Post 12x09. What if Dean had come up with another way to get the brothers out of lockdown? Just some thoughts I had that ended up working really well with song challenge. My song was Jailbreak by AC/DC.
Dean waited until the last possible moment before allowing the guard to push him into his cell, allowed because he could have easily resisted. But he didn't want to make things worse for Sam. He knew if he fought back, the guards in this facility probably knew enough about them that they would take their revenge out on his brother instead of him.
And Dean didn't want to put Sam in any danger. That's why he'd watched until Sam had disappeared into his cell before going into his own. If Sam was in the cell, Dean would know his little brother was safe, for the moment anyway.
Hearing the door slam shut behind him, Dean paused and began to take in the room around him. It didn't look much different from the previous jail cells he'd been in. The walls were a little thicker, ugly gray bricks, a metal frame bed with a thin mattress, a toilet and tiny broken mirror in the opposite corner. Taking a seat on the bed, the elder Winchester kept his ears perked for movement outside his door. The moment the sounds of the guard's footsteps died away he moved and pressed himself against the thick cinder block wall, straining his ears for any noises from the other side.
"Sam? Sammy?" he called, finding the thinnest part of the wall. "Sam are you there?" Dean asked knocking his knuckles against a piece of crumbling mortar. "Sam?"
Dean could feel a building panic. While he had watched Sam go into the cell next door, he had no audible confirmation of that fact. Giving up for the moment, he sat on the bed and placed his hand again the wall hoping Sam could at least sense his presence. Stretching out on the thin mattress, Dean could feel the individual springs stabbing into his back like tiny knives. Hopefully they wouldn't have to stay here long. This mattress was going to be murder on his back.
Murder...
That's what they were here for. Once again they were in prison for attempted murder. But this time was definitely going to be different. The attempted assassination of the president of the United States. These men believed the brothers had tried to kill the president of the United States.
Of all the trumped up charges the brothers had received from their line of work. This one took the cake. This was by far the craziest and the most terrible thing they'd ever been accused of. Never mind the fact the president had been possessed by an archangel, and they'd stopped the devil himself from becoming the leader of the free world. And saved pretty much everyone in the United States.
Didn't matter.
All that mattered to their captors and the outside world was that the president was injured. All the outside world saw was the Winchesters and an unconscious president, a president who couldn't remember what had happened, and who now had a missing mistress. Which meant, once again the Winchester were shouldering burden and blame they didn't deserve. Sam, who had saved an ungrateful world more times than it deserved, had once again sacrificed himself for it only to be buried under guilt and shame.
Dean had seen his brother's face, first in the transport van, then once more before they'd been separated. He knew Sam blamed himself for the whole debacle. It didn't matter to him that the blame could have easily been shifted to: Dean, Castiel, Crowley, Rowena, or the British Men of Letters. Dean could tell Sam was taking full responsibility for the mess they currently found themselves in. The older Winchester wondered how his brother could feel so responsible for things out of his control. How could Sam even deal with the myriad of emotions that were most likely coursing through him?
As Dean had watched him disappear, Sam had looked so resigned as if he'd somehow caused this whole explosion of the plan when in all reality he'd done just about everything he could to make it go smoothly. The look on his little brother's face had seemed as though Sam thought he deserved all of this. In that moment, Dean had wanted nothing more than to reach between the guards and touch his brother. Just a squeeze on the neck or a hand on his arm. To let Sam know everything would be alright, none of this was his fault. To let him know that big brother would find a way to fix this and get them out of here.
First things first, trying to get a message to Castiel. The angel was their best bet of escape. Dean knew he had seen the brothers arrested from wherever he went when he teleported himself out of danger. Castiel was probably the only one who had any hope of finding them. That is if the sigils weren't still engraved on their ribs. Otherwise they were screwed. But even if Castiel couldn't find them the least Dean could do was send up a prayer and hope that their friend was close enough to somehow rescue them.
He turned his face up toward the blinding, fluorescent-lit ceiling. "Cass! Castiel!" he called somewhere between a whisper and a shout. Hopefully this prayer would get them out. "Castiel, if you can hear me. You need to get us out of here."
