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Chapter 5
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Sam groaned, shivered, and tried to roll over, feeling every ache from the punches, the hard, cold floor, constricted limbs, and his raw wrists and ankles. His stomach rumbled, and he realized that the likelihood of being fed anytime soon was not promising. Based on Henriksen's last statement to Dean, he actually suspected the chances of him leaving this cell alive were growing slimmer and slimmer. At this point though, escape was not the highest priority on his mind...the reality was that even if he was miraculously freed from the shackles and somehow got the doors open, he wasn't sure he had the strength in his body to move, let alone walk out the door and get away. No, the greater conviction - and fear - in his mind was finding a way to keep Dean from throwing himself on his sword to save him. He remembered the brief conversation they had, and worried about what Dean was going to do and who else was going to be put in danger to try to save him. It wasn't worth it. Henriksen was unpredictable and unstable, and putting Hoyt, Deacon, or anyone else in his sights was reckless and suicidal. He prayed Dean would be smart, even while knowing better. I sure hope whatever you are planning is fool-proof, brother. We don't need more innocent blood on our hands. He laughed at his own thoughts. Ok, maybe not innocent, but not guilty of anything worth dying over.
There was an ominous clanging from down the hall, and Sam struggled to regain his knees, but had only managed sitting by the time the door opened again. This time Henriksen appeared to be alone. He stood in the light of the doorway, hands on his hips, glowering down at Sam. Clearly Dean had not capitulated yet, then. Good.
"Your brother worth dying for?" he snarled. "He clearly doesn't feel the same about you." Sam looked up at him and suddenly burst into laughter.
"You thought you could manipulate Dean into surrendering? He knows you have no plan of actually letting me go. Why would he surrender? You lose." He paused, looking up at the face looming over him, contorted with hate, and felt a sense of peace settle inside. "And for what it's worth, my brother is absolutely worth dying for, ten times over."
"Only once will be necessary." Unexpectedly, Henriksen thrust a knife into Sam's shoulder, twisting it viciously as he cried out in pain, then abruptly pulled it out. Sam dropped to the floor, pain whiting his vision as he writhed helplessly, trying to not lay on the wound. The door clanged shut as darkness regained control over the room, and Sam sank from consciousness to meet it.
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The rescue plan had gone surprisingly smooth at first. Deacon had met up with Vic as he made his way to his "nephew's" bedside in the infirmary, and together they administered a sedative that would keep the prisoner unconscious, hopefully for long enough to extract Sam. With Deacon keeping an eagle-eye watch Vic dragged the prisoner to the bathroom vent where he was met and replaced by Hoyt. Looking at his son as he took the man's place in bed, eye patch giving him an even more rakish look, his heart twisted in fear. Hoyt clasped his hand tightly, conveying confidence and love through his glance before feigning sleep. Reluctantly Vic left the prison, whispering a prayer of protection for his boy that he had not had back in his life for nearly long enough.
At dinnertime "Prisoner Al" was released back to general pop, and Hoyt carefully maneuvered through the other inmates, staying in the background, waiting for the pre-arranged disturbance signal. As planned, Deacon "caught" an inmate putting something in another's food, which caused an uproar that turned into a brawl, drawing the guards away from the room's perimeter. Hoyt quickly slipped into the kitchen and accessed the vent, slowly working his way into the old cell block. Arriving in the darkness, he listened carefully before creeping forward. He stopped abruptly as he heard a cry of distress, forcing himself to still as a voice - Sam's he was sure - cried out again in pain. He heard a cell door slam, footsteps and then the sound of a phone ringing. Someone, Henriksen he figured, stopped just outside where he was hidden to answer.
"What?" the man snarled, then after a pause, "What is she doing here? Well don't let her leave! She helped Dean escape, she's an accomplice…I don't care about that…dammit Reidy, just do what you're told!" Henriksen hung up and raced toward the end of the hall. As the outer door clanged, Hoyt sent a quick text to his Dad, warning him that Mara might be in trouble, and then crept from the room he was sequestered in and down the hall, finding the one cell with a heavy padlock on it. Picking the lock took way longer than planned, but he finally was able to get the door open and stepped inside only to halt in horror as he discovered Sam crumpled on the ground, a growing pool of blood beneath him. Rushing forward, he felt for a pulse, relieved to find Sam was indeed breathing, heart beating steady below his hand. Glancing down, though, he saw that each beat was also pumping blood out of an ugly wound in his shoulder. Cursing, Hoyt zipped open the top of his jumpsuit and quickly pulled off his undershirt, immediately using it to apply pressure to the wound. Sam groaned in response, but did not wake. Assessing the situation and wishing he had at least two more hands, he finally pushed his knee against the wound, again eliciting a groan, and rolled Sam's body towards him so he could access the shackles to pick the locks. "Damn Sasquatch." he muttered softly as he struggled to release the cuffs. "Hang in there Sam, I gotcha. I gotcha man."
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"I demand to talk to Henriksen immediately." stated Mara, sweeping majestically into the office the Feds had taken over when they had first arrived at Folsom Prison. Reidy jumped, standing and staring for a moment, unsure what to do. This whole case had disintegrated at a spectacular rate. Not only had they lost one suspect, but the other was being treated in ways he could only describe as inhumane, and his boss/partner was unraveling and, frankly, was scaring him to death. He was loyal, which is why he hadn't reported what was going on, but they were quickly getting to a point of no return and he just wasn't sure what to do. The advent of the Winchester's lawyer in the middle of this clusterfuck was just icing on the cake.
"He's not here…" he stammered, caught off-guard.
"Then get him here. I'm authorized to discuss a possible surrender of Dean Winchester and demand the release of Sam Winchester to the prison's general population, but only with the Agent in Charge. I repeat, get him here, NOW."
Reidy picked up the phone and dialed Henriksen. The conversation that ensued did not ease his mind. Unsure what Henriksen had planned for the lawyer lady, he unobtrusively slid his gun from his desk drawer into his holster. Putting on his game face and turning to her, he said, "Ms. Daniels, isn't it? Please, have a seat, Henriksen should be here shortly."
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Dean, nearly going crazy trying to sit still beside Bobby in the nondescript car they had "borrowed" just a few blocks from the prison, answered his phone on the first ring. "Yeah?"
"Dean, we have a problem."
"Talk to me Hoyt."
"I'm with Sam, and I've almost got him freed, but he's injured and unconscious. I can't carry him out on my own." Dean heard groaning in the background and Hoyt murmuring softly to his brother. He was out of the car in a flash and headed for the prison gate before Bobby could react. "I'll meet you at the cell block door." He hung up and immediately called Deacon.
"Deacon, I'm coming in hot. Sam's injured. I need access through the fence on the old cell block side." He listened briefly, then "...whatever you gotta do man. I'm getting my brother back."