In Eight Months Time part 1/?
Title: In Eight Months Time
Pairing/ Charaters: Dean/cas, mentions of Sam, Ellen
Ratings: PG-13 (language) NC-17 later
Warnings: None.... Porn?
Spoilers: None, Au
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW
Summary: Deans been caught by the long arm of the law and sentenced to a few months on a ranch correctional facility
AN: I would just like to say that there is no way that i could let the supernatural fandom world go without too many fictions of Dean and Cas... so it was in my brain and now its on the internet.
"Your choice, Winchester, twelve months in the cell or eight months at the farm. Either one is sure to show you that you need to be punished for your actions." The judge's glare bore a hole into Dean's chest and he shifted uncomfortably, the handcuffs and shackles not helping the discomfort.
Dean didnt exactly know how working on a ranch would help him keep out of trouble, but hey, it beat jail, right? Dean made his decision quickly.
"The ranch, please, your honor," Dean said, trying to look as sorry as possible, hoping the judge would take pity on him. The judge nodded and said a sentence that would change Dean's life forever.
"I sentence you, Dean Winchester, to eight months on Falcon Ranch Correctional Facillity." He let the gavel drop down onto the block of wood and it sent a sound, similar to that of a whip crack, shooting through the courtroom. The judge stood and nodded at Dean, and two Bailifes came from either side of the courtroom. Each man grabbed one of Dean's arms and dragged him to the bus that would take him back to his cell for the very last time.
"Say your goodbyes, Winchester," the guard leading Dean said, "because for the next eight months, your best friends are gonna be cows, cowboy!" He undid Deans cuffs and jammed him into his cell, closing the barred metal doors behind him and locking them shut.
"So, what's the sentence?" A voice asked from behind. Dean groaned and climbed onto his bunk, trying to ignore his cellmate, who always seemed to be in his buisness.
"Man, just leave me alone, I was just manhandled all the here from the courtroom," Dean sighed.
"C'mon, just tell me!"
"Oh yeah, the sentence was, uh, fuck you," Dean snarked as he turned to face his cell wall.
"Oh ha-ha, very funny," his roommate shook his shoulders, "c'mon, dont hold out on me now!" He was practically begging.
"Fuck, Andy, okay! Ive got eight months on some ranch in the middle of bumfuck Nevada, ya happy?" Andy stood back and sat down on his bunk. Dean rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling utnil the guards came around and yelled for lights out. He wasnt sure what the next day had in store for him, but there was no backing down now.
The bus drive was long and hot; they didnt bother putting AC in prision busses, thats for sure. He could feel his orange suit begin to stick to his back as he sweated more and more. When he looked around, all he saw were men glareing at him or at someone else. He caught sight of a man passing a shiv to someone else, and he turned away. He had no plans to get wrapped up in gang warfare just because he accidently saw someone passing weapons.
Dean turned to his left and looked past the man sitting next to him to look out the window. There wasnt much to see, based on the fact that they were on the edge of the Nevada desert. There was a bit of cacti that would zip past the bus every now and then, but for the most part all Dean was seeing was stretches of desert sand that went on for what seemed like forever.
In the edge of his sight, Dean can see his benchmate eyeing him. It's the third time Dean's caught this guy so blatently stareing at him and everytime it makes him uncomfortable.
The fact that Dean is younger than almost everyone in the bus makes him the most targeted for stares. The men here have been seperated from women for too long, and have no problem what so ever staring at Dean, letting him know exactly what they want from him. He shifted in his seat, practically bending in half so he could bring a cuffed hand up to rub his neck. He kept his gazed trained down on the floor between his feet in an attempt to dodge gazes.
"Two miles to Falcon Correctional Facillity!" the bus driver called. Dean felt a weight lift from his chest. He was so close to being away from these men- well some of them- and even closer to the privacy he had been denined in the last three months that he was being held in jail. He felt his neighbors eyes on him again and he lifted his head. The man sitting next to him was smiling.
"Youre going to that ranch, arent you, pretty boy?" the man asked. Pretty boy was an unfortunate name that Dean had picked up in jail and, to Deans discomfort, it stuck.
