gavemea_45 | (no subject)

He doesn't have a plan.

Andrew studies the twisted rails, but it's more for the sake of having somewhere to look other than at Sam's face.

He hasn't thought this through at all.

Sam's studying them as well.

"I think I can get past," he says, after a moment, and starts to lift his foot from the brake to let the Impala creep forward.

He risks a glance back at Sam.

"Think we can fix them once we're in?"

"Hm?"

He's carefully edging the car past the damage, two wheels off-road and two wheels on.

"Do what now?"

"Fix the -- the tracks. So the trap's whole again?"

It's clear from the expression on his face that the idea hadn't occurred to him.

"... oh."

A beat.

"I -- I don't think we can, I don't have the kind of tools that'd it'd take--"

Another beat.

"Could lay a salt line or two across, though?"

"Would that work? For keeping random escapees from ... randomly escaping?"

Sam shrugs.

"Should be just like blocking a door or window."

"Okay." Half a beat. "So what's our exit strategy?"

"... exit strategy?"

Sam blinks at him for a second, then shakes his head and pulls the Impala back on the road, just past the damaged tracks.

"Come on."

He gets out of the car and walks around to open the trunk.

Andrew's out of the car almost as quickly, circling to meet him at the trunk.

He's not sure whether Sam's dismissing the question or about to answer it. He's hoping it isn't just wishful thinking on his part that makes it sound like the latter.

"Shouldn't be a problem," he says, rummaging around in the trunk. Sam comes up with a very large sack of salt and sets it on the ground, then leans back in to reach for a wooden box.

"It's not like they're gonna have anyone here to possess -- any of them that get out, anyway. They'll be stuck as smoke. Here."

He picks out a black cord with an old tarnished silver charm hanging on it, and holds it out to Andrew.

"Wear that. It'll keep them off of you."

He reaches for the charm.

"So possessing is all they can do in that shape? We're not gonna get any, anything physical coming out?"

"Didn't last time," Sam says, flatly.

Or not exactly, anyway.

He picks up the salt bag and starts for the tracks.

"...okay. Okay, good."

Andrew loops the cord around his neck, tucks the charm into his shirt.

Maybe he's wrong. Maybe Sam has thought this through, contingency plans and all, and just doesn't have the patience to go over it with him.

Sam carefully pours a thick line of salt across the broken width, making sure to extend it far enough on either side to keep there from being any break. He repeats the process, doubling it, and then twists the sack shut and returns to the car.

"There."

The bag goes back in the trunk on top of the wooden box, and Sam starts to close it, then hesitates, glancing from it to Andrew.

"You need anything from in here?"

He glances at the trunk too.

"You got any extra holy water?" he asks, low. "In case we do wind up having to go in?"

"Couple gallons."

He steps up to the trunk, leaning to look in. "Let's take some?"

Sam shifts a blanket out of the way and lifts out two gallon jugs, passing one off to Andrew.

"We can put it in the back seat. There's still a short way to go yet."

Back in the car, he glances sidelong at Sam again.

"So the last time I ran a hellbreak," he starts, and hesitates for half a beat, watching for Sam's reaction.

The flash of sudden, desperate hope that passes over his face is clear to see, even in the still-dim light.

"The last time?"

"Yeah," he says. "The, um. Only successful time."

(Not the only time, though.)

"We had to go in, and -- our guy didn't recognize us. He tried to fight us."

Sam looks away and steps on the gas, sending the Impala on up the road in a cloud of dust..

"Dean'll know me."

For a split second he considers telling Sam who it was they went in after --

No.

"Course he will," he says. "Once he's out. But ..."