" Bob defended himself "No. Not just for shit and giggles. See, Markus… he'd seen so much around here. So many young guys come in here, no real hard-timers. They are nice, good-looking, and they get … dead in here. Next time they come here – and most do – they are in for the real stuff, angry, hard, hurting and so damn dangerous. He just thought this new program, if done right, will do some good. And if the kids get shaken a bit more than they would usually, that'd be a bonus. I just… didn't realize… it never went like today. They never freak just like you did. That was… unexpected. I'm really, really sorry"

Dean blinked. He hadn't expected that, not from the way Bob had acted around him. It had felt so fucking real, so … "What was I supposed to do? Just whimper and take it?" He was pissed. Sure, Bob might have acted really well, even his backwater-accent was gone now, but still…

"Basically, yes. That's what happened before. They broke down, begged and cried and I could talk to them. You nearly kicked my kneecap out, kid." Dean felt a surge of pride at Bob's incredulity. He wasn't a pushover, no matter how he looked! "And when you were hyperventilating, I just … kinda knocked you cold. Sorry?"

Dean gently examined his jaw, relieved when it worked ok and was only a little tight. Hyperventilating didn't sound so hard-ass anymore. Sadly, he couldn't pretend it didn't happen, or that it had come from anything but cold terror.

So at least he knew now who'd been staring holes into him all day. How he could have missed him, big and obvious as he was, Dean wasn't sure, though. "Uh, so did you stare at me all day, then? I mean, you must have some real magician-skills if I didn't spot you. You're not exactly … tiny."

"What? No, I've been here all the time, library is my place. Someone starin' at ya wasn't me, but honestly, it doesn't surprise me. You should take good care, kid. Best stay here, if you … don't feel awkward or anythin'. Oh, hey, sorry about not bringin' you to the medic, but…" it looked weird, seeing that huge man flustered and blushing "wasn't sure it'd be good. For you, I mean. Didn't want ya to not know I wasn't serious and all…"

Dean just shrugged. He did hurt, yeah, and he was pretty sure his finger was broken. He would need someone looking over that, broken bones were one thing his dad always treated very seriously, except when it was a toe. But in hindsight, it was probably smart that Bob hadn't let him just run away. If he'd run from him, he'd have been easy picking for anyone outside and if Bob wasn't the one lusting secretly after him, there was someone else out there.

Not a comforting thought.

It was awkward. Damn awkward. He tried to work around the older inmate, tried to be chatty and cool and just like he'd been before, in the kitchen. But it wasn't working.

Dean flinched whenever Bob came close and while he tried his best not to react, he knew that the man had figured it out. Strange, though, that the giant looked like he'd been chastised whenever Dean froze or jerked away.

"So, uhm… You come here often?" Dean tried for conversation and would've happily cut his tongue out when he realized what a stupid-ass sentence that was. Jeesus, had he left his brains outside? Lucky for him, Bob just smiled.

"Library is something good here. I like to read, nothing else is really entertaining. TV's the same shit every day and the talk around here's pretty low on intellect" Wow, the bald, big, towering mountain sounded like Sammy. Geeky and smart, not like the country-hick he'd pretended to be before.

"So, what did you do? I mean, not… to get here, but … uh, before?"

"Ah, kid… I used to be a structural engineer. Long time ago… Guess you can say I fucked up a bright and pretty future…" he sounded a bit sorrowful but shrugged in the end. "If you take only one thing outa here, I'm hoping it's this: never let a woman jerk you around so you don't know right from wrong anymore"

Dean nodded. What else was he to do? Not like he could tell Bob that that was one thing that'd never happen. He'd never settle for one girl anyway!

In the evening, before they got to eat a measly dinner of bread and some cheese - or if you were suicidal enough, some green salad – Dean felt it again. That prickle on his neck, the tendrils of desire making his skin itch. He didn't turn around, though, just went over to Bob's table where he'd been invited to, grinning at his newfound friend and his old comrades. The other three men looked no less intimidating. One was a huge guy that even towered over Bob, with skin as black as the coffee Dad liked to drink. Joe was his name, and the younger, smaller, slighter and nearly pretty man next to him was clearly his … yeah, how to label him? Friend? Lover? Prison-bitch?

Dean dismissed the latter. Louis was clearly not a prize, nor a possession. He was quick-witted and smart, loud-mouthed and smiled a lot. His hand kept snaking up to Joe's backside, touching whenever he felt like it. The way Joe leaned into the touch was enough to show those two weren't just bed-buddies.

Was nobody's business but theirs, Dean thought. Of course it pricked his curiosity, but he remembered the very, very uncomfortable talk he'd had with his dad one night, after making a thoughtless comment about a maybe-possibly-probably gay acquaintance. The lesson had been hard, embarrassing and very memorable.

"Uh, can I ask you something?"

"Sure" Louis grinned "Shoot"

"So… can any of you guys tell me who's looking at me right now?"