"Yeah," was Deans answer. It was short and rude and all the man was getting for an answer. The man chuckled and Dean scowled back at him.
"You better watch out down there, pretty boy, I heard the men down there are real hands on." He ended his sentence with a laugh and Dean returned his head to its past hanging position. Two more miles, he thought to himself. He couldnt wait to get off the bus.
"Alvera, Marshall, Schmidt, Smith, Walsh, and Winchester. If your name was just called, youre getting off here. C'mon ladies, hands above your head, eyes facing forward. You will be uncuffed and escorted. Try anything funny, and we'll put you right back on this bus and you'll serve out your sentence in jail instead. Lets move!" The guards unlocked the bus' barrier that seperated the driver from the inmates and walked down the isle. Dean raised his hands and watched as a few other men on the bus did the same. Guards filed through the seats, unlocking man after man.
Dean raised his arms a bit higher as his guard approached him. They man eyed Dean as he lowered to one knee to undo Dean's ankle cuffs, detatching him from the seat. When Dean stood, the guard immediately latched onto Deans elbows, pulling them close behind his back. Dean tried to wiggle a bit to get to a more relaxed position, but the guard held fast and just tightened his grip, leaving Dean more uncomfortable now than he was before.
The bus went down the road to wait for the guards, leaving clouds of dust in its wake. Dean squinted past the rising dust to get his first glimpse at the place he will call home for the next eight months. Dean had never expected a ranch to be this big, but he was wrong.
The first thing Dean notices is the crude wooden fence that marks the property line, and how it wraps around the land backwards, so far that it goes out of sight. When the dust settles, Dean can make out a three-story house, with four rows of windows placed horizontally on the face of the house. Around the house wraps a porch, with only three things on it; a rocking chair and a swinging bench. To the right of these things sits a the front door, once painted red. Now, though, you can see the brown wood of the door peeking out in areas behind the red. The off-white color of the house, however, has seemed to hold, making the door stand out. To the left of the house, about fifty yards away, sat a large barn, and to the barns left, a smaller shed rested in the barns shadow. Dean could see a few more pens and other structure's outlines in the distance, but he couldnt exactly make them out.
Dean was torn from his sight seeing when the guard holding him shoved him forward, forcing his feet to move. As the group of men drew closer to the house, they could make out a women's figure standing in front of the house. She was wearing a collared flannel shirt tucked into her jeans, the outfit held together with a leather belt. Cowboy boot-clad feet were crossed and she leaned againts the porches beams, cowgirl hat tipped low so the approaching men could just barely make out sunglasses beyond the rim of the hat. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail.
"Hello boys," the woman called. "My name's Ellen. The more cooperative you are, the faster you get to leave and never come back. Now lets show you around, shall we?" Ellen walked to her right and showed the men the horse stables- the barn that Dean was staring at earlier. He found out that the little shed to the left of the barn was a feed shed, stuffed full of hay and grain and other things that the twenty two horses would need. She then started heading north, towards a rather large pen that held long horned bulls. She made her point clear- these bulls are not to be screwed with; one horn to the right place and it was all over for you. She went to her right and crossed about two-hundred yards before stopping in front of an arena.
Ellen leaned against the plastic fencing of the dirt arena. "This right here, boys, will be your home until you learn how to properly ride a horse. Crash courses are all we have here, so learn fast!" She walk a little bit further and showed the six men a turnout area for the horses along with a well that was used when the cattle wranglers went on a trip.
When the men returned from the tour, they were all sweating, the backs of their shirts sticking to skin. Ellen put one hand in her pocket and scanned over each of the men, eyes training on Dean for an extra second, noticing how he had his head down looking at his feet where most of the men were holding their heads high. She continued scanning and when she got to the last man she spoke.
"Alright boys, your lovely guards are gonna let you go now, and you can come join me in the front room once youre released." Ellen turned and walked into the house, and once she was out of sight, the guards started unlocking the men. Dean was out in the open without cuffs for the first time in a long time, and it felt great. He rubbed his wrists, the frayed skin protesting his touch with pain, as he walked up the three steps to get to the front door of the house, which stood open. Once he entered, Dean knew he could get used to living in a nice place like this.
