Chapter Text
“You want to spend the day doing what?”
Sam’s lower lip quivers, which means he’s getting ready to go into full-on puppy meltdown mode. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and then wipes his hand over his mouth, still trying to wrap his head around what Sam had just suggested. Sam is vibrating with so much excitement it looks like he’s going to blast off from Dean’s couch.
“An escape room! There’s a local business in the city with a few different locations, and they all have different themes. I think the same guy owns and designs them all. I did some research online, it looks like a really good way to keep my brain sharp during summer break.”
Dean nods, slowly, eyes still trained on Sam’s hopeful face. “You can’t just like, I don’t know, watch the Discovery channel or something?”
“Dean,” Sam looks ready to pout. “This is an interactive way to keep your brain engaged. You would benefit from it too, you know.”
“You sayin’ my brain isn’t engaged?” Dean huffs.
Sam rolls his eyes. “No, Dean. But this would be a good way to test our capacities and see what we can do. A lot of people don’t escape but still feel really accomplished when it’s all said and done.”
“This sounds really fuckin’ nerdy,” Dean says with a little groan, before throwing his hands up. “Fine. Let’s do your little board game and get it over with.”
“The website says the minimum is two people,” Sam says, immediately standing up. He’s awfully excited for a thirty-year-old man. “Maybe after we check it out we can get Charlie and Gilda to come with us next time.”
“Next time,” Dean says, nodding and turning around to head towards the front door. “Right.”
Sam grabs his coat and follows after him, his excitement rolling off of him in waves. It’s… cute, to see Sam so excited. This past week he’s been sort of moping around, missing his long-term girlfriend Jessica back in California. For summer break Sam decided to visit Dean in their hometown, Lawrence, to catch up and get an actual break from all the schooling Sam tortures himself with. Well- Dean thinks it’s torture. Sam thinks it’s fun. Which is why Dean is having difficulty believing that an activity like this is is going to be fun for both of them. The mechanic shop Dean owns and operates is closed on Sundays, and while normally Dean likes to lounge in his bachelor pad wearing boxers and accessorizing himself only with a beer… he supposes he can make an exception.
Besides, seeing Sam so excited about it? It melts Dean’s oil-slicked heart, even if he’s already anticipating getting his ass kicked in a brain game.
--
Dean isn’t sure what exactly he was expecting when they pull up to a strip mall on the northern side of town. Dungeons and dragons? A torture cave? A decrepit building? He squints as they park; the business is between a dance academy and a Korean restaurant and looks entirely unassuming. If Sam hadn’t pointed it out, Dean would have driven right by it.
Sam is out of the car first and Dean leisurely follows, making sure Baby is all locked up before pocketing his keys and trailing Sam inside. It’s well-lit and similar to the reception area of a doctor’s office; a mini fridge is up against one wall, a desk on the opposite, and a huge mural painted on one of the walls by the window.
“Welcome,” a low, pleasant voice greets.
Sam greets happily, but when Dean turns his head to return the greeting, his words get caught up in his throat. The man standing on the other side of the reception desk is… wowza. Dark, mussed hair, cerulean eyes, 5 o’clock shadow. He’s wearing a polo with the Escape emblem on the left breast and khaki pants, a work uniform of sorts, and it’s kind of nerdy but wow, he makes it look good.
“We have a booking at noon,” Sam says, resting his elbows on the high part of the counter that separates the desk from the rest of the room.
The man nods, glancing down at what is surely the hidden screen of a computer. “Winchester?”
“That’s the one,” Sam replies, his voice lilting. He’s so excited. Damn adorable.
Dean sidles up to the counter, looking over the display of brochures and business cards, before his eyes land on a clipboard. There’s paper on it, a lengthy paragraph on the top and spaces for signatures and dates, and he chuckles to himself. “Gotta sign our lives away?”
The man nods, his smile a bit more reserved, but still amused. “A standard ‘loss of life and limb’ waiver.”
Dean whistles under his breath, “What kinda kinky place are you runnin’?”
Sam elbows him, but the man laughs.
“I assure you, we are not that kind of business.”
The way he talks is smooth, voice deep, only the slightest bit of amusement lacing his words. But when Dean catches his eye he sees the warmth there, and he picks up the pen from the metal clamp of the clipboard, following the instructions to print, sign, and then date. Sam follows his example, and once they’re signed in the man informs them where the restroom is before directing them into a waiting room.
Inside, Sam takes a seat while Dean slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans, eyes wandering around. There are bulletin boards with thank-you cards on them, a few framed newspaper articles, and a board depicting the success-failure ratios of each room. Again, Dean whistles under his breath as he examines the statistics.
“Which one are we doing?” he asks, taking in the way that each of the rows have been decorated. There are four different themes: Intergalactic Express has a little rocket ship drawn in its square, Prison Break has bars over the words, Room 13 had little red blood splatters, and Secret Agent had some Blue’s Brother’s sunglasses drawn into the corner. Cute.
“Prison Break,” Sam replies, glancing up at the board as well.
Dean snorts, “O-kayyyy, did you know that only seventeen percent of people escape that room?”
“What?” Sam stands up, moving over to get a closer look at the board. His smile is huge. “Good, it’s hard.”
“Don’t you think we should ease ourselves into this? Maybe do an easier one?” Dean’s eyes look up to Room 13. “This one is twenty-six percent.”
Sam rolls his eyes, “It’s probably really cheesy. I read it’s the only scary room they have.”
“Scary,” Dean harrumphs, then grins. “Right.”
The door to the waiting room opens and the man enters, holding a different clipboard and sending a small, reserved smile to the brothers. “Have a seat, please. I will be explaining a few things to you.” Dean and Sam amble to sit down, and the man’s smile stays small, but genuine. “My name is Castiel, and I will be your Game Master for the afternoon. It is my job to ensure that you have the smoothest experience possible. Any questions, comments, complaints or concerns should be immediately directed to me.”
