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Chapter 7

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Dean crept into the cell block as quietly as possible, but took off running when he heard a loud groan coming from one of the cells. Sam. Stuttering to a stop as he entered the cell, he looked down at his brother, heart pounding. Hoyt had twisted to a protective crouch in front of Sam, pulling a knife out from somewhere, but immediately stood down upon seeing Dean. "Help. Pressure." he said shortly, indicating the shoulder wound while resuming his desperate work on the leg shackles. Dean dropped to his knees, hating everything about this, but obediently put pressure on the blood-sodden t-shirt. Sam cried out and tried instinctively to curl away, but Dean put his other hand on his face, leaning in close and murmuring words of comfort. Sam quieted, somehow knowing even in unconsciousness that his brother was near.

"Got it!" crowed Hoyt. He took over putting pressure on the knife wound as Dean pulled off his flannel and worked it around Sam's body, tying it to keep the t-shirt bandage in place. Working in tandem, the two men lifted Sam's unresponsive, gangly body, and carefully began to haul him out of the cell and toward the end of the cell block. The metal door at the opposite end of the hall flew open with a bang, and they froze, turning and eying the wild man that had entered with a gun raised. Dean instinctively stepped forward, trying to shield Sam and Hoyt, even as Henriksen paced closer, aiming right at Dean's chest.

"You will not escape me again." he cried crazily, pulling the trigger. Dean and Hoyt both flinched, looking at each other and Sam to see where the shot had gone. Not finding any new wounds, however, they turned back in time to see Henriksen's face crumple as almost in slow motion blood appeared on his chest and he sank to the floor. Behind him stood a panting Deacon, gun still held at the ready.

"Go, dammit! Get out of here! I'll deal with this mess." Deacon shouted.

"Deacon, you've got to come too…" Dean started. But Deacon was adamant.

"I'll be fine, but you have to go NOW. That shot will bring everyone in the prison here. Get!" And resolutely turning away from them, he pulled the radio from his hip and began to call for medical assistance. Realizing their window for escape was closing rapidly, even with as much delay as Deacon was going to try to give them, they grabbed Sam more firmly and moved quickly and quietly back across the yard, through the gate, to where miraculously Bobby and the car had appeared. As Bobby hopped out to help with Sam, Dean rushed back to the gate, locked it, and threw the key through the fence as far away from the gate as possible, so when discovered it would simply be a missing key, not a clue. Running back to the car, he slipped into the back seat and pulled Sam up against him, bracing him as Bobby began to race away into the night. Hoyt looked back at Dean, smiling, but Dean's adrenaline had ebbed away, and he was clearly fighting his emotions after their traumatic escape, so he turned back around and smiled at Bobby instead.

Soft conversation flowed between the two in the front seat, but Dean only had enough bandwidth to focus on his brother. Sam was pale, but he didn't think he had lost so much blood as to be critical. He cringed, knowing they would need to cleanse the wound and stitch it, but he also knew it was within their skill set. What he needed was for Sammy to open his eyes, to respond, so he could confirm he was okay and to let him know that he was rescued and safe. He felt a flare of anger again at what Henriksen had done, but let it simmer down as he realized that they were free of that particular human forever, thanks to Deacon's timely intervention. He clasped Sam just a little bit closer as they bumped off the side roads and onto nearly non-existent roads leading to their chosen rendezvous spot, wanting to urge him to wake but knowing it would be less painful if he did not. Hold on Sam, I've got you. Just hold on. We're going to patch you up. You'll be fine.

Bringing Sam into the hiking cabin they had discovered hidden in the middle of nowhere, Dean was pleased to see a bed had already been prepared with clean sheets. Vic was waiting, having laid out the first aid kit on a nearby table. A kettle percolated on the stove, boiling some water. He nodded his thanks, even as he immediately drifted to Sam's side. Sam was stirring and restless, and Dean feared his wounds might already be infected. "Sam." he said softly, moving his hair gently out of his eyes then resting his hand on Sam's chest. "Sam, I need you to open your eyes for me, please brother." He continued pleading softly as Sam continued to resist surfacing, but finally Dean was rewarded with a glimpse of his hazel eyes. "Atta boy." he praised.

"D'n?"

"Yeah, Sam."