The second Dean stepped inside the house, he was presented with a large room, complete with two small tables, several lounge chairs, a couple of well-placed indoor plants, and a fireplace (Ellen mentioned that it can get rather cold during the nights, despite the heat of the day). Dean stopped in front of Ellen and the other men with still-scanning eyes. He picked up on a staircase that was around the corner to left, and a kitchen to the right, pushed back and slightly down a hallway. To his direct left there was a very short hallway and at the end of it was a door labeled Private. Dean was stolen from his thoughts when Ellen began to talk.
"Okay, listen up, 'cause this will only be said once. First off, fighting here will not be tolerated. One outbreak and both participants will be ejected from this ranch and sent straight back to the jail you came from. Second, unlike your beloved jail, you will all have separate rooms, and everything that you came into the jail with is already waiting for you in your rooms. Breakfast is at five thirty, so be up and ready to work by them, because right after breakfast is done and over with at seven, you will be sent off to your assigned areas. Dinner is at nine and ends at ten. If you miss either meals, that is on you; there will be no lunch, save for beef jerky if youre working cattle." Ellen scanned the men again, making sure that they understood every words she said. "'Kay, now for rooms," she said as she walked to a bookshelf and pulled out a log in book. "Okay, here are your rooms: Alvera, first floor, room 34. Marshall, second floor, 201. Schmidt, second level, room 224. Smith, first level, room 92. Walsh, first level, room 76, and Winchester, third level, room 279. You may go to your rooms and get situated, but be down for dinner because after, youll be getting your job assignments." Ellen turned and walked through the door labeled Private. Dean looked around the floor level of the house for a while, deciding that he would spend his free time here in the lobby reading, before going up the three flight of stairs to his room.
When Dean opened his door, he was pleased to find a queen sized bed, a dresser, a small bookshelf, and a nightstand waiting for him. He shut the door behind him and walked over to the bed, laying a hand on it, as if to make sure it was really there. He went to take a step to sit on the bed when he tripped over a bundle of fabric on the floor, landing face first onto the mattress. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and flipped around to investigate just what it was that had tripped him, and smiled when he saw it.
Lying on the floor in between his bed and a night-stand, was his green duffle bag that he walked into the jail with. He reached down and unzipped it, pulling out its contents; a old shirt, a pair of jeans, a worn leather jacket, a hilted buck knife, a (surprisingly) resgistered pistol, and an old zippo lighter. Dean smiled down at his belongings and returned them to their place to the floor. He pulled off his orange jumper and jammed it into the trashcan near his door. He then turned to his duffle-bag and pulled on his jeans, top, and leather jacket. He lied down on his back on his bed and stared at the ceiling (a habbit he picked up in jail where there wasnt much more to look at) and thought about what this ranch could mean for him.
At Nine, only an hour and a half after he had arrived to the ranch, Dean headed downstairs for dinner. The room reminded him of the jail in a way, with its mess-hall-like qualities. There was a few men standing behind a counter, serving out food to the other men going down the strip in a line, trays outheld. The seating was similar to mess hall as it had three rows of tables, each row having four tables in it, and each table seating six men. There was a light chatter of comeraderies made in their time here and the metallic clanking of trays as men go to their tables to sit. Once Dean gets his food, he stands at the end of the line awkwardly, trying to find a place to sit, before he forfeights his pride and goes to one of the more empty tables at the back of the mess hall. He sat down stiffly and raised a forkful of food to his mouth- it was quite possibly the best food he's had since his high school years.
Once most of the mess hall was done eating, Ellen appeared from her room and called for everyone's attention. She was once again holding a large log book in both hands.