Sam and Dean nod, and Castiel continues.
“This is your first time?” Another nod. “If you’re still a little unsure as to what an escape room is: I put you in a room for an allotted amount of time, and in order to escape you need to gather clues and information hidden around the room. They could be physical props, or it could be information you read. Some of the clues are not locked up, and others are. You must open every locked item before you are able to attempt your escape.
Your end goal is to get out of the original door. It will shut and lock behind you. You need a four-digit code in order to escape and win. You do not need any outside knowledge in order to complete the game; everything you need in order to escape will be provided to you within the room.”
Dean claps his hands together and rubs his palms, grinning. “This is starting to sound a little cool, now.” He’s definitely a works-with-hands type of guy, and by the sounds of it, he’ll be able to work with his hands as much as his brain. A good compromise.
Castiel’s gaze slides specifically to Dean, his lips quirking. “I will make a believer out of you.”
Arching a brow, Dean likes the way those words settle into his belly. “I look forward to it.”
Schooling his expression, even though Sam regards their exchange with interest, Castiel begins explaining the rules and guidelines, as well as demonstrating a few locks. When Sam and Dean are sufficiently informed Castiel walks towards the door, opening it up and turning around to send Sam and Dean another small, almost shy smile.
“The Warden will be right with you.”
The door shuts and Sam and Dean are left alone, both of them wearing matching smiles.
“Ok, it’s getting interesting,” Dean admits, his palms on his knees as he glances back up to the leaderboard.
“You mean the Game Master is interesting,” Sam says with an arched brow.
“Yeah…” Dean smiles. “In a cute, bookish nerdy kinda way.”
Sam snorts, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. A few moments pass in silence, and just as Dean opens his mouth to ask a rhetorical question, the door to the waiting room gets kicked open, the handle slamming against the wooden block on the adjacent wall, causing both Sam and Dean to jump in surprise.
The first thing Dean sees is steel-toed boots, well-worn but taken care of. His eyes trail up from the boots to see black skinny jeans framing runner’s legs, a studded belt, a police uniform shirt and…
“Shit,” Dean breathes.
Castiel has ditched his nerdy polo and khaki combo and swapped it for the hottest, most modest rendition of a sexy police officer uniform Dean has ever laid eyes on. A hat is perched atop his messy hair, badge shiny, aviators resting on his straight nose. His brows are furrowed and the man is slender, but his stance is powerful as he steps into the room, all evidence of the shy Game Master gone.
Dean has never had a police officer fantasy, but it implants itself into his head easily as Castiel regards them both behind his aviators. Even though his eyes aren’t visible, Dean feels pinned to his chair by the weight of them.
“You both are going to be in my holding cell for the next sixty minutes,” Castiel - no, The Warden - starts saying, his voice with a rough, sure edge, “until transport comes to take you to maximum security.” He takes another step closer as he looks between the brothers, a wicked smirk curling his lips. “On your feet!”
Scrambling to comply, Sam and Dean knock elbows as they stand at attention. Sam is smiling in amusement, clearly enjoying the theatrics, but Dean’s heart is pounding, blood rushing in so many directions he feels a little lightheaded.
The Warden starts pacing, drumming his long fingers over his clipboard to fill the silence as the brothers await further instruction.
“Over the past few months we have had a few… mishaps,” The Warden confides, his voice tilting downwards in disapproval. “A couple of people have left me on my watch.” That smile slowly curls back onto his lips as he stands straight, feet shoulder-width apart, the edge of the clipboard resting on his narrow hip as he announces, “Because of this I have greatly enhanced my holding cell procedures to ensure that it won’t happen again.” He leans forward a little, free hand reaching up to pull his aviators down slightly so his deep dark blues can pierce into Dean’s own dilated pupils. “Y’all are mine for the next hour, and mine only.”
Dean isn’t quite sure what prompts him, but he says, “Yes sir.”
Sam snorts, causing The Warden’s attention to snap towards him.
“You think this is a game, worm?” The Warden spits, and Sam immediately straightens his expression and shakes his head vigorously in the negative. Dean’s getting particularly hot under the collar. He’s glad he’s not wearing a jacket today. The Warden’s intensity recedes slightly and the smirk is back on his lips, as he takes a step back. “Follow me, single-file.” He turns on heel like he’d trained for years to do so, disappearing out of the waiting room.
“Thank you for choosing this stupid activity for us,” Dean says breathlessly as he slaps Sam on the shoulder and hurries to follow The Warden, ignoring Sam’s blubbered and laughing reply.
Down the hallway they catch up to where The Warden is standing in a doorway, aviators in place, hat straight, hand with the clipboard resting by his thigh. Once The Warden is satisfied with their cooperation he leads them into the room, Dean’s eyes glued to the way those skinny jeans hug the roundness of his ass.
“Any personal belongings that will weigh you down, put in this trunk,” The Warden says, gesturing to an open trunk.
Dean finally glances around the room; it’s not large, but there’s a ten-by-8-foot jail cell in the corner, a table outside, a phone, a trunk, and a door with WARDEN’S OFFICE printed on it. He takes his cell phone, keys and wallet out of his pockets and tosses them into the trunk, following The Warden’s gesture to enter the jail cell. Sam dumps his items as well as his hoodie into the trunk and The Warden slams it shut, ushering them further into the cell. Dean doesn’t really have a chance to look around before The Warden is grabbing his wrist, yanking him forward.
The noise Dean lets out is so embarrassing, he immediately clamps his mouth shut and feels his ears burning.
The Warden is still smirking, his eyes hidden behind the reflective glasses. His grip is strong, and Dean is about to say something snarky - but then he feels cold metal snap over his wrist, The Warden’s hot fingers leaving his skin. Looking down, Dean is shocked to see his wrist cuffed to a pole erected in the center of the cell.