Castiel had been with them when they'd been captured, so hopefully by some miracle he had had the good sense to follow the transport van. But with the angel you never knew. Sometimes he picked up and remembered the human customs the Winchesters had shown him. Other times it was like it was his first time on earth. Dean silently prayed, if that was even a thing anymore now that God was gone who knows where with his sister, that Castiel had followed the transport van and discovered their location, that their friend was somewhere in the woods just waiting for the right time to bust them out in an angel-led jailbreak.
The elder Winchester could only trust that his quiet prayers were heard, and his feathered-friend was working on a solution to the current predicament.
Cass had to find them before anything else happened. Because besides solitary, Dean didn't know what else these people had in store. Why would they bring the brothers so far off the grid? Why would they refuse to identify themselves? Why would they separate the brothers?
That last question, Dean was already pretty sure he knew the answer to. These government people, if that's who they were, definitely knew more about the Winchesters than was comfortable. They could be: CIA, FBI, NSA, Homeland Security, any number of men whom the Winchesters had impersonated over the years. And them having insider information about the brothers only made Dean more nervous. If they knew about separating him from Sam, what else did they know? What else could they do?
If they started in on Sam, Dean wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hold out. The solitary lifestyle was fine with him as long as he knew his brother was safe and sane. Sam had already been tortured once this year, two times was definitely two too many.
Dean again scratched at the crumbling mortar between the cement blocks over his head as he lay on the cot. "Sam. Sammy. Don't worry little brother I'm right here," Dean flattened his hand against the wall willing his brother to sense Dean was right there with him. The older Winchester had no idea what was going on on the other side of the wall, he needed to figure it out. They needed a backup plan in case their angel didn't show.
Dean lie down on the cot once more plotting and planning an escape. He already knew it was going to be difficult. No windows, that tiny little slot in the door for food, no reason to let the brothers out as a toilet and bed were already provided.
He hadn't been scheming long when the door creaked open. An older man with white hair and a business like manner came in.
Dean focused on the wall across from him using the blank space as a place to make his imaginary list of possible escape plans. He refused to acknowledge the man who had entered the room. Though his focus was on the wall, Dean could still see every move the other man made out of the corner of his eye. Their father had drilled into both boys on multiple occasions, "Never turn your back on an enemy." "Be aware of every move, but don't ever let him know what you know." "Never let him see what you're thinking." "Always be three moves ahead." All of these lessons ran through Dean's head as his eyes focused on the wall and his ears on the words of the other man.
The older Winchester's face was school and stoic. No chance of the other man having any indications of the escape plans brewing the entire conversation. The older gentleman who had yet to reveal his name stood patiently next to Dean as though waiting for his acknowledgement. The older Winchester listened as the man rambled on about quiet and nothingness. How those things would make a man go crazy. Being alone didn't bother Dean, never had. Sure he'd gotten lonely when Sam was at Stanford or when his brother had gone off on his own. But those were situations he'd been forced into, situations he'd made it through. Being alone wasn't would eventually cause Dean to crack. Not knowing what was happening to Sam would.
Being an older brother, Dean knew that the loneliness and solitude would drive Sam into his thoughts, into his memories. And with all the crap he'd been through, especially recently, alone with his thoughts was not a good place for Sam to be. He'd always had a problem with tight, confined spaces and after the cage it had only gotten worse. His time with Toni Bevell had probably compounded the situation. So Sam alone with only his mind for company was going to cause those memories to fester until they took him over completely.
Which is why Dean had part of his attention tuned to the still rambling man and the rest focused on finding a way out of this god-forsaken prison.
As he plotted escape, Dean hoped Sam was doing the same or at least finding something else to occupy himself. Because unlike Dean, Sam couldn't block out his surroundings. So if this old tool had gone to his brother, the older Winchester knew the only thing Sam would fixate on was every word coming from this man no matter how untrue it might be. Because while Dean would spend every waking moment analyzing the situation and contemplating ways out, Sam would obsess over what had caused them to be arrested in the first place. He wouldn't care if he had been at fault, he would still take responsibility for someone else's actions. He would become caught up in the old man's ramblings and forget how many times he had saved the world. He would focus on the loneliness, the nothingness, the crazy.
Though parts of what he said were true. Loneliness could drive a person mad.