"Okay, for all you new guys here, its time for your jobs. Alvera, you'll be in feed, as will Marshall. Schmidt, you're working on turn out. Smith, you'll be working the horse stables, feeding and that great stuff. Walsh, you've got kitchen, so stay here when you're all dismissed. And... Winchester, you get cattle," she flipped through a couple more pages. "Oh and we have some reassignments. Daker, Laken, and Palmer, you've been reassigned. Daker, you're turnout, Palmer, you're working on the training arena, but that's only until it's completely weeded, we dont want the horses eating with their bits on. And last, but definitely not least, we have Laken, and you're being moved to cattle." Ellen slammed the cover of her log book shut and tucked it under her left arm.
"You're setting me up with the new kid, aren't ya', Ell?" The man Dean assumed to be Laken hollered. Ellen glared at Laken, but a smile slipped onto her face.
"Yeah, I am, and if you have a problem with that, you can stay here and work kitchen duty for the rest of your sentence." Ellen threw a smirk his way, and he returned it with an eye roll and a small smile.
"Get to work," Ellen said. And with that, she returned to her room. Dean looked around for a moment before he was approached by Laken. He looked at him with wide eyes and Laken just shook his head.
"Well, we have work to do, so stop gawking and go run up and get your hat," Laken ordered. Dean stared for a few more seconds before he finally went into in action, climbing the flight of stairs, quickly grabbing his hat, and rushing back down to a waiting Laken. He turned out the door and walked to the horse stables, Dean following behind. When Laken threw the barn doors open, Dean was assaulted by the violent smell of horse manure, and immediately slammed a hand over his face. Laken glanced back at him and laughed.
"Man, if you think this is bad, just wait 'til you go past the long-horns... those things are out of control." Laken walked over to a stall and grabbed a halter off of its hook next to the stall's door.
Dean stayed put and watched what he did. "I've been," he said, "not a fan." Laken chuckled and brought out a large black horse. He walked it over to Dean, and Dean could barely see over the shoulders of the massive beast.
"You ever been on a horse before?" Laken asked. Dean shook his head. "Hm, well, they're real simple. This here is Chev; a beaut if I ever saw one. She's real sweet and will take to you in an instant. And, best of all, she's all yours as long as you're here." Laken handed the lead rope off to Dean, and he took it willingly, standing next to Chev to rub at her neck. Laken walked a bit further down the barn and stopped in front another door. He pulled an equally large horse from that stall, the most distinct difference was that this horse was a ashy grey instead of a midnight black.
"Who's that?" Dean asked about the horse. Laken looked back at him and smiled.
"Oh this, this is Count. He's a little diablo but I love him, all the same."
Laken led Dean to the tack room, where he showed him the parts of the saddle and bridle, and just how tight the girth was supposed to be. Then he attempted to teach Dean how to mount Chev.
"Holy mother of hell, Dean. It ain't that hard to mount a friggin' horse! Just put your damned foot in the stirrup and swing your leg over the horse's back." Dean drew in a breath and did what Laken told him to, finally getting seated in the saddle. "Finally," Laken sighed, mounting his own horse.
They rode out to the training arena, where Laken taught Dean how to rope a cow; first from the ground and then on horseback. Within an hour, Dean was roping the gimmick cattle head like he'd been doing it since he was four. Laken shook his head in disbelief as they walked their horses back to the stable.
"Screw you, Winchester," Laken mumbled as he and Dean put their horses back in their stalls. Dean turned and gave him a strange look.
"For...?" Dean asked.
"For catching on so quickly, you know, to all this. It took me four days to perfect what you did today, and you just waltz in here and bust it out in one. Just, screw you for being a natural, that's all," Laken said, walking out of the barn and shutting the doors behind him.
Dean chuckled, "Aww, Laken, I'm flattered."
Laken rolled his eyes. "Fuck you. By the way, the name's Ashton, but everyone calls me Ash." Dean nodded.
"Dean, but everyone from the jail calls me either Winchester or pretty boy," he admitted. Laken- Ash threw his head back in a roaring laugh and Dean felt is face grow hot.
"Oh man, hah! That's too good." He swiped a hand under his watering eyes, smiling at Dean.
"Whatever, man," Dean grumbled. They reached the foot of the stairs and said their goodbyes, and when Dean reached his room, he was glad that he had actually met someone that he could call a companion. He stripped down to his boxers and fell asleep right as his head hit his pillow.