Sam, the bastard, is laughing and much more willing and ready as he holds out his hand for The Warden to cuff. With both brothers locked and secured The Warden steps out of the cell and swings the creaky door shut, reaching for the latch and a combination lock.
“You’re going to spend the next hour contemplating your horrible life choices,” The Warden says as he snaps the lock in place, spinning the combination. Dean is still too jilted to try and sneak a look at what the combination might be before it gets scrambled, his ears still hot, his skin burning from the switch between The Warden’s warm skin and the cold metal of the handcuffs.
Rotating his wrist a little, Dean tests the give of the cuffs. Yep, they’re real. Glancing up at The Warden as he finishes securing the cell, Dean manages a smirk. “I thought you said this ‘wasn’t that type of business’?”
The Warden saunters, saunters away from the cell and back towards the door, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. “This Warden accepts bribes” He flips a switch on the wall, a digital timer above the door blaring 60:00 in red neon, and then he’s gone, the door slamming behind him, the click of the lock audible in the ensuing silence.
Sam finally lets out a raucous laugh, “Dean!”
Huffing, and only mildly embarrassed now that he’s recovered most of his sanity, Dean grumbles. “Worth a shot. Can you believe that one-eighty? I can’t believe that’s the same person that greeted us.”
“I read that they’re really theatrical here,” Sam says, starting to look around the cell. “We need a key.”
Dean chortles, “If you had done your hair pretty, Sammy, I could have used one of your bobby pins to spring us.”
Sam doesn’t grace him with a reply, squatting down and starting to feel around the base of the pole they’re cuffed to. Dean finally starts to get his head in the game, glancing around. No need to be intimidated, right? There’s a small piece of furniture in the cell with them, fashioned with cupboard doors and a drawer. On top Dean picks up a book, surprised to find it with a false center, the inside containing eight pawns. Four light, four dark. Humming to himself, he squats, his left arm away from his body, still attached to the pole as he starts shuffling around the table.
“I found the key,” Sam announces, excitement on the edge of his voice. Dean looks up to see him reaching his long arm up towards piping that runs along the top ledge of the cell, fingers hooking on a D-ring that has a single handcuff key attached to it.
“Nice,” Dean says. While Sam works on uncuffing them Dean continues to peruse the table, opening up the cupboards. Inside is another fake book, this one with a bunch of Scrabble tiles - and then there’s a real book. WHAT IS COMMUNISM? is the title, and when Dean opens it up and shakes it, a letter falls out. He feels the release of the cuff on his wrist and thanks Sam idly, picking up the letter and glancing through it. “Ugh. Riddle.” He hands it off to Sam, who takes it with hungry eyes.
“What grows when it eats, but dies when it drinks?...” Sam chews his thumb. “Use the answer with your one phone call to gain access to the Warden’s office.”
Both men look through the bars of the cell to the opposite side of the room, where a phone lay innocently on a night stand next to the exit door. It’s too far to reach, so they return their attention back to the items inside the cell.
Dean is still squatting as he pulls a Scrabble board out of the lower drawer of the table, opening it up and examining it. There’s nothing written on or hidden in it so he sets it aside, picking up the false book with the Scrabble tiles again. Fingers rooting through it, he discovers a square with the backside colored green, picking it up and examining it. “Huh.”
Sam peers over Dean’s shoulder, “Are there more green ones?”
Dean continues pushing tiles this way and that, and eventually ends up with five green Scrabble pieces. Gathering them in his palm he stands, looking around the cell, his eyes falling on the lock keeping the door shut.
“Ah fuck,” he laughs. “The lock is green.”
Sam’s smile broadens. “An arbitrary connection. Genius.”
Dean makes his way over to the lock, setting the Scrabble tiles on the ledge running around the entirely of the cell at waist-height. He starts rearranging the tiles, wondering what order they go in; Sam puts a finger on the O tile.
“There’s a one on this tile.”
Dean looks at the rest. “Fuck yeah, one-through-five.” He arranges the tiles in the proper order and then rotates the circles on the lock until they’re all lined up, and then pulls, letting out a satisfied noise when the lock easily pops open. He opens the door and Sam follows him, letter still in hand, and they spill into the main area. Dean is starting to feel good - like his brain is starting off with gentle yoga poses to warm up.
Out here they can better examine the furniture and items they can easily reach. Dean starts investigating the table in the middle of the room, running his hands along the edges and underside. He pulls out two colored food trays from a hidden compartment, two chess pieces rattling around in the drink holder. His eyes go back to the cell, where there are seven colored trays tucked under the cupbard. Setting his findings on the table he quickly goes back into the cell, grabbing the trays and bringing them out - as he passes Sam, he’s handed more trays, and he puts them all on the table, arranging them into four stacks. Blue, orange, green, and red.
“I found another chess piece,” Sam says, setting a black knight on the table next to the two white castles Dean found. “This riddle shouldn’t be this difficult.”
Dean shrugs, “That’s all you, buddy. You know I can’t solve riddles for the life of me.”
Sam gets a Look on his face, “Don’t sell yourself short, Dean.”
Waving a hand, Dean decides to get on his hands and knees so he can peer under the table. It’s always good to stop Sam from going on a ‘you’re smarter than you think you are’ rant while he’s ahead. “Hey-” he shifts to lie down on his back so he can see properly. “There’s a drawing under here. A green lock.”
“Anything else?” Sam asks, interested.
“Nah,” Dean says, standing up. He spots scratch paper and a pen next to the phone and grabs them, drawing a crappy rendition of the lock just so they don’t forget about it. He remembers Castiel specifically telling them to not flip any of the furniture over.
“Fire,” Sam suddenly says, flicking the edge of the paper, grinning triumphantly. “Fire grows when it eats, and dies when it drinks.”