Seeing he wasn't getting anything from Dean, the old man left. And Dean hoped left Sam alone. He could hear nothing from the cell next door even though he knew that's where Sam was being kept. So close and yet so far. Which is why every day after the footsteps of the food delivery guard died away, Dean placed his hand on the wall where the mortar crumbled, scratching to make some noise in the vain attempt that Sam would hear. Sometimes, he pressed his face against the cool metal of the door placing his lips close to the hatch that opened for food and whispered, "Sammy if you can hear me, I'm working on it. I will get us outta here."
And every night just after the tray of what was supposed to resemble dinner dropped through, he prayed. Sending fervent pleas out into the universe counting on their friend to swoop in and save the day. Normally Dean wanted to be the hero, but if it meant freedom he would settle for sharing the credit. "Cass. Castiel. I hope you can hear me," Dean whispered as he drifted off to sleep. "It's been weeks, and it would be nice to go home now. So any time you want to break us out of here buddy that would be awesome." His pleas turned from joking to desperate. "Cass you gotta come soon man. I'm doing okay. But I don't know about Sammy. I mean I'm starting to get a little loopy man. So I don't know how much more of this he can take."
Dean looked at the hash marks he had made on the wall. Each day they'd been in captivity was carved into the wall with a rusty screw from the bed frame. There were more hash marks than there should have been. They had been here for weeks with no contact with the outside world other than the guard who brought the food. No new messages from Castiel.
Which meant it was now up to Dean to figure out an escape because Castiel wasn't answering his messages on angel radio. And the older Winchester had no clue what was going on with his little brother next door. Sometimes he could swear he heard Sam on the other side of the wall, other times he was sure it was just his imagination.
The old codger was right. Being alone was going to make them crazy. But it wasn't so much the alone part that was weighing on Dean so much as the not knowing what was going on with his brother part. He could surmise, if he wasn't handling this situation the greatest, his little brother who had spent a hundred plus years trapped in a cage with the devil was probably handling it even worse. If only there was a way to get some type of communication going between them. Dean scratched at the wall and sometimes hit the slot in the door when food was pushed through hoping Sam could hear. Days of this treatment were driving him nuts, and he hoped Sam was finding something to occupy his time and his mind, not just stewing in thoughts of what if?
The what if's were endless. What if they'd had a better thought out plan? What if they'd gone to the British Men of Letters sooner? What if Castiel hadn't gone after Kelly? What if they'd called Mom?
Mom.
Dean wondered if she even knew they were missing. And if she did, did she even care. Yes they were her sons, but he and Sam were nothing better than total strangers to her. She'd said as much before she taken off on her own. She checked in maybe once a week through text messages, usually with Dean very rarely with Sam. But had she even noticed their texts had stopped? Had she even bothered to check her phone?
As much as he loved his mother, the older Winchester wasn't so sure anymore that he didn't have an idealized version of her. It wasn't up to her to rescue them. Dean had always been the one in charge. With Cass not answering, and Mom most likely having no idea where they were, it was up to Dean to once again save the day.
But how?
What kind of plan could possibly get them out of this. This place was like a fortress. It didn't help that they never heard anyone other than the guard that brought them their food. Never saw anyone other than that creepy old dude who came in to taunt them. If they stayed in here much longer, Dean was going to go crazy. How could they get out? Especially if they never saw anyone? This was starting to feel worse than that time they purposely got themselves arrested to help out Deacon. Solitary there had been horrible, but at least Dean had known Sam was safe. Deacon had been there watching out for Sammy. Here there was no one. He had no way of knowing Sammy was safe.
Their best bet was going to be to try something with the food, since that was the only person they had any contact with. Now to figure out what to do and how to get a message to Sam. Dean looked at the huge dust pile under his bed. He scraped it into the middle of the room and began drawing out his plan.
First, to get a message to Sam about his plan. He needed to get Sam some hope. His little brother needed something to count on. Sam needed something to focus on other than all of the mess that had been created because of Lucifer, Mom coming back, the Darkness. Sam was probably sitting the tiny cell that was most likely a mirror of Dean's stewing over every event and issue they'd experienced throughout this whole year.
He was probably sitting on the other side of that wall blaming himself for being captured, blaming himself for letting the British Men of Letters get to him as well. This experience was most likely tearing Sam apart mentally piece by piece, and Dean wondered how much of his brother would be left to put back together after this.
