Thank you as always for your reviews, and for taking the time to read the first three chapters, I cannot thank you all enough for your support!

Thank you again to loveintheimpala for helping me write this chapter, there wouldn't be a story without her!

Hope you enjoy this chapter :)


Break Out

Chapter Four: Cellmates

Carson City, Nevada — Springhill Prison — 05:02PM

Dylan Williams heaved a tired sigh as he flipped through the last few pages of the magazine in his hands. It had to be the millionth time that week he'd read the same tedious pages, but what else was there to do in that place but stare at the walls? He glanced up as the bars to his cell were opened, and he raised his eyebrows at the, not too surprising, sight before him. It wasn't an unusual thing to see anymore—Dean Winchester returning battered and bruised—he had become accustomed to it. He knew, whoever he had allowed to do that to him was facing a storm. And fortunately, he had never found himself on the wrong side of the man he shared his small room with, and he never wanted to. Despite everything, something in the back of Dylan's mind told him that Dean wasn't such a bad guy deep down, and he believed that. They got along fine, as cell mates, but what choice did they really have but to tolerate each other? They respected each other, and that was good enough.

"What happened to you this time?" Dylan asked, curious, as the cell door was slammed closed behind Dean. He sat up straighter on his bed with a frown, he looked as though he had really taken a beating this time.

"Willis." Dean muttered, pulling a hand down his face as he spoke. He looked tired, as though there were a million and one things on his mind. That wasn't like him at all. He was a man who usually left nothing but stoicism in his wake. He stepped further into the cell and shrugged off his jacket. "He'll get his, don't worry about that."

Dylan scoffed, watching him closely. Something seemed different. "I don't doubt it." he replied, honestly, shaking his head to himself. He watched as Dean splashed some water on his face, washing away some of the dried blood that remained on his skin. "So, I'm dying to know man, how is she?"

Dean turned around to face him with a frown, patting his face dry with a rough towel. "Who?"

"The new nurse everyone's talking about." He shrugged, nonchalant, as though the information couldn't have concerned him less. "Nick Shay sounded more than willing to get himself shanked to get up to that infirmary."

Dean cleared his throat, brushing off the comment as though it was nothing. "Did he now?"

There was an unmistakable rush of protectiveness at the words, something that Dean hadn't felt for his kid sister in a long time, not since she had left the life. It was something that, until now, hadn't even crossed his mind. Hanna was the only girl in that place, he knew, it wasn't going to be a fun job for her to do. The men in there weren't exactly gentlemen. They weren't polite and they sure as hell weren't considerate. He didn't even want to imagine some of the comments she was likely to hear from them.

Dylan huffed. "So?" he pressed. "She hot?"

Dean simply shook his head, shrugging. "Didn't take much notice." he mumbled, turning away from him. He looked ahead at the small, cracked mirror above the sink, eyes focused on the gash she had just stitched up on his forehead. It wasn't a conversation he particularly wanted to engage in. Then again, should he start defending her, should he become defensive, that would look nothing but suspicious. What was he supposed to say?

"Oh, come on." Dylan narrowed his eyes at him. Something was definitely off about him. "Why do I find that hard to believe? Either she was or she wasn't. I wanna know what all the hype's about."

"Look," Dean snapped, a little harsher and a lot more protective than he had intended. "Can we drop it? I'm not having this conversation about—"

But he stopped himself abruptly, and that brought a frown to the younger man's face, and he sat up a little straighter. He had shared a cell with Dean Winchester for almost three months, and this was the most emotion he had ever seen from him. "About?" he pushed, more than curious. "What? You know her or something?"

"No." Dean answered, automatically. "No, I just—I know a girl who looks like her. That's all."

"Huh." There was something about the look on his face that intrigued Dylan. Dean had never spoken much about his feelings, in fact, he was pretty sure this was the most conversation he had ever gotten out of him about anything real. He never spoke about his family, his life before prison, anything even close to personal, but now, there was a vacant look behind his eyes that gave the impression there was something pretty heavy on his mind. "Anyone special?"

Slowly, Dean nodded, almost hesitant. "My sister."