“What do we do with that answer?” Dean asks, looking around the room. He peers at a few of the locks, “None of these are four letters.”
“Use your one phone call…” Sam wanders over to the phone. He picks it up, examining it. “It’s not plugged into anything, so it’s not operational.” He sets it down again, while Dean moves over to the locked trunk that doesn’t contain their personal belongings. “Oh! Of course.”
Dean glances up to see Sam striding across the room towards the Warden’s office, punching in a four-digit code. The pin pad lock on the door lights up blue and Sam opens the door, sending a grin back towards Dean.
“If you use T9 on the phone, you can convert ‘fire’ into numbers. Three-four-seven-three.”
“Brilliant, Sammy,” Dean praises. He glances up to the timer, where 44:32 blink back at him. He’s not sure, but it feels like they’re making good time.
While Sam disappears into the Warden’s office Dean kneels in front of the locked trunk, picking up the Master lock and running his fingers over the colors painted over the columns. The same colors as the trays. He looks over at the table and counts the colors, putting in the number into the corresponding spot on the lock, and grins to himself when the lock opens.
“Got the trunk,” Dean says, lifting the lid and resting it gently against the wall. Inside is a bright orange jumpsuit, which he lifts up and looks over; he searches the pockets and finds a flashlight and another chess piece, stretching his body to set them on the table where the trays and other chess pieces are gathered. Finding nothing else in the jumpsuit he tosses it aside, pulling out the other items. A chess board folded in half, the inside compartment containing the rest of the pawns; a laminated piece of paper with COMMON JAIL TERMS at the top and word scrambles below; a wet erase pen; a diary.
Dean gathers the items and brings them to the table, starting to flip through the diary. “What are you finding in there?” he calls to Sam.
“I found a briefcase, a box, and some golf clubs. The briefcase and the box are locked, and there’s a locked drawer in the desk.”
The handwriting in the diary is neat, concise, and almost looks like it was written with the aid of a ruler. Whoever was in charge of making this prop took great care in doing so, and Dean smiles to himself as he flips through the pages. He imagines Castiel hunched over a table, pen in one hand, ruler in the other, as he carefully writes the entries word for word. Most of it is THE WARDEN SUCKS in bold writing, in the center of the page, on the first twenty or so pages. An actual entry follows, and Dean reads it.
I cannot WAIT to get out of here! All the Warden talks about is golfing and his stupid Panhead ‘74. I’m gonna bust out and show him!
“Something about the golf clubs in this diary,” Dean calls. He picks it up and meanders into the Warden’s office, looking around. There’s a photo collage on the wall, and he barely glances over it before returning his attention to Sam. “Have you found anything relating to a motorcycle?”
Sam is examining the golf clubs, but he looks up to gesture at the wall above the desk. “You mean like a giant poster of motorcycles?”
Dean lifts his gaze, and then rolls his eyes, feeling a little dumb that he didn’t notice it before. “Shut up.” He sets the diary on the desk and leans over it to peer at the poster, scanning it. “Panhead.. Panhead…” he reaches out to touch the poster. “Panhead ‘74. Got it. Made in 1956.” He steps back, glancing around the room. There are two four-digit locks, one on a box and one on the desk drawer; he starts with the box, lining up 1956 and giving it a try. It doesn’t work, so he moves to the desk.
Sam makes a triumphant noise just as Dean does - Dean gets the desk open and Sam is opening up the briefcase. “One side of the golf clubs were numbers, the other colors, and they were labeled left and right. Beautiful.”
“Man, whoever thinks of this shit is a genius,” Dean says with honest appreciation. Even if some of this stuff is over his head, he can appreciate it. In the locked desk drawer is a laminated piece of paper with another word scramble, and another chess piece. Standing straight, Dean wrinkles his nose. “I think this is part of the word puzzle I found in the trunk.”
Sam pulls a laptop out of the briefcase, plugging it in and opening it up. “There are four accounts to choose from.”
Dean looks over, and then points, “Click on the green lock. That’s what I found under the table.”
“Nice,” Sam replies, clicking on the lock. He groans. “Password protected.”
Dean grins and slaps Sam cordially on the shoulder, “Good thing you are also a genius, little brother.”
Sam shakes his head and chuckles. Dean takes what he found in the drawer and brings it out to the main table, setting it down. He picks up the bigger laminated piece of paper and reads it over; the first word is given to them, and it’s a scramble and a cypher all at once. Dean puffs his cheeks and resists a groan - word puzzles are not his forte. He picks up the wet erase marker anyway, resigning himself to his fate. Might as well try, right?
Five minutes pass in silence. Sam returns to the main room, looking around for a moment - and then moves towards the table where the phone rests, kneeling next to it.
“Hey,” Sam reaches out a hand. “Flashlight.”
Dean straightens, welcoming the distraction. He’s only figured out one word. He watches Sam curiously, “What’s up?”
“The password hint was ‘a hole’, and there’s a hole in this night stand,” Sam explains, turning the flashlight on and shining it in the hole. He grins. “Jackpot. Write this down.”
In the margin of the word scramble Dean writes down the letters and numbers Sam rattles off to him. Sam goes into the Warden’s office to grab the laptop and bring it out to the table where Dean is, starting to type in the password. He glances over at the puzzle Dean is looking on, a teasing smile starting to form over his lips.
“Having trouble, genius?”
Dean huffs. “It’s hard.”
“These rooms are designed to be challenging. I was worried we were going to breeze through it, honestly.” Sam logs in and starts poking around at the different files. “Ask for a hint?”
Dean stares down at the word puzzle. Then, stubbornly, “No.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “We’re allowed to ask for help twice, you know.”
“I know,” Dean puffs his chest. “I wanna keep trying for a few more minutes.” He glances behind him at the timer - 24:40 - and then looks down at the paper. “I can do it.”