Pairing/ Charaters: Dean/cas, mentions of Sam, Ellen
Ratings: PG-13 (language) NC-17 later
Warnings: None.... Porn?
Spoilers: None, Au
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW
Summary: Deans been caught by the long arm of the law and sentenced to a few months on a ranch correctional facility
AN: I would just like to say that there is no way that i could let the supernatural fandom world go without too many fictions of Dean and Cas... so it was in my brain and now its on the internet.
"Your choice, Winchester, twelve months in the cell or eight months at the farm. Either one is sure to show you that you need to be punished for your actions." The judge's glare bore a hole into Dean's chest and he shifted uncomfortably, the handcuffs and shackles not helping the discomfort.
Dean didnt exactly know how working on a ranch would help him keep out of trouble, but hey, it beat jail, right? Dean made his decision quickly.
"The ranch, please, your honor," Dean said, trying to look as sorry as possible, hoping the judge would take pity on him. The judge nodded and said a sentence that would change Dean's life forever.
"I sentence you, Dean Winchester, to eight months on Falcon Ranch Correctional Facillity." He let the gavel drop down onto the block of wood and it sent a sound, similar to that of a whip crack, shooting through the courtroom. The judge stood and nodded at Dean, and two Bailifes came from either side of the courtroom. Each man grabbed one of Dean's arms and dragged him to the bus that would take him back to his cell for the very last time.
"Say your goodbyes, Winchester," the guard leading Dean said, "because for the next eight months, your best friends are gonna be cows, cowboy!" He undid Deans cuffs and jammed him into his cell, closing the barred metal doors behind him and locking them shut.
"So, what's the sentence?" A voice asked from behind. Dean groaned and climbed onto his bunk, trying to ignore his cellmate, who always seemed to be in his buisness.
"Man, just leave me alone, I was just manhandled all the here from the courtroom," Dean sighed.
"C'mon, just tell me!"
"Oh yeah, the sentence was, uh, fuck you," Dean snarked as he turned to face his cell wall.
"Oh ha-ha, very funny," his roommate shook his shoulders, "c'mon, dont hold out on me now!" He was practically begging.
"Fuck, Andy, okay! Ive got eight months on some ranch in the middle of bumfuck Nevada, ya happy?" Andy stood back and sat down on his bunk. Dean rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling utnil the guards came around and yelled for lights out. He wasnt sure what the next day had in store for him, but there was no backing down now.
The bus drive was long and hot; they didnt bother putting AC in prision busses, thats for sure. He could feel his orange suit begin to stick to his back as he sweated more and more. When he looked around, all he saw were men glareing at him or at someone else. He caught sight of a man passing a shiv to someone else, and he turned away. He had no plans to get wrapped up in gang warfare just because he accidently saw someone passing weapons.
Dean turned to his left and looked past the man sitting next to him to look out the window. There wasnt much to see, based on the fact that they were on the edge of the Nevada desert. There was a bit of cacti that would zip past the bus every now and then, but for the most part all Dean was seeing was stretches of desert sand that went on for what seemed like forever.
In the edge of his sight, Dean can see his benchmate eyeing him. It's the third time Dean's caught this guy so blatently stareing at him and everytime it makes him uncomfortable.
The fact that Dean is younger than almost everyone in the bus makes him the most targeted for stares. The men here have been seperated from women for too long, and have no problem what so ever staring at Dean, letting him know exactly what they want from him. He shifted in his seat, practically bending in half so he could bring a cuffed hand up to rub his neck. He kept his gazed trained down on the floor between his feet in an attempt to dodge gazes.
"Two miles to Falcon Correctional Facillity!" the bus driver called. Dean felt a weight lift from his chest. He was so close to being away from these men- well some of them- and even closer to the privacy he had been denined in the last three months that he was being held in jail. He felt his neighbors eyes on him again and he lifted his head. The man sitting next to him was smiling.
"Youre going to that ranch, arent you, pretty boy?" the man asked. Pretty boy was an unfortunate name that Dean had picked up in jail and, to Deans discomfort, it stuck.