Louis took another bite of his bread, chewed and then looked over Dean's shoulder, casually and with glassy eyes. After a while, he turned to Joe who had resumed his talk with Bob and never seemed to have taken his eyes from his friend. The black man nodded and then smiled at Dean.

"Some punk-kid that came in with you is glaring daggers at your backside. Dunno what his deal is." Warren? Maybe. "And … Delmar. Of course Delmar" Joe's voice had turned icy and cold, cutting and dangerous. His arm shifted closer to Louis and Dean wondered if there'd ever happened something between the man called Delmar and the two. Probably. "Don't ever be near that fucker, kid." Joe warned "He's the guy with the scar on his face. Also, maybe you should warn the punk to be a bit more careful. Whenever Del isn't looking at you, he's licking his lips over that one. The one with the earring" he clarified, though Dean had known it was Warren. 'Punk' was exactly what he was.

Nighttime. Dean couldn't sleep, didn't dare close his eyes. He tried to shut his brain off but it wouldn't stop twisting, turning, churning. He could try and stuff his fingers in his ears, but it wouldn't do anything towards stopping the pained moans from the cell next to him, the whimpers and sniffs.

He'd tried.

He had, really. He'd gone over to Warren, tried to warn him like his friends had said. Dean had tried to explain but Warren had been stupid and had sneered at him.

"What, you wanna give me advice? Who do you think you are? Some punk-ass-kid from the suburbs? Trailer-trash, that's who you are. I saw you talking to those ass-fuckers over there"

Dean had growled at the insult to his friends, but Warren hadn't even noticed, or maybe he'd just been too stupid to take it as warning. He'd just gone on sprouting bullshit.

"And if you are comfortable with selling your ass, fine. But don't come and try cornering me, or sell my ass to anyone. I'm not gonna let anyone near me, including you, Freak. My dad's gonna tear them to pieces if anyone touches me, he's gonna make their life a living hell! So yeah, thank you for your concern… kid. But I don't need your help, or whatever you think you're doing here. Just amscray"

When Dean'd tried again to get a word in, the asshole had made honest-to-god shooing-motions towards him. And yeah, right. There was a limit of shit he'd take just so he could save someone who didn't want it, who thought of him as a lower life-form.

He'd turned around and left.

Now, Dean wanted to take it back. He wanted to go back in time, change his decision to leave. He'd tell the other boy that some people didn't care, that they had nothing to lose anyway, no matter who your father was. He'd go and punch Warren, kick him in the balls or something so he'd be in the infirmary or somewhere else, anywhere else. Just… not here. Not next to his cell, sniffing and crying and breaking Dean's heart.

It didn't matter knowing that he'd tried, that Warren had been too stubborn to accept help. It didn't matter, because it hurt to hear him, because he knew that he'd failed.

"Kid, come, I gotta… show you something in … the library" Louis tried to steer Dean away from the showers and the gym, grabbing his arm.

"The library's closed, man. I just wanna grab a shower. See how my arm's turning purple and such" Dean'd been in the infirmary after dinner, waiting in a long, endless-seeming lane to get his injuries looked at – and mocked over by the male nurse who'd called them 'baby-scratches'. At least he'd had shut up after seeing the claw-marks on his abdomen. Now, Dean's finger was wrapped against two others of his hand, his head hurt and his elbow was still stinging whenever he made a move with his arm. He only wanted to be clean, sleep and get out tomorrow. He didn't want to go look at stuff, and he didn't feel particularly trusting today of men who wanted to 'show him something'. So he twisted out of Louis grasp and went into the changing-room.

At once, two big, burly white Arian-Brotherhood-assholes stepped up to him and held him at his shoulders, not caring at the pained gasp that sneaked out when they dug their thumbs in his muscles.

"Private session" one of them growled and shoved at him. Dean was prepared to leave at once, he was, but a sob and cry made him look past the inmate.

Dean wished he hadn't. Wished he'd listened to Louis, wished he'd never seen what he had.

Warren was bent over one of the benches, arms forced behind his back. He was nearly naked, his suit piled around his knees. From this distance, Dean could see his tear-wrecked face, the black eye he was sporting and the pain, humiliation and fear that was written all over his face and deep inside his eyes. The plea for help.

Delmar, or at least who Dean assumed was Delmar, was behind the boy, fucking him with brutal thrusts and a very concentrated expression

He must have made a noise, a whimper or something because with a snap, Delmar's eyes focused on Dean and a lurid grin spread over his disfigured face.

"You can let him… in here, guys" he panted while he forced the boy beneath him further across the bench, grunting when Warren tried to wriggle away and just wrenched his arms upwards even further, grinning at the pained whimper from the boy. "I might … have time for him… to join us. He can… get that pretty mouth … of his into… good… use… Uh-uhm… Maybe … uh… for allofus… hu-uuh"

Dean didn't think, just let instinct take over. There was no doubt that Delmar was serious, no doubt those guys at the door would do – and agree to – what the scarred man suggested.