"Where - ?"

"You're safe. We got you out."

"Y'hurt?"

"No man, just you." Dean huffed a soft laugh at the familiarity of the conversation. They really needed to stop ending up in situations like this. "I gotta tend your wounds though. It's gonna hurt like hell."

"K." Sam stared at his brother, clearly confused but conveying his unwavering trust that Dean would make everything right.

In the shadows their audience looked on in silence. Vic glanced over at Hoyt and Bobby in awe, but they just nodded as if this was normal for the brothers, which based on their lack of reaction it was. Their devotion and commitment to one another clearly ran incredibly deep. Not wanting to disturb them, Vic turned back to the stove to see about cooking up the cans of stew he had picked up on his way to the cabin, knowing everyone was going to be hungry before long. Bobby picked up the kettle and poured the boiling water over a towel, then brought it to Dean. He knew better than to try to care for Sam himself…Dean could be bleeding and broken and would still be unyielding in his protective care for his little brother. Dean glanced up and took the towel gratefully, looking towards Sam with regret before commencing to remove the temporary clothing bandages and tackle the wound. Sam lasted longer than anyone expected, but it was a relief to all when he finally passed out again from the pain. Dean worked swiftly and silently at that point, accepting Bobby's assistance when needed, finally sitting back with a sigh when they had managed to sew and bandage the shoulder, as well as treating the wrists and ankles that he had rubbed raw from fighting his bonds. Shaking Sam until he roused slightly, he encouraged him to swallow some pills to fight the pain and infection and a couple sips of water, and then sat with him as he slipped back into sleep.

It was silent in the cabin for a bit, Dean watching Sam like a hawk for signs of distress, and the others watching both boys. Dean's phone ringing had everyone jumping, and he answered tensely, activating the speaker phone "Deacon? Tell me you're ok."

"Yeah, I'm good." There was a deep sigh on the other end of the line. "Henriksen is dead, Dean. I'll be investigated, but I think it'll be ruled a justified shooting. The prison is in an uproar though. Discovering the Feds had kept a prisoner in the old wing...in shackles, with blood on the floor…" He paused, and Dean could almost picture him running his hand down his face in weariness. "From what I can tell, Henriksen pushed Mara and shot his partner, so I don't think Reidy will be inclined to focus on Winchesters, as he'll be too busy answering to why he didn't stop Henriksen sooner."

"Mara? Is she ok?" asked Vic anxiously. He had received the text from Hoyt that she might be in trouble, but had not been able to gain access back to the prison to help.

"Think so. Concussion maybe. She took a bus to the hospital to get checked out, but she was alert enough to tell me what had gone down, so I think she'll be fine." Everyone sighed in relief, thankful that she was okay. Bobby glanced over at Dean, who was frowning, and knew that Dean would still blame himself for her injuries, regardless of the fact she chose to help of her own free will. Trying to keep him from going too far down that path, he spoke up, "Are you going to be able to join us?"

"No. I may not be a suspect, but there will still be quite a few eyes on me since I ended up in the middle of everything." Deacon paused again, then asked quietly, "How's Sam?" The guilt he was feeling bled through in his voice.

"This is not on you Deacon." Dean stated firmly. Right, Bobby thought, easy for you to say because you're going to shoulder all the blame yourself Dean! He snorted softly, but strove to keep his thoughts to himself as Dean continued, "Sam will be ok. He's resting now." Dean suddenly felt exhausted, and it must have communicated in his face, because Bobby reached for the phone, taking it off speaker, to give Deacon a more in-depth description of Sam's injuries. Vic stepped up beside Dean with a bowl of stew.

"Eat, then rest." Dean looked like he might refuse, but Hoyt spoke up from where he sat at the table, feet propped up, "You're hungry, you just don't know it. Sam needs you healthy, so eat and rest, so you can care for him." He rose even as he was speaking and moved over to the chair Dean had been in by Sam's bedside, gently pushing Dean towards the table. "I got him for a few, man." Nodding, he sat wearily and tentatively took a bite. After what seemed like barely any time, he looked down to find the bowl empty. Recognizing the last of his energy fleeing, he pulled off his boots and crawled onto the far side of the bed, careful not to jostle his brother, and was out in seconds.