"Yeah," was Deans answer. It was short and rude and all the man was getting for an answer. The man chuckled and Dean scowled back at him.
"You better watch out down there, pretty boy, I heard the men down there are real hands on." He ended his sentence with a laugh and Dean returned his head to its past hanging position. Two more miles, he thought to himself. He couldnt wait to get off the bus.
"Alvera, Marshall, Schmidt, Smith, Walsh, and Winchester. If your name was just called, youre getting off here. C'mon ladies, hands above your head, eyes facing forward. You will be uncuffed and escorted. Try anything funny, and we'll put you right back on this bus and you'll serve out your sentence in jail instead. Lets move!" The guards unlocked the bus' barrier that seperated the driver from the inmates and walked down the isle. Dean raised his hands and watched as a few other men on the bus did the same. Guards filed through the seats, unlocking man after man.
Dean raised his arms a bit higher as his guard approached him. They man eyed Dean as he lowered to one knee to undo Dean's ankle cuffs, detatching him from the seat. When Dean stood, the guard immediately latched onto Deans elbows, pulling them close behind his back. Dean tried to wiggle a bit to get to a more relaxed position, but the guard held fast and just tightened his grip, leaving Dean more uncomfortable now than he was before.
The bus went down the road to wait for the guards, leaving clouds of dust in its wake. Dean squinted past the rising dust to get his first glimpse at the place he will call home for the next eight months. Dean had never expected a ranch to be this big, but he was wrong.
The first thing Dean notices is the crude wooden fence that marks the property line, and how it wraps around the land backwards, so far that it goes out of sight. When the dust settles, Dean can make out a three-story house, with four rows of windows placed horizontally on the face of the house. Around the house wraps a porch, with only three things on it; a rocking chair and a swinging bench. To the right of these things sits a the front door, once painted red. Now, though, you can see the brown wood of the door peeking out in areas behind the red. The off-white color of the house, however, has seemed to hold, making the door stand out. To the left of the house, about fifty yards away, sat a large barn, and to the barns left, a smaller shed rested in the barns shadow. Dean could see a few more pens and other structure's outlines in the distance, but he couldnt exactly make them out.
Dean was torn from his sight seeing when the guard holding him shoved him forward, forcing his feet to move. As the group of men drew closer to the house, they could make out a women's figure standing in front of the house. She was wearing a collared flannel shirt tucked into her jeans, the outfit held together with a leather belt. Cowboy boot-clad feet were crossed and she leaned againts the porches beams, cowgirl hat tipped low so the approaching men could just barely make out sunglasses beyond the rim of the hat. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail.
"Hello boys," the woman called. "My name's Ellen. The more cooperative you are, the faster you get to leave and never come back. Now lets show you around, shall we?" Ellen walked to her right and showed the men the horse stables- the barn that Dean was staring at earlier. He found out that the little shed to the left of the barn was a feed shed, stuffed full of hay and grain and other things that the twenty two horses would need. She then started heading north, towards a rather large pen that held long horned bulls. She made her point clear- these bulls are not to be screwed with; one horn to the right place and it was all over for you. She went to her right and crossed about two-hundred yards before stopping in front of an arena.
Ellen leaned against the plastic fencing of the dirt arena. "This right here, boys, will be your home until you learn how to properly ride a horse. Crash courses are all we have here, so learn fast!" She walk a little bit further and showed the six men a turnout area for the horses along with a well that was used when the cattle wranglers went on a trip.
When the men returned from the tour, they were all sweating, the backs of their shirts sticking to skin. Ellen put one hand in her pocket and scanned over each of the men, eyes training on Dean for an extra second, noticing how he had his head down looking at his feet where most of the men were holding their heads high. She continued scanning and when she got to the last man she spoke.
"Alright boys, your lovely guards are gonna let you go now, and you can come join me in the front room once youre released." Ellen turned and walked into the house, and once she was out of sight, the guards started unlocking the men. Dean was out in the open without cuffs for the first time in a long time, and it felt great. He rubbed his wrists, the frayed skin protesting his touch with pain, as he walked up the three steps to get to the front door of the house, which stood open. Once he entered, Dean knew he could get used to living in a nice place like this.