Dean focused even more intently on the floor and his drawing. Step one: he had to figure out how to get a message to Sam. Pound on the wall? Put it in the food? Try to shout through the slot? It had to be something the guards wouldn't know was a message or something they wouldn't notice. What wouldn't they be looking for? If he had paper he could stick it to the bottom of the tray, but of course there was nothing in this tiny room for him to use besides either the toilet paper or the dirt on the floor. Maybe he couldn't convince the guard to give Sam a message. As long as it was coded. Something like the time they'd been arrested and used The Great Escape as a cover to send messages or when they'd come up with the code word "Funky Town" to signal some one had a gun on them.
Dean had to think of something only Sam would know. Something that would signal Dean had a plan to get them out and tell Sam what the plan was.
But what was his plan? It had to be something that would either get the guard to open the door for more than a few seconds or get them out of these cells. That's it! Dean remembered the time their Dad had trained them to play possum. John had said if you were taken by a monster like a Wendigo or Shapeshifter the quickest way to get free was to play possum. If the monster thought you were already dead it would leave you alone. Most monsters wanted to experience the thrill of the kill. If the prey was already dead, it eliminated that piece of the puzzle. Breathing exercises had trained the brothers to be able to hold their breath for long periods of time. Which came in handy when a ghost or water demon decided to pull you under. He had also taught them breathing exercises that would trick the body into thinking it was dying. Being able to breathe so slow your heart rate slowed to practically nothing.
That was the ticket. Dean would just have to get a message to Sam about the plan. If he could get his little brother a day and time. They would be in sync. They needed to get to the morgue at the exact same time or at least the infirmary. They didn't even need to make it that far. If they could get someone to open the doors for more than a few seconds, they would be able to make an escape. Both brothers were well trained in martial arts and other various types of fighting. If there was only one or two guards, they would be able to overpower them. The key was to not be outnumbered. So if Sam could last that long the safest bet would be to get completely out of the cell as close to out of the building as they could. Save their fight skills until the last possible moment. The less people who knew they had escaped the better.
Days passed. Dean fine-tuned every single step of his plan. He wanted perfection before he gave his brother false hope. The last thing Sam needed after being confined for…
Dean stared at the tally marks on the wall silently counting.
Five weeks.
They'd been here that long? Where was Cass? Where was their mother? Hadn't anyone realized they were missing? Or were they just hidden that well?
Hidden that well was a scary thought. How far out in the middle of nowhere were they?
The older Winchester began to calculate just how long it would take for them to get back to civilization. He had no window to be able to tell where they were. And he'd been so distracted trying to keep Sam calm that he'd forgotten to count the number of miles once they left the motel. Sam had been defiant and macho the entire time they been under arrest, but the minute that van door had slammed shut, his little brother had turned pleading eyes toward him. Even after all these years and all the mistakes, Sam expected big brother to be able to fix everything, make everything right.
And Dean would be damned if he was going to fail. He wasn't going to break Sam's trust. Not again, not after everything they'd been through in the last year. Not after rescuing Sam once already from crazed psychos. That's it. They were breaking out ASAP. He didn't know what his little brother was going through other than being trapped inside his own mind. But that was enough for the older Winchester. Sam and his thoughts were never a good combination and considering he had been released from being captured and confined not that long ago. This most recent arrest could only be bringing back unpleasant memories.
Dean was so wrapped up in his thoughts he barely heard the clatter of the metal slot and tray signally food. It wasn't until he heard the guard's voice say "Chow time," but not the clang of finality of the slot being shut again that he looked up.
Instead shutting the slot, the older Winchester could see the man's face peeking through searching his cell. Breaking his vow of silence, Dean addressed the man. What do you want?" he asked curtly, hoping the quicker he answered the question in the man's eyes, the quicker he'd disappear.
"It's your brother."
Dean's body instantly snapped to attention. What had those crazies done to his brother now? Wasn't it bad enough they had sicked that looney old man on him? Dean wasn't 100% certain but given the conversation he'd had with the old man, there was little doubt Sam hadn't been subjected to the same treatment.
"What about my brother?" Dean growled putting his face as close to the man on the other side as the slot will allow.
"He's going nuts, man," the guard said.
"My brother's not crazy," Dean said his voice slipping from a growl to a dangerous calm.
"Not saying he is. I'm saying, I'm pretty sure this place is driving him there though," the guard said, and for a moment, Dean lost sight of the man as he backed away from the slot.
"What do you know about my brother?" Dean asked the guard tempering his tone a bit, hoping that would convince the guard to come back.