"Didn't know you had a sister." Dylan commented, watching him carefully. "You two close?"

"Uh, we were." Dean sighed, and his mind drifted back to the way they had been before she had left the life. He missed those days, back when it had been the three of them against the world and everything had been fine. He would have given anything to go back to that. But those days were long gone, and he refused to let his mind dwell on them for too long. "Not so much anymore. Kind lose touch when your brother is a wanted criminal, you know?"

"Yeah, I know how it goes, man." Dylan muttered, a little despondent. "I had a sister, Anna, she was a couple years younger than me. Always tried to protect her, you know? Keep her safe." He shook his head, remorseful. "And I ended up here for it."

Dean frowned at him, suddenly intrigued. "What happened?"

Dylan shrugged. "I killed the guy who killed her." he said simply, there was no emotion in his words. "I got sent here for it. Life sentence."

Dean blinked, a little taken aback. "Jeez, man." He hadn't been expecting him to say that. "I'm sorry. How'd she die?"

"He beat her. I tried and tried to get her to leave him, but," He sighed deeply. "Easier said than done, right? Thing is, I'm not even sorry. I'd do it again." Dean leaned back against the sink and watched him for a moment. He had never known that about him. All he had known was that the guy was down on a murder. He had never asked for the details. Truth was, had he been in a similar situation with his own sister, had someone hurt her like that, he knew for a fact that he would have done the exact same thing. How was that justice? "You know, when we were kids, I used to fight any guy who'd look twice at her. She used to fight me on it, call me overprotective, whatever." He sighed. "She never understood, I was just trying to look out for her, stop her meeting someone like him."

Dean nodded, giving a soft laugh. "Yeah, I feel you on that one, man. I was the same. Pretty sure my sister hated me her last couple of years in school." He moved to sit down on the other end of the bed. "How old was she?"

"Would've been twenty-three this year." He smiled a little. "What about yours?"

"Twenty-five." He glanced up at him, frowning a little as he worked it out. "Guess that makes her the same age as you, right?"

Dylan nodded. "Guess so." He sighed. "I'd give anything to see her again, you know? But," He shrugged it off, somewhat awkward. "Shit happens, right?"

Dean sighed, shaking his head. He wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't even imagine something like that happening to his own sister, it had been hard enough to say goodbye to Sam, he couldn't handle the thought of losing his sister, too. He couldn't let her help him, because he couldn't be the one responsible for ruining her life. He had to get her out of there, he had to make her understand, he had to talk her around. He needed to make her see sense, because she wasn't thinking straight. She couldn't be, not if she was seriously considering what she was.


Carson City, Nevada — Springhill Prison — 07:30AM.

Dean had lay there that night for hours, just staring at the dull ceiling above him. He had spent so many nights like that he was sure he could count the cracks and marks in it from memory. But that night, his brain just wouldn't switch off, he couldn't get the same thoughts from his head, and it was slowly driving him insane. Could Hanna really manage to bust him out of there? Could he really let her try it? Maybe she thought she had nothing left to lose. Maybe she really did want him out of there. Or, was she simply trying to save his life? Maybe it had nothing to do with him being in prison, maybe it was more about the fact she was convinced he was facing the death penalty. He tried to think about what he would do if the situation were reversed. If he found his sister facing death row, especially for something she hadn't done, what would he do about it? There was no question. He knew. He wouldn't waste a second in trying to break her out of there. And he knew, the way they were raised, their minds worked in the same way. They thought alike.

Had Hanna still been in the life, had she still been a hunter riding shotgun with him, he wouldn't have thought twice about accepting her help. He would have laughed and offered her a high five at the idea. But this was different, she wasn't in the life anymore, she had worked so hard to get herself away from everything that had anything to do with hunting. She had graduated from college, she had gotten married and made a life for herself. He had ruined Sam's life once by dragging him back into hunting, could he really do the same thing to her? He would never forgive himself for that night he had shown up at Stanford to get his brother, it haunted him every single day. He imagined how different things could have been had he never taken him away from there. Maybe he would still be alive right now. It was a choice he would take back in a heartbeat. He wouldn't make it again, for anything. But, Hanna seemed more than willing to help him. Maybe that was the difference.

