Disclaimer : I've run outta funny disclaimers, they don't belong to me.

A/n : NONE of these characters are mine. The Brotherhood AU belongs to Ridley C. James.

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It's friends you can all at 4 a.m. that matter

- Marlene Dietrick.

Friends Who Count

Chapter 1 : What He Needs

Caleb Reaves threw the last of the weapons into the trunk of the big, black jeep, muttering curses at progressive intervals. He hurriedly went over the mental list that he had created, thinking hard to see if he had forgotten anything. Slamming down the cover, he ran to the front of the jeep, shoving himself into the drivers seat. With one twist of the key in the ignition, the jeep roared to life and started with a jerk speeding off into the distance.

Dean Winchester's worried voice still echoed in his ear ...

Caleb sprang up in his bed, panting heavily and clutching his head.

Pain.

The blonde woman next to him stirred and sat up too, "What - "

The question died on her lips as Caleb emitted a soft moan. He was a strong psychic and he was usually not taken by surprise but ... it was Sammy and he was hurting. It all came as a rush, pounding into his brain and then it was gone. The intense pain still burned slightly as he drew a sweaty hand across his face. He grabbed the girl's clothes and all but threw them at her.

"Put on your clothes, Tara, you gotta leave."

The confused girl slid on her things, muttering, "It's Tiffany."

Caleb leapt out of the motel bed, slipping on boxers and grabbing his cellphone. Fortunately, Dean's number was on his speed dial list.

"Close the door on your way out, Teresa."

He was already calling Dean Winchester's number when Tiffany swung her handbag over her shoulder and left, disgruntled, pushing her long blonde hair out of her face.

"Dean here," came the urgent voice over the line.

That Dean hadn't recognised his number itself told Caleb how distracted the man must be.

"Dean!" Caleb exclaimed ,"Where's Sammy?"

"Caleb?" Dean sounded relieved, "Yeah ... he's, uh, right here."

"Is he all right?" Caleb demanded.

"Um ... define all right."

"Don't play with me Deuce," growled Caleb ,"Is he hurt? I felt it. Where are you guys?"

"Yeah, Sammy's a little bruised ... very bruised actually. We're in Arizona. Where're you?"

"Don't know the damn town's name. Stopped for a beer," as he spoke, Caleb dragged on his clothes, "But I think I saw a sign saying a hundred miles from Arizona. Tell me what happened."

"We were trackin' a vampire's nest down. Nearly got 'em but apparently they were trackin' us too. Sammy got pretty banged up."

"Oh shit," Caleb's movements stilled. Panic filled him. Oh shit, Sammy, "Dean? Is Sam - "

"No, Sammy's okay. He's not turned."

Caleb breathed out a sigh of relief, "Oh, thank God. I'll be there as fast as I can."

"Caleb?" Dean's voice sounded achingly young and vulnerable, "Hurry."

"It's okay, Deuce. He'll be fine."

Heart pounding in his chest, the hunter reached for the phone in this shirt pocket. He had one more call to make.

"Hello? Dad?"

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By the time Caleb reached the motel that Dean had said they were at, it was well past three in the morning. He pulled into the parking lot and got out, taking in the tall, old, almost crumbling building which hadn't been painted in what seemed like a century, with a snort, "Well, Hotel Ritz it ain't."

The old door jingled when he pushed it open and approached the pink-haired girl behind the counter.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?"

The girl raised an eyebrow, "I don't do that kinda thing."

"No," Caleb quickly ammended, "Can you tell me which room Trevor Sullivans is in?" It was a common alias. Trevor was Sammy's frog and Sullivans was Caleb's ex-girlfriend's last name.

The girl popped her gum and nodded to the dangerous-looking staircase, "Somewhere up there. It's the only room that's occupied."

Caleb's mouth twitched, "Thanks, sweetheart."

Caleb found the room with no difficulty. As the girl had said - it was the only room that was occupied.

Pushing the battered door open, he found himself staring at the ratty bed on which was sprawled a brown-haired young man. His face was bloody, the worst of it had been bandaged though. His leg was held in a home-made splint, jeans bloody and torn. His arm was in a similiar state and Claeb was sure he was unconscious.