Apparently Sam doesn’t feel the need to make fun of him anymore, as he picks up the laptop and returns to the Warden’s office. Dean goes back to trying to match different letters with the key at the top, and after two minutes, he finally squashes down his ego enough to get up and ring the doorbell by the exit door.
Only a few seconds pass before the door creaks open, Castiel poking his head in. He’s dressed head to toe in black and white stripes, obviously a ‘prisoner on the outside ready to assist’, and Dean finds himself chuckling. The uniform suits Castiel better - this outfit just makes Castiel look like the meek nerd they had first met.
“How can I help?” Castiel whispers, eyes furtively glancing around the room.
Dean holds up the laminated piece of paper, “I’m… stuck.”
Castiel steps a bit further into the room, checking behind him as well, expression rife with paranoia. He takes the paper from Dean and scans over it like he’s never seen it before. “This is the secret code we use to pass notes,” he reveals, setting the paper back down on the table. He points to the word Dean has already solved. “This is correct.” He glances up to the Warden’s office, licking his lips nervously, before lowering his voice. “I’ll give you one more word.”
Dean hands off the purple pen, watching Castiel’s beautiful fingers grip it and start to fill in one of the larger words. In neat, capitalized letters - the same in the diary - Castiel writes INFIRMARY above one of the scrambles. Dean groans at himself. He had mixed up the ‘S’ and the ‘N’. Castiel sets the pen down and then straightens, backing towards the door, lifting his gaze to check their time.
Dean turns around to thank him, but Castiel is lifting a finger to his lips as he exits, the ghost of a wry smirk on his lips as he disappears. Grinning, Dean picks up the pen, and starts to make much more progress on the puzzle than he was before. Sam and Dean work separately for a while, until there’s ten minutes left and Sam comes out, unlocking one of the boxes on the wall. Dean looks up with interest, about to ask Sam how he figured out that combination, but then a wall shakes and skrrrrs, a secret room opening up.
“Fucking cool!” Dean says, abandoning the last word of his puzzle so he can go with Sam to investigate. It’s small inside so Dean climbs in, looking around. He picks up a black box with another combination lock, and then looks at the wall, squinting to read in the semi-dark. “Light plus light equals A,” he says, loud enough for Sam to hear and maybe start writing down. “Dark plus dark equals B. A times B equals question-mark.”
As he exits the room he sees Sam writing on a piece of scratch paper, frowning. “This obviously goes to the chessboard.”
Dean nods, setting the box down on the table. “I bet the last word on my sheet opens up this box.” He picks up the pen again, eyes working double time to match all of the letters. Sam waits almost impatiently, drumming his fingers on his thighs as he tries not to crowd Dean’s space. When Dean solves the last word he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Wrong.”
“What?” Sam asks, startled.
“The answer- it’s ‘wrong’,” Dean says, holding up the small laminated piece of paper.
Sam grins, immediately going to work on the lock. Dean glances up at the clock - three minutes left - and when Sam gets the box open he finds a USB drive, immediately moving back to the Warden’s office to plug it in to the laptop. “Get the chess board!”
Dean clears an area on the table, setting up the chess board and setting all the pieces in their correct places with surprising accuracy. A video plays on the laptop, a tinny voice echoing from the speakers. Castiel’s rough voice is pitched, sounding as paranoid as the Castiel that came in and helped Dean with the puzzle, and announces which chess pieces go on which part of the board.
Only four of them.
It all clicks. Dean grabs the scratch paper and the pen, lifting up the pieces; there are numbers written on the bottoms of them, as well as numbers on the board, and Dean makes quick work of adding them all together. “Shit, Sam-” Dean stares at the A and B he has calculated. “I need a calculator, I don’t have time to multiply these numbers.”
The clock reads 1:30 remaining. Sam comes out of the office quickly with a calculator, “Found this in a drawer,” passing it off to Dean. Fumbling fingers multiply A and B, revealing a four-digit code, and Dean says it out loud as Sam punches it into the exit door.
The door unlocks and Sam swings it open, their cheers of accomplishment dying on their lips as they are greeted with a very Pissed Off Warden. His arms are folded across his chest in a way that show off biceps that Dean didn’t notice before, aviators resting on his nose, and oh God, he’s holding a baton. Dean’s knees go a little weak. They stand in terse, unsure silence, and then The Warden steps to the side, gesturing with his baton, his voice rough.
“Congratulations. You’ve outwitted the best.”
Sam laughs in relief and steps out first, Dean trailing behind him, feeling like he can’t really catch his breath. The Warden takes off his sunglasses and offers them a smile, obviously breaking character as he takes off his hat as well.
“I’m very impressed,” Castiel says, his voice returning to his normal low pitch. “I have never had two people escape that room before.”
“Ever?” Sam asks, raising his brows in surprise.
Castiel’s smile grows warm, “Ever. It was very interesting watching you two.”
“We’re a good team,” Sam says, clapping Dean on the shoulder, voice proud.
Dean shakes himself out of his stupor, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus, my brain hurts.”
Castiel waits for them to go back into the room and grab their personal belongings, before gesturing for them to start walking up to the front of the store. He responds to Dean’s words with a friendly chuckle, “That is one of the most common phrases I hear when people are done with my rooms.”
“Your rooms?” Dean sends Castiel his own surprised look.
Castiel smiles, a little on the secretive side. “My rooms.”
“You’re the owner?” Sam confirms as they reach the front.
“I am,” Castiel says, making his way behind the counter. He sets down his hat, aviators and baton, looking between the brothers.
“So,” Sam is immediately re-interested in the whole thing, “you design the rooms?”
“I conceptualize them myself, think of the puzzles, and then employ help to build the rooms,” Castiel says with a nod.
“That’s so cool,” Sam is nearly gushing. “It must take a lot of work. And the theatrics! You’re really good. This is so awesome.”