Once again, the guard's face appeared in the tiny opening. "This place is getting to him. He used to exercise, move around, now he just sits in the corner next to his bed. Doesn't even flinch when I deliver the food. It's like he's retreated into himself."
"Can you get him a message for me?" Dean said letting his desperation leak into his voice.
"I can't say too much. I'm just the guy that delivers the food. There are others that stand guard throughout the day," the guard whispered conspiratorially.
"Then how are you standing here talking to me now?" Dean was getting a little sick of this guy he'd been here probably way longer than he should have, and all he'd said was that this place was beginning to get to Sam.
"Smoke break," he replied.
"If you have enough time to talk to me, you should be able to get a message to my brother," Dean was working hard to keep the venom out of his voice. Who did this guy think he was saying that stuff about Sam, saying he was going crazy, then saying he was unable to get a message from Dean to Sam to let the younger Winchester know his brother was still here and had a plan of escape.
"I can try to make time," the guard said glancing nervously behind him. "But keep it short."
Dean sat back against the cot racking his brain for something that would let Sam know the message was from him and let his brother know Dean had an escape plan.
The guard opened the slot, sliding in the other Winchester's tray of food. He glanced around timidly, checking and double checking for his colleagues. He wasn't sure about this message. But he worked here, and every so often he wasn't sure about what this place was doing to him. He couldn't even imagine being locked up here. Day after day getting crappy food, having no one to talk to, no communication other than the twice daily reminder, "Chow time."
Seeing no one around, he squatted down near the opening, peering in at the man on the other side. Sam Winchester was looking rather ragged. He didn't even look up at the clang of metal on metal. He sat curled in the corner; his head resting on his knees. He looked defeated. His body slumped against the wall; his posture completely resigned. The young man didn't even flinch as the guard shook the tray harder to elicit a response.
Realizing the younger man wasn't going to move, the guard shoved the tray the rest of the way through with his usual greeting. "Chow time." He paused before adding the message from the other Winchester, once again checking the hallway for this colleagues. "McQueen says eat your dinner," he paused once more feeling awkward at including the last word, "Bitch."
The young man's head shot up at that. He stiffened but didn't move. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice rusty from disuse.
:
The guard didn't say anything, just nodded his head toward the direction where Sam had last seen Dean. He checked the corridor for any new movement before repeating the message. "McQueen says eat your dinner, Bitch." This time he relayed the whole message with no pause. He could see Winchester's body immediately relax, and the shadow of a smile ghost the corner of his mouth.
Dean didn't move as the guard came that evening with his food. Dean measured time by the checkmarks on the wall the clank of metal on metal that signalled meal time. His nerves were more on edge than they'd been since the brothers had been captured in the first place. He had to know if Sam got his message. Dean wasn't sure he should have trusted the guard. What if the guy had ratted him out? The guard had looked nervous and edgy like he was afraid of getting in trouble at any moment. And the older Winchester had the impression that getting fired here meant a heck of a lot more than losing your job. Honestly, he didn't blame the guy. But Dean didn't like relying on strangers. Anything could go wrong when you included a third party.
Over thinking this whole situation was making him jumpier than if he'd downed 50 Redbulls. The last time he'd been this jumpy he'd been palling around with the King of Hell and had the mark of a knight. He was worried about Sam, hoping his message had gotten through.
He heard the clang of the food slot opening. Dean's head shot up, but he held the rest of the his emotions back. As much as he wanted to rush to the door and pump the guard for information, he couldn't risk giving away his plan. So he waited and waited. He moved a bit closer when the guard said, "Chow time," but otherwise showed no indication he was expecting anything other than food.
Dean resisted the urge to scream at the man as the guard showed no sign of having any information. The older Winchester was beginning to get antsy. What was going on with his brother? Had Sam gotten the message? Was he already too far gone? Dean pushed down the older brother urge inside him that was demanding to be let out. He patiently observed the guard look for any physical hint as to what the man had seen when he'd visited Sammy. Nothing, not even an inkling about whether or not Sam was ok.
Finally, after the third check of the corridor, the guard finally squatted in front of the food slot. Dean could see the man's eyes peering through the tiny opening. "So," Dean said, not wanting his fear for his brother to leak through the stoic facade he had created.
"He's doing ok for now. He got the message," the guard said keeping it short, his eyes still darting nervously about.