"Can't sleep?" A voice asked from the bunk beneath him, and it had him sat bolt upright so fast he felt dizzy. It sure as hell wasn't Dylan's voice. He all but threw himself off the bed and to the floor, eyes wide as he tried to make out the person there through the darkness. He recognised the voice, how could he not? It ran through his mind almost every minute of every day. "You look like hell, dude."

Dean blinked, and then blinked again, but the man lying on the bunk before him was still there, arms rested comfortably behind his head. "Sammy?" he whispered, and it didn't feel real saying his name, not in there.

Sam grinned and pushed himself to sit upright on the bed, swinging his long legs over the edge until his feet found the floor. "Hey, Dean."

"What the—" He stopped, frowning. "What—I mean—Sam? I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

Sam scoffed, as though his brother amused him. "Well," He shrugged. "Either that, or you're going crazy."

Dean frowned harder, staring at him. Was he going crazy? He was talking to his dead brother, it was more than possible. No, he had to be dreaming. It was just some confusing, messed up dream. He looked over him slowly, and he looked exactly the same as he had that night, the last time he had seen him. The thought of that night haunted him, the look on his brother's face as the knife had been plunged into his back, the unforgiving pain in his features, the sound of him taking his last breath, the way his head had dropped forward to Dean's shoulder when he had been unable to hold it up anymore, none of it ever left his mind. And yet, there he was.

He opened and closed his mouth, he didn't even know where to start. "Sam..." But he didn't know what else he could say to him. "What's going on?"

Sam chuckled. "I'm here to help you." he told him simply, and Dean knew the confusion was written all over his face. "You know, the big question," Sam shrugged at him, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about the situation. "You gonna let her bust your ass out of here, or what?"

Dean raised his eyebrows at him, shaking his head. "I can't, Sam." he said quietly. "You know I can't."

Sam sighed, almost frustrated, and pushed himself to stand and face his brother. "Look, Hanna isn't going anywhere, right? We both know that. You might as well let her get you out of here, because you know she can. She's your only hope here, Dean. What choice do you really have?"

But Dean wasn't having it. "I won't let her throw her life away like this, Sam. Not because of me. I won't do it." He sighed. "I won't ruin her life the way I did yours. I can't drag her back into this life."

Sam regarded him for a moment, and then he looked away. "Dean, what happened with me and Jake wasn't your fault, you do know that, right? You can't punish yourself forever. I mean, what? Are you gonna sit in here and wait for the death sentence? You gonna leave Hanna alone in this world with no family at all? You're all she has left, Dean. Trust me on that."

There was something about Sam's words that returned a frown to the older Winchester's face. "What does that mean?" he pressed, curious.

"Deep down, you know, Dean." Sam said, his voice sincere. "You know why she's here. You need to help her. And you need to let her help you. The two of you need each other. More than you realise."

Dean stared at him, eyes narrowed. It was as though there was something behind his words, he just couldn't tell what it was. It was as though Sam had known something he didn't, or something he hadn't realised he already knew. He was about to ask him for an explanation, but he didn't get the chance. There was a loud bang, a crashing sound that pulled him straight out of his sleep, and he knew that was it. He tried to close his eyes, to will himself back into a slumber, but it wasn't happening, he was awake, his dream was over, and he had to once again face the reality of what was going on around him.

"Winchester!" A loud voice seemed to echo off the walls around him, and he sat up on his bed with a groan.

"What?" he mumbled, pulling a hand down his face as he adjusted his eyes to look down at the guard standing at the door of his cell.

"Warden wants to speak to you." he told him gruffly, impatient. "Now." he urged. "Let's go."

Dean frowned, that didn't sound good. "What about?"

The guard gave an impatient sigh. "What am I, your friggin' secretary?" he spat. "The hell should I know. Something about that new doctor. Now, let's move."

The guard didn't notice, but Dean's face utterly dropped at the comment. Did they know something? Had they caught Hanna? Had someone found out that they were related? Was she in trouble? He didn't like to think what could have gone wrong already.

It had to be something, and he wasn't all that sure he was ready to hear it.