Castiel’s smile turns inward and he ducks his gaze. He’s probably heard the same thing before, but Sam’s praises and compliments are always so earnest, it can be a little jarring. “Thank you. I appreciate your feedback. Especially coming from people who are smart enough to figure out my game.”
“Nah,” Dean waves a hand, to try and lessen the importance Castiel just sort of laid on them. “Sammy’s a genius. Getting his doctorate and all. Thought this would be a good way to keep his brain sharp during summer vacation.”
Castiel’s smile widens some as he turns his attention to Sam. “I’m honored that you chose this as a pastime.”
Sam grins, “No problem, Castiel. We’ll be back for sure.”
“Definitely,” Dean finds himself agreeing without his own permission. Yes, the room was cool and challenging, but his brain does hurt, and he’s not sure how much more he can stretch its limits. But… Castiel is here. And Dean is very interested in Castiel. Especially if he adapts his persona to complement whatever room he’s handling. Dean wonders what other sides of Castiel exist…
“Sundays are slow, as you can see,” Castiel gestures around the empty lobby, “and they are the only day of the week that I work. You’re welcome back on Sundays for a discount if you can continue to impress me.”
Sam readily accepts, “Thank you, that’s awesome!”
Dean’s smile twitches at the corners. “Awesome.”
Sam starts for the door and Dean isn’t ready to leave Castiel’s presence, but he forces himself to follow, Sam imparting a friendly goodbye as he exits.
“Hey.”
Sam is already halfway to the car, but Dean is stopped by Castiel’s deep voice. Turning around, he sees that Castiel has the police hat on again, sunglasses in his hand, an earpiece resting on his full lower lip. His gaze is hot, focused, and he smirks, using the sunglasses to gesture at Dean.
“Stay out of trouble, punk.”
Dean exhales, feeling heat zip through his body. “Yes sir.” He nearly falls out of the door, slamming it behind him as he races to the car, not wanting to see Castiel’s reaction to his breathy reply.
He has a feeling he knows what the reply would have been.
“Same time next week?” Sam says, clearly still excited at the rush of it all.
“Yeah,” Dean says, a smile curling on his lips. “Can’t wait.”
--
The following weekend Dean is pulling Baby up right in front of the Escape room door, cutting the engine. The OPEN sign is blinking in random patterns in the window and it looks unoccupied inside - Castiel hadn’t been lying when he said Sundays are slow days, apparently. Sam and Dean get out of the car, this time more excited and prepared for what’s to come. The door chimes when it opens and now Dean’s attention is on the desk - which is… actually unoccupied.
“Uh,” Dean glances around. “It is noon, right?”
Sam nods, shrugging and making his way to the counter so he can start signing the waiver without prompting. Dean stands nearby, hands in his pockets, looking around. His eye catches on the brochures he overlooked last time and he picks one up, reading it over.
“Holy shit, he has eleven rooms.”
Sam moves away from the desk when he’s done signing. “Yeah,” he says, because obviously he knew.
“That’s nuts. We can’t do them all over the summer if we just stick to Sundays,” Dean says, flipping the brochure over to read the back.
“What if we did two rooms in a day?” Sam suggests, peering into the waiting room. Castiel must not be in there, because he returns his attention to Dean.
“Do you want to kill me?” Dean asks, affronted. “I don’t know if I could handle it.”
Before Sam can reply, Castiel comes walking down the long, narrow hallway that leads all the way to the back of the building. He has a small, reserved smile on his features, and today he’s dressed smartly in black slacks and a white button-up, with what looks like a flight attendant hat perched on his head.
“Hello, Dean. Sam,” he greets once he’s within handshake distance.
Sam shakes his hand eagerly. “Hey! Nice outfit. Are you our flight attendant for the day?”
Castiel’s smile pulls a little bit wider. “As a matter of fact, I am. If you’ll have a seat in the waiting room, I have a few specific things go over with you before departure.”
Dean appreciates Castiel’s commitment to his roles as they follow him into the waiting room. Castiel, this time, breezes through the rules and guidelines, probably because Sam and Dean followed them to a T last time and aren’t likely to forget. He mentions some specific things about the room they will be doing today - The Intergalactic Express - and Sam and Dean both take care to remember what he says.
“Are you ready to board?” Castiel asks, resting his clipboard on his hip and turning towards the door.
“Yeah,” Dean says, standing up alongside Sam. His eyes drift down to where the solid wood of the clipboard rests against Castiel’s sharp hip, wondering what it would be like if it were his palm resting there, instead.
Castiel leads them out of the waiting room around back towards the main lobby area. There’s a door off to the side with INTERGALACTIC EXPRESS above the frame, and Dean grins. He expects pretty much all of his nerdy fantasies to come true - not that he would admit to having nerdy fantasies at all - upon entering the room.
It doesn’t disappoint.
The room is crafted a bit like a movie theater; there are three rows of folding seats just on the side of the door and Castiel directs them to the front row of seating as they move further into the room. There’s a round table in the center with a tablecloth draped over it, a bureau on the left side of the room, a triangular table in the front starboard side of the room, four ‘windows’ (two on each opposing wall), and a door that leads to an area that looks suspiciously like a cockpit.
“Please have a seat,” Castiel instructs.
Dean sits next to Sam and glances down at the arm rests, his voice pitching slightly. “Seatbelts?”
Castiel sends Dean a sunny smile, “We aboard the Intergalactic Express pride ourselves on providing the safest travel for our customers.”
Sam is already buckling himself in while Castiel turns on a television mounted above the door to the cockpit. Do all of Castiel’s rooms have restraints in them? Dean thinks that’s a good fetish to have, but not one to coerce strangers into. Not that he’s complaining. Well, he’s sure no one complains. Not when someone like Castiel restrains them, anyway. Although, Dean has to wonder why type of people Castiel employs. Are they all as theatrical as him? Or good looking?