"Good," Dean said scooting closer to the door. "I need you to get him another message."
"I don't know…"the guard began.
Dean very rarely resorted to begging, but now that's all he wanted to do. He held himself back, but his fear and desperation eked out from behind his mask of indifference. He cut the man off, his voice hard. "Another message." Afterward, he couldn't resist the urge to smirk as the guard tensed up and backed away slightly. Didn't matter if they were locked up by some secret government agency, the Winchesters were still the scariest people out there. "Another message," he repeated the ice returning to his voice.
The guard's eyes widened in fear at the change in Dean's demeanor. Dean quickly lost his smirk afraid the man had left. However, after a few moments the guard returned. He knelt in front of the food slot so he was eye to eye with the elder Winchester. "I'll see what I can do," he answered before glancing again behind him.
Dean listened for footsteps. Not hearing any he urged the guard to continue.
The man came closer. "What's the message?" he whispered.
"Tell him…" Dean trailed off with a long pause. He tried to think of the most effective way to relay his plan to Sam. Not for the first time he wished they were locked up in the same cell. This place wouldn't be so bad then. As long as Sam was safe, Dean was able to get through anything. Finally it came to him. The perfect message. "Tell him to remember learning to swim."
"Swimming?" the guard asked incredulously. "What's swimming got to do with anything?"
Dean was getting irritated with this guard. But he needed the guy's help, so he shoved down the feelings of irritation and desperation. "Doesn't matter if you know what it means. The only thing that matters is Sam gets the message, and he gets it." Dean could feel his anger bubbling the surface like a pot boiling over. Again, he stamped it down. "Tell him McQueen wants to go swimming," he said through clenched teeth.
"That makes absolutely no sense," the guard repeated shaking his head.
"It doesn't have to make sense to you, just tell him." Dean gritted his teeth so hard it was almost as though he could feel them cracking. He knew his little brother would tell him to calm down. So he took a deep breath. Before forcing out his next words. "Tell him that sentence exactly. Don't change anything."
"I won't," the guard assured.
"Make sure you don't," the older Winchester lowered his voice beyond a whisper. It was so low it was almost a growl.
The guard's eyes moved away from the Winchester brother's face to once again roam them over the corridor. He repeated the message once more before leaving, "McQueen wants to go swimming." He would have to recite the phrase over and over until the morning when he would give the other Winchester his meal.
When breakfast time rolled around, the guard nearly rushed to the adjoining cell. Going first to Sam's cell instead of Dean's. This time he encountered a completely different man. Sam's head snapped to immediate attention at the clang of the food slot, The guard took a step back in shock at the transformation. He couldn't believe such a large change had happened in the course of just one day. It was complete. The young man in front of him now looked optimistic; his eyes glittered with hope.
Sam now had hope, hope he and his brother could escape. Faith in his brother's plan whatever it was.
The guard could see the look on the young man's face. A look that mirrored that of an eager, excited puppy when his master comes home. His entire body was turned toward the door eager for information, the complete opposite of his attitude the previous day. He didn't say anything but his body language said more than his words ever could. The guard's heart broke. How could these guys be the men who had tried to assassinate the president of the United States. He took a deep breath to steel himself, before scanning the hallway one last time for his colleagues. Seeing no one, he squatted down next to the food slot. The guard slid the food through slot rattling it, so Sam would know he had another message to share.
The eager look now engulfed his whole body inclined toward the door. Sam shoved down his emotions, but the guard could still see the anticipation in the younger man's face.
The wish he would receive another message from his brother.
The guard turned away sliding the tray again, giving the young man space to compose himself. While waiting, he let a small smile escape and push past his anxiousness. Again, the guard wondered how these two men could be capable of murder.
"Got another message," the guard whispered. Sam leaned closer. "McQueen says, 'It's time to go swimming." The guard watched as the realization of what exactly his brother had planned dawned on the younger man. A smile spread across Sam's face along with a look of relief.
"Finally," he sighed.
The guard met Sam's eyes with a look of confusion.
The younger Winchester knew better than to share what he knew about the plan. Both his dad and Dean had trained him well. He couldn't believe his brother had come up with such a plan then found a way to get the message to Sam. Swimming! Of course! Why hadn't he thought of that? Probably because he'd been too sidetracked and otherwise occupied to focus on anything except being confined.
