The scratch of pencil against paper was the only sound filling the space between them.
John Coffey sat on his cot, hands resting on his knees, his broad frame somehow at ease in the cramped cell. His eyes—gentle, full of quiet knowing—watched Y/N as she worked, her hand moving steadily over the page.
She sat on the floor just outside his cell, one knee bent, the other stretched out in front of her, bracing the sketchpad against her leg. Her hands were stained slightly with lead, her wrist brushing over the paper as she shaded in the deep lines of John’s features—the slope of his brow, the curve of his cheekbones, the kindness in his tired eyes.
“You real good at that, miss,” John said softly, his voice like a low rumble of thunder in the distance.
Y/N glanced up, a small, almost shy smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve had a lot of time to practice.”
John nodded, as if he understood more than just what she was saying. “What you draw ‘fore you got here?”
Y/N hesitated for a moment, her fingers tightening around the charcoal. “People, mostly,” she admitted. “The ones I love. The ones I miss..”
John’s gaze softened even further. “Maybe they still with you. Even when you cain’t see ‘em no more.”
She swallowed hard, looking away before he could see too much. The sound of slight banging came from behind her in the restraint room, Billy had been acting up again and needed some time to reflect.
She went back to her drawing trying to focus but a shadow moved in her periphery, and she knew without looking who it was.
Dean shuffled over, hands in his pockets, lingering just outside the bars. He was quieter than usual, careful. Y/N hadn’t spoken much to him since their fight, and she knew he was giving her space, waiting for her to come to him when she was ready.
John smiled up at him. “Hullo, Boss Stanton.”
Dean let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head. “Just Dean, John. We’ve been through enough together, don’t you think?”
John gave a small nod. “I think so.”
YN glanced between them, watching the way Dean’s expression lightened as he talked to John. It was rare to see him like this—unburdened, if only for a moment. He was always so tense, so tightly wound, carrying more than his fair share of weight on his shoulders. But with John, he seemed… lighter. And she could understand why.
Dean tilted his head, peering at Y/N’s drawing. “That me?”
Y/N scoffed. “Yeah, because you’ve got shoulders like a damn house.”
Dean smirked, crouching down beside her. “Hey, I dunno. I work hard,” he said, rolling up his sleeve to flex his arm. “You’re tellin’ me that’s not impressive?”
John let out a deep chuckle, and Y/N shook her head, biting back a reluctant smile. “I think Mr. Jingles has got more muscle than you, Stanton.”
Dean clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me, darlin’.”
The pet name caught both of them off guard. Dean immediately cleared his throat, looking away, and Y/N went rigid, her grip tightening on her pencil. The moment felt too familiar, too easy, and she wasn’t ready for that yet.
John watched the two of them carefully, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. But if he saw something they didn’t, he didn’t say.
Instead, he looked back at Y/N’s drawing. “You do a real fine job, Miss Y/N. Make me look better than I am.”
Y/N smiled, the tension easing just a little. “You don’t need any fixing, John.”
John nodded, like he understood something she didn’t, and Y/N had the sudden feeling that if anyone on this Mile truly saw her, it was him.
“Dean you’re making me nervous,” Y/N said looking up at him leaning her head against one of the bars of John’s cell.
“Well you do draw good Miss, it’s nice to watch” John reasoned.
“It’s just looked like you two were havin’ a bit more fun than them down there” he said pointing at Harry, Brutus, and Paul, who all looked slightly disgruntled as they went about their paperwork at the top of the Mile.
“Do you do any good drawin’ Boss Stanton?” John asked.
Dean laughed slightly and shook his head, “no, no, not a bit of artistic talent here,” he said holding his hands up slightly.
“You could try drawin’ me? I don’t thinks I’m too hard to draw” John offered.
Y/N was slightly amused at John’s insistence that Dean draw something.
“Here Dean, why don’t you try?” Y/N said in a slightly smug way, holding out her sketchbook and pencil, looking up at him expectantly.
Dean looked from John to Y/N, quickly running his hand through his hair, “No, really, I don’t think—“ he stuttered.
“Well you either try drawing something for us or do whatever riveting work the others are doing” Y/N insisted.
Dean took a breath before caving, taking the sketchbook and pencil from Y/N, turning to a new page, looking at John intensely and drawing a few sharp lines on the page.
Y/N covered her face with her hand trying not to laugh as she looked at John, who seemed equally as amused.
“You know it’s easier if you balance it on something solid, like your knee” Y/N told Dean who still looked as though he was struggling.
“What like sit on the floor?” He asked slightly dumbfounded.
“Yes Dean, sit on the floor”
Dean took a few tentative steps towards her, “may I then?” he asked pointing to the space beside her.
“I suppose… that way I can give you notes” Y/N said shuffling closer to the bars as Dean slowly sat beside her.
Dean slowly attempted to draw John as Y/N gave him a few pointers, and the there.
Their quiet moment didn’t last long.
From across the Mile, Delacroix let out a delighted laugh causing both Y/N and Dean to look up as Mr. Jingles darted across the floor, the tiny spool clutched between his paws. The little mouse had always been a bright spot in this dark place, a reminder that joy could exist even here, even now.