Suddenly Castiel is in Dean’s space, reaching down to his lap. Dean splutters in surprise and Castiel finishes fastening his seatbelt, sending Dean a little smirk as he thumbs the center of it.
“We must ensure your utmost safety,” Castiel murmurs. His cologne wafts into Dean’s nostrils, woodsy and spicy.
Dean can’t breathe.
Castiel pulls away and stands in front of Sam, reaching down to his seatbelt as well. Dean is still reeling, but Sam laughs in slight disbelief.
“The seatbelts are a combo lock?”
That grabs Dean’s attention and he looks down at his lap, seeing the three-digit combination lock built into the buckle itself. “Damn.” Of course that’s why Castiel got in his space. To secure the lock. Right?
Castiel straightens and pulls away, turning to face the television. He’s standing a few feet in front of Dean and Dean’s eyes immediately go to the man’s ass and dang, is it legal to look good in literally any type of pants? Dean’s pretty sure it’s not. It’s unfair.
Castiel turns around and Dean snaps his eyes up to the man’s face, probably looking as guilty as he feels. Castiel either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, as he explains a few things in the room, before he presses ‘play’ on the remote.
“Thank you for choosing to fly with the Intergalactic Express - I wish you a safe voyage.”
Castiel leaves. The door lock clicks and suddenly the room is bathed in red light, a video playing on the screen. Castiel appears on the television in what looks like a futuristic pod, lights blinking around him along with plenty of levers and buttons, wearing a captain’s hat.
“Hello, and thank you for flying the Intergalactic Express,” the Castiel on screen greets.
Sam grips the arm rests. “He’s good.”
Dean rests his elbow on one of the arm rests, chin in hand as he watches the video quietly.
“Unfortunately, after take off a few of our sensors went awry. Don’t worry- it’s nothing we can’t control.” Castiel plasters on what is obviously a fake smile. “We can navigate this situation, no problem.” His attention goes off-camera towards someone, speaking in tones too soft to decipher. Castiel’s eyes widen a bit and he looks back at the screen, some of the color draining from his face. “Oh. Well- it is my dishonor to bring you the news that we can not, in fact, negate the problem. Our...” he licks his lips, slightly nervous. “Our vessel has dislodged. The main flight deck has separated from the passenger cabin.” He leans towards the camera, dead serious. Dean feels his gut plummet. “You need to gain access to the cockpit and find the flight manual to bring the Intergalactic Express to safety. It’s too risky to try and rejoin the crafts - you have to crash land it on a nearby planet.” The video statics a little, the image on the screen doubling before refocusing. The audio is choppy, “You have to land the vessel. You have to-”
The video cuts out, blaring silence filling the room. The screen splits and shifts before 60:00 is displayed in the center, the countdown starting immediately.
Dean lets out a breath. “Fuck, he’s almost too good.”
“There’s numbers below the countdown,” Sam points out. Dean glances up as well. “They’re color coded.”
Dean looks at his seatbelt. “My seatbelt is orange.” He glances at Sam’s. “Yours is red.”
“Ok,” Sam replies. They note the corresponding combinations on the screen and unlock themselves, standing up.
“It’d be really cool if the room actually moved,” Dean says as he moves towards the perimeter. “Y’know, like one of those cheesy rides at Disneyland where you’re sitting in chairs and the floor shakes.”
Sam snorts, “Probably more money than Castiel is willing to put into the room.”
Dean smiles to himself. “Maybe.”
This room is more complex than the Prison Break room, Dean notes, as they start gathering clues and unlocking items. It’s dim, and the only flashlight they have is a sorry excuse, no doubt purposely half-charged to add to the challenging element of the game. They’re making good headway - Sam teases Dean about his knowledge of constellations as they start unlocking the ‘windows’ to match the constellations of stars on the inside to a deck of cards they found. A lot of attention to detail went into this room and as a fellow craftsman, Dean can really appreciate it. Not to mention the wiring for the control panel in the cockpit - lights flash, air whistles, compartments pop open.
Out of all of the windows, one is still locked. Dean scratches his head and looks down at the round table; they had removed the tablecloth a while ago to discover a puzzle, and so far it’s the only thing they haven’t used yet.
“Use the letters to complete the star,” Sam reads.
The star on the table has circles at each intersection of lines - they have been gathering what looks like hockey pucks, white letters on one side, red letters on the other. Along with those they found five blocks, each labeled with a word.
Dean stares at the star, noting that the circle at the very top has an N in it. Five of the other circles have numbers in them. Glancing at the pucks, Dean picks up the one with a white N on it, putting it at the top of the star.
“Nets,” Sam says.
Dean spells out the word with the circular pucks, following the direction of the arrows. He spells the next four words easily, and then Sam reaches forward to flip over the pucks on the numbered squares. “The red side is probably the combination?”
Nodding, Dean moves over to the window. “Read it out to me.”
The lock opens on the first try and Dean grins, pulling out the laminated paper from the inside. He hands it off to Sam and then picks up the remainder of the deck of cards, flipping through all of the constellations to try and find which one matches. When he finds it he gives the number and the suit of the card to Sam, who is writing everything down on a whiteboard on the port side of the room.
“This must tell us what order to put the numbers,” Sam says, holding up the paper that Dean had handed him. “Go to the last lock and put this combination in.”
Dean moves into the cockpit and to the left drawer, kneeling so he can get closer to the lock for ease of sight. Squinting a little, he puts in the combination and then yanks - the drawer pops open and he lets out a breathless laugh. The last page of their flight manifest is in the drawer and he stands up, reading the instructions.