The second Dean stepped inside the house, he was presented with a large room, complete with two small tables, several lounge chairs, a couple of well-placed indoor plants, and a fireplace (Ellen mentioned that it can get rather cold during the nights, despite the heat of the day). Dean stopped in front of Ellen and the other men with still-scanning eyes. He picked up on a staircase that was around the corner to left, and a kitchen to the right, pushed back and slightly down a hallway. To his direct left there was a very short hallway and at the end of it was a door labeled Private. Dean was stolen from his thoughts when Ellen began to talk.
"Okay, listen up, 'cause this will only be said once. First off, fighting here will not be tolerated. One outbreak and both participants will be ejected from this ranch and sent straight back to the jail you came from. Second, unlike your beloved jail, you will all have separate rooms, and everything that you came into the jail with is already waiting for you in your rooms. Breakfast is at five thirty, so be up and ready to work by them, because right after breakfast is done and over with at seven, you will be sent off to your assigned areas. Dinner is at nine and ends at ten. If you miss either meals, that is on you; there will be no lunch, save for beef jerky if youre working cattle." Ellen scanned the men again, making sure that they understood every words she said. "'Kay, now for rooms," she said as she walked to a bookshelf and pulled out a log in book. "Okay, here are your rooms: Alvera, first floor, room 34. Marshall, second floor, 201. Schmidt, second level, room 224. Smith, first level, room 92. Walsh, first level, room 76, and Winchester, third level, room 279. You may go to your rooms and get situated, but be down for dinner because after, youll be getting your job assignments." Ellen turned and walked through the door labeled Private. Dean looked around the floor level of the house for a while, deciding that he would spend his free time here in the lobby reading, before going up the three flight of stairs to his room.
When Dean opened his door, he was pleased to find a queen sized bed, a dresser, a small bookshelf, and a nightstand waiting for him. He shut the door behind him and walked over to the bed, laying a hand on it, as if to make sure it was really there. He went to take a step to sit on the bed when he tripped over a bundle of fabric on the floor, landing face first onto the mattress. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and flipped around to investigate just what it was that had tripped him, and smiled when he saw it.
Lying on the floor in between his bed and a night-stand, was his green duffle bag that he walked into the jail with. He reached down and unzipped it, pulling out its contents; a old shirt, a pair of jeans, a worn leather jacket, a hilted buck knife, a (surprisingly) resgistered pistol, and an old zippo lighter. Dean smiled down at his belongings and returned them to their place to the floor. He pulled off his orange jumper and jammed it into the trashcan near his door. He then turned to his duffle-bag and pulled on his jeans, top, and leather jacket. He lied down on his back on his bed and stared at the ceiling (a habbit he picked up in jail where there wasnt much more to look at) and thought about what this ranch could mean for him.
At Nine, only an hour and a half after he had arrived to the ranch, Dean headed downstairs for dinner. The room reminded him of the jail in a way, with its mess-hall-like qualities. There was a few men standing behind a counter, serving out food to the other men going down the strip in a line, trays outheld. The seating was similar to mess hall as it had three rows of tables, each row having four tables in it, and each table seating six men. There was a light chatter of comeraderies made in their time here and the metallic clanking of trays as men go to their tables to sit. Once Dean gets his food, he stands at the end of the line awkwardly, trying to find a place to sit, before he forfeights his pride and goes to one of the more empty tables at the back of the mess hall. He sat down stiffly and raised a forkful of food to his mouth- it was quite possibly the best food he's had since his high school years.
Once most of the mess hall was done eating, Ellen appeared from her room and called for everyone's attention. She was once again holding a large log book in both hands.