Y/N watched with a small smile, feeling something warm settle in her chest—until the moment shattered.
Percy stepped forward, quick as a flash, his boot coming down hard.
The sickening crunch echoed through the Mile.
Del’s scream was immediate, raw with anguish. “NO! NO! YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED MY FRIEND!”
Y/N didn’t think. She reacted.
She was on her feet before she even realized it, lunging at Percy, shoving him back with everything she had. “YOU MONSTER!” she screamed, her voice cracking with fury. “YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED HIM JUST TO BE CRUEL!”
Percy staggered, caught off guard, but recovered quickly. His expression twisted in rage, and before she could move, his hand lashed out, striking her hard across the face.
The force of it sent her stumbling, pain exploding along her cheekbone.
She barely had time to react before Dean was there.
He was between them in an instant, grabbing Percy by the front of his uniform and slamming him back into the nearest wall. “You lay a hand on her again, and I swear to God, I will—”
“Dean!” Paul’s sharp voice cut through the tension, grounding them.
Dean held Percy there for a long moment, chest heaving, before shoving him away. Percy stumbled but didn’t fight back. He just glared at all of them, humiliated, before storming off, muttering curses under his breath.
Silence hung thick in the air.
Paul knelt down, carefully picking up the tiny, lifeless body of Mr. Jingles. Del sobbed into his hands, his whole body shaking.
John, who had been silent until now, looked at Paul with that same steady, knowing gaze. “Boss Edgecomb… I can help.”
Paul hesitated, glancing at the others. Slowly, he stepped forward, placing the mouse into John’s waiting hands.
Y/N wiped her sleeve across her cheek, ignoring the sting, and moved closer. She watched as John cupped the tiny creature between his palms, his lips parting as he took in a deep breath.
The room seemed to shift.
The air crackled, heavy and electric. A soft glow, almost imperceptible, surrounded John’s hands. Y/N felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, her breath caught in her throat.
John let out a deep, shuddering exhale, and when he opened his hands—
A collective breath released. Del gasped, scrambling forward, tears still streaming down his face. “Oh—oh, mon dieu—he’s alive, he’s alive!”
Relief washed over the room. The guards exhaled, their bodies untensing. Paul gave a small, stunned laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. Even Harry, usually quick to crack a joke, could only blink in amazement.
Y/N stepped back, letting it all sink in. She felt the exhaustion settle deep in her bones.
Dean was beside her before she even realized it.
He hesitated for only a second before he pulled her into his arms.
She let out a shaky breath, gripping the back of his shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against hers.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her hair, voice rough with emotion. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was angry and—God, I’m sorry.”
She closed her eyes, the fight draining out of her. “I forgive you.”
Dean’s arms tightened around her, holding her closer. When they broke away he cupped her cheek, she winced but it didn’t hurt anymore.
“Come with me, I’ll take you to the medical wing” Dean said holding her hand.
“It’s fine… I’m fine, he hits like a child”
“Dean… we can’t” she whispered. This broke Dean from his trance like state, he took a step back from her looking at the others. Thankfully for them, Paul, Brutus and Harry were still looking at John, completely unaware of Dean and Y/N.
“Alright” Paul said “enough gawking boys… let’s leave him.” Slowly all the guards left the Mile, Dean being the last, his gaze lingering on Y/N who was still fixated on the little mouse who 5 minutes ago was dead, and who was now running around on Del’s cot.
That night the Mile was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that settled deep in the bones, making it impossible to escape the thoughts creeping in with the dark.
Y/N lay on the cot in her cell, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come, not after what she had seen. Mr. Jingles had been gone—dead—and then he wasn’t. John had brought him back. She had seen it with her own eyes.
Her fingers curled into the thin blanket, the question twisting in her chest like a blade.
She turned her head toward John’s cell, his large figure barely visible in the dim glow of the lamps. He sat on his cot, shoulders heavy, hands resting on his knees. Even in the dark, she could see the weight he carried.
Y/N swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “John?”
His head lifted slightly, just enough to show he’d heard.
She hesitated, staring at the bars between them. “Can you bring people back?”
For a long moment, he didn’t answer. The silence stretched, thick and unbearable. Then, finally, he let out a deep breath, his head shaking.
“No, miss,” he said softly, his voice raw, heavy with sorrow. “I cain’t.”
Y/N’s eyes burned. She clenched her jaw, pressing her fingers against her lips to keep them from trembling.
She had known the answer before she asked. But some part of her had still hoped.
John had saved a mouse, something so small, so fragile. But he couldn’t save them.
She turned onto her side, facing the wall. “Okay,” she murmured.
“I’m sorry,” John said, his voice barely more than a breath.
She just lay there in the quiet, listening to the Mile breathe.
At the other end, Brutus, who’d been listening to the whole conversation silently put his head in his hands. He knew it now without a doubt, Y/N didn’t belong here, she didn’t do what she was accused of, she couldn’t have, she’d soon be executed for a crime she didn’t commit, and there was nothing that he, or Paul, or even Dean as much as he wanted, could do about it.
