As far as maximum security prisons went, there were right ways to do it: 1) make sure you already had family on the inside, 2) make sure that family had established connections with the right people, 3) hope to hell that family was feeling sentimental enough to extend that good favour to you when you were ‘lucky’ to be falsely accused and sentenced to the same facility.
Sam didn’t even have to wait for night to fall before the first gang decided to test him in the yard: Alastair, the guy’s name had been, but then the crowd parted like water and there was Adam with the same slouch of ease, looking as bored as the day they sentenced him to twenty-five years for being too swift with a razor when a businessman put his hands where they weren’t welcome; Adam appeared the same except for the new stripes of ink on his neck that Sam would later learn were the tips of wings he would also inherit.
A wide berth was assured wherever Adam walked and Sam followed him to meet the reason why his younger brother had reason to walk like he was on a Sunday stroll: seated on one of the yard tables, a scattershot of loyal inmates providing its protection, Lucifer’s gaze raked over Adam, heavy and familiar, but it was Michael who brushed the tattoo on Adam’s skin with equal measures of fondness and possession; the infamous Angelus brothers measured the length of Sam with a single glance (four life sentences each for the murders of almost their entire family in a mob feud; their father, the Godfather, was still missing), Sam sent up a brief prayer to whoever was listening, and Adam smiled, calm and glad, like now Sam was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Michael/Adam/Sam/Lucifer; Jail!AU
Sam didn’t even have to wait for night to fall before the first gang decided to test him in the yard: Alastair, the guy’s name had been, but then the crowd parted like water and there was Adam with the same slouch of ease, looking as bored as the day they sentenced him to twenty-five years for being too swift with a razor when a businessman put his hands where they weren’t welcome; Adam appeared the same except for the new stripes of ink on his neck that Sam would later learn were the tips of wings he would also inherit.
A wide berth was assured wherever Adam walked and Sam followed him to meet the reason why his younger brother had reason to walk like he was on a Sunday stroll: seated on one of the yard tables, a scattershot of loyal inmates providing its protection, Lucifer’s gaze raked over Adam, heavy and familiar, but it was Michael who brushed the tattoo on Adam’s skin with equal measures of fondness and possession; the infamous Angelus brothers measured the length of Sam with a single glance (four life sentences each for the murders of almost their entire family in a mob feud; their father, the Godfather, was still missing), Sam sent up a brief prayer to whoever was listening, and Adam smiled, calm and glad, like now Sam was exactly where he was supposed to be.