"Okay, for all you new guys here, its time for your jobs. Alvera, you'll be in feed, as will Marshall. Schmidt, you're working on turn out. Smith, you'll be working the horse stables, feeding and that great stuff. Walsh, you've got kitchen, so stay here when you're all dismissed. And... Winchester, you get cattle," she flipped through a couple more pages. "Oh and we have some reassignments. Daker, Laken, and Palmer, you've been reassigned. Daker, you're turnout, Palmer, you're working on the training arena, but that's only until it's completely weeded, we dont want the horses eating with their bits on. And last, but definitely not least, we have Laken, and you're being moved to cattle." Ellen slammed the cover of her log book shut and tucked it under her left arm.
"You're setting me up with the new kid, aren't ya', Ell?" The man Dean assumed to be Laken hollered. Ellen glared at Laken, but a smile slipped onto her face.
"Yeah, I am, and if you have a problem with that, you can stay here and work kitchen duty for the rest of your sentence." Ellen threw a smirk his way, and he returned it with an eye roll and a small smile.
"Get to work," Ellen said. And with that, she returned to her room. Dean looked around for a moment before he was approached by Laken. He looked at him with wide eyes and Laken just shook his head.
"Well, we have work to do, so stop gawking and go run up and get your hat," Laken ordered. Dean stared for a few more seconds before he finally went into in action, climbing the flight of stairs, quickly grabbing his hat, and rushing back down to a waiting Laken. He turned out the door and walked to the horse stables, Dean following behind. When Laken threw the barn doors open, Dean was assaulted by the violent smell of horse manure, and immediately slammed a hand over his face. Laken glanced back at him and laughed.
"Man, if you think this is bad, just wait 'til you go past the long-horns... those things are out of control." Laken walked over to a stall and grabbed a halter off of its hook next to the stall's door.
Dean stayed put and watched what he did. "I've been," he said, "not a fan." Laken chuckled and brought out a large black horse. He walked it over to Dean, and Dean could barely see over the shoulders of the massive beast.
"You ever been on a horse before?" Laken asked. Dean shook his head. "Hm, well, they're real simple. This here is Chev; a beaut if I ever saw one. She's real sweet and will take to you in an instant. And, best of all, she's all yours as long as you're here." Laken handed the lead rope off to Dean, and he took it willingly, standing next to Chev to rub at her neck. Laken walked a bit further down the barn and stopped in front another door. He pulled an equally large horse from that stall, the most distinct difference was that this horse was a ashy grey instead of a midnight black.
"Who's that?" Dean asked about the horse. Laken looked back at him and smiled.
"Oh this, this is Count. He's a little diablo but I love him, all the same."
Laken led Dean to the tack room, where he showed him the parts of the saddle and bridle, and just how tight the girth was supposed to be. Then he attempted to teach Dean how to mount Chev.
"Holy mother of hell, Dean. It ain't that hard to mount a friggin' horse! Just put your damned foot in the stirrup and swing your leg over the horse's back." Dean drew in a breath and did what Laken told him to, finally getting seated in the saddle. "Finally," Laken sighed, mounting his own horse.
They rode out to the training arena, where Laken taught Dean how to rope a cow; first from the ground and then on horseback. Within an hour, Dean was roping the gimmick cattle head like he'd been doing it since he was four. Laken shook his head in disbelief as they walked their horses back to the stable.
"Screw you, Winchester," Laken mumbled as he and Dean put their horses back in their stalls. Dean turned and gave him a strange look.
"For...?" Dean asked.
"For catching on so quickly, you know, to all this. It took me four days to perfect what you did today, and you just waltz in here and bust it out in one. Just, screw you for being a natural, that's all," Laken said, walking out of the barn and shutting the doors behind him.
Dean chuckled, "Aww, Laken, I'm flattered."
Laken rolled his eyes. "Fuck you. By the way, the name's Ashton, but everyone calls me Ash." Dean nodded.
"Dean, but everyone from the jail calls me either Winchester or pretty boy," he admitted. Laken- Ash threw his head back in a roaring laugh and Dean felt is face grow hot.
"Oh man, hah! That's too good." He swiped a hand under his watering eyes, smiling at Dean.
"Whatever, man," Dean grumbled. They reached the foot of the stairs and said their goodbyes, and when Dean reached his room, he was glad that he had actually met someone that he could call a companion. He stripped down to his boxers and fell asleep right as his head hit his pillow.