Sam looked like hell.

But what caused Caleb's breath to hitch in his throat was the blonde man slumped over the bed, his head resting near Sam's hand, fingers unconsciously clutching his shoulder. Dean suddenly tensed, hand automatically going to the waist-band of his jeans. On seeing Caleb however, he relaxed, "Think of the devil."

Caleb grinned, some of the worry fading now that he'd seen the Winchesters, "Aw, were you dreaming about me, Deanna?"

A hint of the shit-eating grin appeared on Dean's face, "You wish, dude."

"'Course I do," Caleb snorted, shedding his jacket and flopping down on the bed, next to Sam, "How's he doin'?"

Dean shook his head, wearily rubbing his face, "I dunno. He's unconscious but the fever's come down and he stopped bleeding."

"Which is a good thing," Caleb nodded. He paused for a second and continued, "And what 'bout you? You okay?"

"Yeah, it's Sam who's lying on the crappy motel bed. I'm fine."

The psycic tilted his head, "You sure about that? I could hear you angstin' a hundred miles away."

Dean smiled, "Your concern is so touching, man."

"Glad to hear I still touch the ladies."

"Yeah, if Sammy were awake, he'd want to hug you."

Both the men looked at each other and laughed, quietly.

"Seriously, Deuce, you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean rubbed his brother's lax hand, "D'you think he needs the hospital?"

Caleb looked down at the leg. It seemed to be the worst of the injuries. "I need to check if it's infected," he announced, finally.

As Caleb deftly undid the splint, he felt something coming from Dean. Inadvertantly touching his mind, he felt a childhood memory surface ...

Pastor Jim's farm

"... and I can't go on this hunt because Daddy Whinchester need a baby-sitter?"

"I'm not a baby," choroused two indignant voices.

Caleb looked at the boys - one nearly reaching his waist, the other ... not.

"Uh-huh."

"I turn four in four months," said Sammy, proudly.

John Whinchester sighed. So did Ames. And Sawyer. And Singer.

"Look, kid, I know you wanted to come," Whinchester tried to be patient - a real feat at this point, "But you also know that Jim's at the dead woman's sister's house, and - "

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Caleb turned away, curtly, and perched himself on the table, prentending to read the magazine.

John looked after him with another sigh and knelt down in front of his boys, looking them in the eye," Okay, boys, we won't be home for the night, probably not till tomorrow afternoon. So, I want you two to be good. Listen to Caleb. And Sammy, listen to your brother. No more wars. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Caleb?"

Caleb threw the magazine down, "You got some orders for me too, Whinchester?"

The muscles in John's jaw twitched, "I'm just saying - be safe. That's all."

"Yeah," Caleb rolled his eyes, with a characteristic 'duh' look, "Or were you waiting for sir, yes, sir!"

Dismissing it as an incorrigible case, John and the others left.

Late that night, Caleb slipped out of bed and sat at the dinner table, drumming against the wood with his fingers, trying to ease off the restlesness.

"Caleb?"

The soft voice nearly had him jumping seven feet and he whirled around to see a wide-eyed, sock-clad Sam in NFL pyjamas, clutching that one-eyed sorry excuse for a bear - what was its name, again? Woo-bee? And why did he know that bear's name?

"Why aren't you sleeping?" asked the little boy, edging closer.

Caleb tried to glare at Whinchester's 'youngest brat' but couldn't manage to keep it up as Sammy continued to stare at him, puppy-dog eyes in full force. He sighed and held out one arm. Instantly taking the invitation, Sam bounded across the room and climbed onto his knee, pushing the bear into his chest, "You can take Woo-bee if you like."

Caleb's arms came around both boy and bear against his will and held them till they fell asleep. His last coherent thought was : Damn, I'm turning into a girl.

Dean and Caleb grinned at each other as Caleb bound the leg, tightly, proclaiming it free from infection, the runt hated hospitals, anyway.

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A/n : This is on its way to becoming a multi-chapter story. Special thanks to Ridley for letting me borrow her characters. Next chapter : Saturday.