“Ok- emergency landing procedure.” Dean says, moving to stand in front of the control panel of the cockpit. Sam comes and stands over his shoulder while he flips the switches in the right direction and presses the buttons; he presses fuel cell A and B at the same time and a hidden compartment falls open close to his knees, knocking him in the thighs. He lets out a surprised noise and then laughs at himself, reaching inside. He presses the singular button in the center, glancing around. “What’s happening?”
“Oh-” Sam points to the window that simulates looking out into space. “The alien language flashed there. Hold the button down.” Sam disappears to grab the alien language decoder sheet, a circular piece of paper that he has to rotate and squint at in order to correlate the symbols he sees to the number. “Seven… nine… four… three.”
Dean straightens and moves out into the main area, glancing up at the countdown clock.
7:54
He grins, “Let’s bust outta here, Sammy.” He walks to the back of the cabin and punches the code into the door, letting out a noise of contentment as the light turns blue and the lock clicks. When he opens it Castiel is on the other side, still wearing his flight attendant uniform, clapping and smiling that soft, reserved smile of his.
“Congratulations on successfully completing an emergency landing. The Intergalactic Express commends you on your courage and skill.”
“Dude,” Dean flaps his hands a little. “That room is so cool.”
Castiel gives a knowing smile, “You enjoy sci-fi?”
“I mean-” Dean leans closer, like it’s a secret. “It’s a side hobby.”
Sam slaps Dean on the back, speaking to Castiel, “He and his best friend Charlie marathon sci-fi stuff every Thursday night.”
Moving away from the room, Dean slaps Sam’s hand off of his shoulder, but he’s grinning. “You make it sound like we’re a pair of high schoolers with a routine.”
“You’ve been doing it since high school, so.” Sam grins.
Castiel leads them back to the desk. “I overheard earlier that you were thinking about trying two rooms in one day?”
Dean raises his hands, “Woah woah woah. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
But Sam is nodding, the traitor. “I want to do all of them before I have to go back to California.”
“I see,” Castiel nods. They all walk back towards the desk, where Castiel takes off the flight attendant hat. His hair is the most tidy Dean has seen it, parted smartly on the side, the rest of it coiffed upwards. He looks… incredibly handsome. He offers the brothers a warm smile. “If you decided to do two rooms in one day, I can get you a meal in between for free. The owners of the Korean restaurant next door and I have a nice deal together.”
Sam looks interested, “Are they good?”
“Delicious,” Castiel confirms.
“Couldn’t have a deal with a burger joint?” Dean gruffs. Sam elbows him. Dean smiles. “So, what- do a room, have a lunch break, then do another room?”
“It is a fact that brains perform better when they are packed with nutrients and you have a full stomach,” Castiel says, with a small twinkle in his eye as he regards Dean. “If this is you two doing rooms on empty stomachs, I can’t imagine what capacity you function at when you’re full.”
Full. That word rounds out on Castiel’s lips and Dean stares at the man’s mouth, absorbing the impact of his statement. Of course, they’re talking about food. But Dean’s mind falls straight into the gutter, thinking about being… full… in other ways. His mind supplies him with the image of Castiel wearing the police uniform and Dean feels his cheeks flushing, bodily turning away to calm himself down.
“They have a sushi belt,” Castiel continues saying towards Sam.
“I haven’t had sushi in a while,” Sam replies.
Dean feels mortified about the fact that he’s half-hard, doing his best to look unaffected as Castiel and Sam continue talking about the restaurant. Letting out a breath, Dean makes his way over to the mural on the wall, folding his arms over his chest as he looks it over. There’s an astronaut in the top left corner, surrounded by milky galaxy and planets; a haunted hotel in the top right corner, a rather frightful looking dude in the forefront with the number thirteen hidden in his eye; a James Bond looking caricature in the bottom right corner underneath what looks like a mad scientist’s laboratory table; and then on the left side a drawing of a rough looking prisoner hidden behind bars. Each piece is done by the same artist, a mix between cartoony and real, and Dean finds himself appreciating it.
At a lull in Castiel and Sam’s conversation, Dean turns around. “Who does your artwork?”
Castiel’s smile softens. “I do.”
Dean blinks, then throws his thumb over his shoulder, “You did all of this?”
Castiel nods. “As well as custom artwork within the rooms.”
“Holy shit,” Dean says, turning back around to appreciate the mural in a new light. “You’re a jack of all trades, aren’t you?”
Castiel’s air turns a little shy, “It was always hard to… express myself, growing up. I’m not very good at interacting with people on my own. In high school I joined the drama club to try and come out of my shell. I fell in love with theater. I did a lot of prop building for the shows, too. It all carried over into my love of board games.” Dean turns to see the self-satisfied smile on Castiel’s lips as he looks past him to the mural. “I was stuck in a stuffy office job for ten years before I decided to take out my savings, my retirement… everything. I almost got laughed away by the bank, but I bought this space, and built my first room.”
Dean finds a deep appreciation in Castiel’s passion. Sam does, too, because the smile on his face reflects Dean’s emotions much better than Dean’s own slightly squinty expression. He can’t give away too much on his face, because he’s pretty sure his little crush towards Castiel won’t be concealed. But his lips do quirk slightly, and he slides his hands into his pockets.
“That was a big risk,” Dean commends.
“It paid off,” Castiel says, stating the obvious, but with great pride in his voice. A comfortable, appreciative silence falls between them, which Castiel breaks when the door chimes and a woman walks in. “Ah, welcome.”
Dean snaps out of it and Sam pulls away from the counter, looking a bit sheepish.
“We’ll see you next week, Cas,” Dean says as he opens up the door. Sam bids Castiel goodbye and walks through, Dean hovering for a moment, unsure about the spontaneous nickname. Castiel meets his gaze and offers a small smile, his eyes dark, and Dean didn’t know that’s what he was looking for until he got it. He salutes, and then leaves, the door jingling shut behind him.
Definitely, he will be coming back next week.