With a swift motion, he applied Dad's secret weapon. He ducked-twisted-kicked-punched one of his captors in the crotch, grabbed his balls and squeezed with all his might until the strong man buckled and whimpered. Dean squabbled back, out the door and right into Joe's arms. He yelled, nearly squeaked in fear but Joe just grabbed him up like he weighted nothing and carried him away, under his arms like a sack filled with potatoes.

Dean had struggled, a little, but had succumbed fast to the strong grip and the gentle, silent "shhhhh" from the big man. Joe had put him down somewhere far away and held him at arm's length until Bob and Louis had appeared, concernedly checking him for any kind of damage.

"We haveto… they're… Warren… Guards?" Dean'd stuttered but Bob had just shaken his head, a sad but resigned expression on his face.

"No" he'd said "If we tell anyone, our life is for shit in here"

"What?" Dean had demanded "you've just told me you didn't have anything to lose anyway, and now…"

"That might be true, kid, but I got friends who do" he'd looked over at Louis and Joe who at least had the decency to avert their gazes."Not to mention that the Arian Fuckers can make my life more than just a little miserable"

"Yeah" Joe agreed "so far, we've been able to scrape by. Me'n Louis are in no gang, since… well, Spics and Niggers don't mix well –"

"Except we do" Louis had butted in. "Kid, believe me, I would like nothing better than to get in there and kill Delmar and his minions. Nothing" he'd snarled and Joe had grabbed his neck and squeezed reassuringly, which had calmed him a little. "It's just… not reasonable. The odds of one of us getting a payback, of one of us not being vigilant enough… sorry to say that, but it's just not worth it."

"So, you're saying… if I wouldn't have run out…"

Silence had answered his unspoken question, and those sad, sorrowful looks on the faces of his newfound friends were now drifting up behind Dean's closed eyelids, right along with the never-ending pictures of Delmar raping the kid named Warren.

He just wanted to be home. He wanted his dad.

The next morning, breakfast was a somber affair. Or it was for Dean, at least. The inmates behaved like nothing had happened, and probably to them, nothing much had.

The kids, all except Warren, though, sat silent and subdued at their table, not making eye-contact with anyone.

Dean sat alone until he felt a huge hand across his rigid neck, until Bob dropped his bulk next to him. "You trying to get yourself killed here, kid? Trying to prove something?"

"What if I am? What's it to you?" he snarled, but deflated when he looked up into Bob's concerned face. "Sorry" Dean muttered "bad night"

"I know. I'm real sorry. I really am, you know? I'm in here for the long haul, dunno if I'll ever get out. But Louis and Joe? They will. Not long, just one more year and I'm sorry for that kid, but those two are my friends and I won't endanger their future or their lives. Not for some stranger-boy who pretends to be better'n anyone in here"

He looked up when Delmar crossed the room close to their table. Dean followed his gaze and put all the fury he could muster in his eyes, shooting daggers at his newfound enemy. The fucking asshole-rapist had the guts to taunt the kids - to taunt anyone who knew what'd happened - with Warren's earrings, still crusted with blood, dangling from a chain around his neck.

Dean felt a slap on his back, full of admiration if a slap can express such a thing, and Bob left his paw there until Joe and Louis joined them.

He had no idea what breakfast tasted like, or what had been on his plate.

"Dean?"

"Huh?"

"Boy, I asked you if you wanted some more gravy" Dad repeated and Dean tried to shake himself back into reality.

Reality of a shabby diner, his own clothes, his own boots - with laces! – and an annoying brother who was stuck in a book and a father who wouldn't stop giving him concerned glances, no matter how often Dean told him that he was fine.

And he was!

Dad had picked him up from prison and they'd hit the road at once. Sam had tried to bitch about leaving again to Dean but had stopped soon. They'd spent half the day inside the car, for which Dean was really grateful. His baby – still Dad's baby, really, but only nominally – soothed him and he'd slipped into sleep.

Now they were in… Arkansas? Wyoming? Who knew, who cared as long as they were miles away from that place. Dean hadn't slept well, even though his bed had been a lot more comfortable than the prison-mattress.

He might have been less talkative than before, but really, that was just because he was tired. It wasn't any reason for his dad to look at him like this, or for Sammy to be all nice to him, even offering him his pillow.

He'd tried hard not to snarl but it was hard work. Dean felt like his skin didn't fit anymore, like there was something else living inside. He couldn't get the sounds and images out of his mind and he wanted to talk to somebody, except he really, really didn't.

So, when Dad took him aside that evening and asked him if he was ok, if something happened and tried to assure him that there was nothing he couldn't tell… he just growled and turned away. It might not have lead to Dad being less concerned, he realized.

He knew he was being an ass, but he …couldn't. How could he tell what had happened, what he'd let happen? How could he explain that yes, there was friendship among thieves (or whatever) but that it stopped right with those friends, didn't extend to someone outside who needed help.

How could he make his dad understand that he felt at once like having raped Warren along with Delmar, and like having been raped himself? How?

So he did what any Winchester (except Sammy) did.

He swept it under a carefully woven carpet and took some more gravy.