But Dean was a genius. The fact that he'd remembered the time Dad had taught them to swim. They had not only learned to swim, but they had also learned to hold their breath for long periods of time. To slow their bodies down to the point of faking death. John had taught them to use these skills for the intent they be used against monsters. But their training would come in pretty handy now. The same tactics would apply. Get the enemy to think you're dead before executing your move. The younger Winchester was positive that was the plan his brother had in mind. But when to execute it. The sooner the better. Who knew what those crazed government agents were planning to do with the Winchesters once they became sick of them or realized no information could be retrieved?
So the sooner they could get out of this prison the better. "Tell my brother, Hilts says, 'Swimming is best after dinner.'"
"I'll let him know," the guard responded.
"As soon as you can."
"As soon as I can," the guard reassured. He had no idea what was going on, but he figured the less he knew the better.
Sam figured the same thing. Though confusion was evident in the guard's face, the younger Winchester wanted to keep him as much in the dark as possible. The less the man knew the better. It would give him less ammunition if he wanted to rat them out, or plausible deniability if he was on their side. "Can you give him that message?" Sam gave the guard what Dean called his patented puppy dog look.
"Not until tomorrow."
"Just get it to him." Sam's demeanor had changed, and the guard took an involuntary step back. It was moments like this when the guard could see the undercurrent of a killer in the Winchester brothers' eyes.
"I can guarantee that I'll try my best."
After the guard left, Sam began to make his preparations. All he needed was the green light from Dean to go ahead with the plan. Confirmation from his brother would set the plan in motion.
The night passed for both brothers in silence. Sam lay on the cot, reviewing all of the components of Dean's plan, well at least what he could put together from the messages the guard had delivered. He continued to review each element of the plan and making a list of all the things that could go wrong. What would happen if Dean got the wrong? What would happen if the guards didn't believe their ruse? Or if the food guard didn't ratted them out? Sam moved around on the cot trying to get comfortable and get some sleep though his mind continued to race. He pictured Dean mirroring his actions on the other side of the wall.
The older Winchester lay on the cot picturing Sam in a similar position in his own cell. Dean went through all the steps of the plan, praying it would work. Maybe prayer wasn't the right word, but Dean wanted with all his being to get out of this prison. Now the dilemma was when to put it into place. Dean wasn't sure, but maybe Sam would send the guard back with a time message. The best thing to do would be to make their escape around dinner time because the guard who'd been carrying their food and messages would be the one to find them. It would make their story more credible and believable. The next step was to prepare himself. To get his body to a state of total relaxation, which was difficult considering his mind kept drifting back to his brother on the other side of the wall. But Dean had to get his emotions under control in order to calm himself down to a state of complete relaxation.
By the time the guard returned in the morning, Dean had relaxed himself to a place of almost zen. But his eyes gave him away. The moment the food slot banged open; his eyes snapped to the guard. "Did he get the message?" Dean asked before the guard had even had a chance to insert the tray of food.
"He got the message."
"Well…" Dean prompted.
"He said, 'Tell him. Hilts says, It's best to go swimming after dinner.'"
Dean allowed a small smile to slip past his stoic facade. Sam had gotten and understood his message. "Dinner time," he repeated, unable to completely contain his excitement. He then resisted the urge to laugh at the perplexed look on the guard's face. "Dinner time," he repeated; this time in a whisper.
The guard relayed a final message to Sam as he dropped off breakfast. "McQueen says, 'Dinner time is fine.'" He left the meal in the same spot as always, surprised when he was granted a smile.
"Dinner time," Sam repeated with a contented sigh. They were finally getting out of here.
The guard left, his puzzled expression still in place.
Later that evening, when he returned with the nightly meal, the brothers actions earlier in the day made perfect sense. Instead of waiting for another message, both brothers lay on their cots...still and...and dead. They had no pulses, no movement of their chests to indicate breathing.
As the gurneys clicked down the hallway on the way to the morgue, the guard held in his confusion, and then the small smile as the realization of what had happened dawned on him.
He listened to the crunch of gravel as the ambulance pulled away from the compound. The Winchesters had managed a jailbreak.
Once Dean felt the van come to stop, he unzipped the body bag, grateful to be able to move again. He shook his brother, and together the two stealthily opened the door and slipped into the wilderness unseen.
They were free.