Too Little Too Late

AN: An interesting note about this story, I actually wrote the second scene first, and then wrote what I thought would be the second, but when I'd finished it, I felt it would work better as the first. Not the first time I've discovered that I did something backwards, always a good time thought.

I'd like to thank Ridley C James, for the use of her characters, and graciously taking the time to answer my questions. Thank you! I couldn't have written this without you! Please enjoy this story.

Dean – 19 Sammy – 15 Caleb – 27

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Supernatural or the Brotherhood.

Chapter One

Sam scanned over the topographical map, going over every inch for what had to be the twentieth time. He was fighting to keep control of his panic, as he desperately searched for the most logical location where Caleb was being held. But there were simply too many options.

"How the hell did this happen?!" John Winchester shouted from the other room.

Sam had been doing his best to drown out the same old argument. In the Winchester world accidents or whatever you wanted to call it just weren't acceptable.

"I don't know…" Dean's voice didn't carry nearly as well as John's, especially not when he was blaming himself for his friend's disappearance.

"Reaves just took off!" there was more heat in Dean's voice now, and that caught Sam's attention.

He glanced up from the map, taking a moment to study the outline of his father that he could see through the partially opened door. Little had gone as planned so far, and it didn't look like it would be getting any better.

"Without a word to you?" his father demanded incredulously.

Sam purposely tuned them out, not wanted to hear anymore blame piled on his brother for this hunt. They'd taken up the hunt for the werewolf at the beginning of the month. There were more than enough reports to substantiate the presence of the creature, including several bodies found the month before with their hearts missing.

Sam had taken the time to read the medical reports his dad had acquired and found what he believed to be some inconsistencies with a werewolf's attack. The medical examiner hadn't come out and said it, but if you read between the lines, it looked like the hearts had been purposefully removed. He couldn't for the life of him remember ever reading about a werewolf being so careful.

It wasn't enough however to dissuade anyone from packing silver bullets, especially since he had yet to find a suitable alternative. It was driving him insane, if not a werewolf than what? What would take the hearts of humans, hunt during the full moon? The pieces just weren't falling into place, and now Caleb was missing.

Sam's stomach clenched at the thought of his friend, lying lifeless and bloodied somewhere in the woods. All the attacks had been centralized around the outskirts of Dolores Colorado, which was making it hard to determine just where the creature was holding up when it wasn't out for the hunt. Sam knew they must have struck close to home, with their search at the north end of town, since that's where Caleb had been taken. But that didn't really narrow down their field of search.

With a frustrated sigh, Sam turned away from the map; the lines were all beginning to meld together, making it impossible to concentrate. Rubbing at his tired eyes Sam rocked back in his chair. Across the room the old floorboards creaked as Dean walked into the living room. Sam studied his brother noting the tension in his stance, and face as he looked futilely around the room.

Dean had been the one hunting with Caleb when Reaves had disappeared; unfortunately never hunting alone didn't always work out like it should. Sam had tried to talk to his brother but Dean was too busy blaming himself, Sam knew his brother well enough to read him.

"Has Mac been called?" Sam asked drawing Dean's attention.

"Yeah," his brother replied voice rough, "He's taking the next flight out."

"Good," Sam pulled both hands through his unruly hair. He didn't want to just sit here and do nothing until Mackland arrived, but he thought their best chance probably rested with the physician.

Sitting forward on his chair Sam noticed Dean's eyes staring intently at the map, "What is it?" he asked trying to follow his brother's line of sight.

Dean looked up, appearing surprised, "Nothing," he replied with a shake of his head.

"We're going to find him Dean," Sam said firmly as his brother turned to leave the room. He couldn't remember ever reassuring Dean in a situation like this; it was always the other way around.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

Dean jerked back to consciousness a muttered curse escaping him before he'd even opened his eyes, followed by a pained groan. The movement sent his body swaying, the clank of rusty chains punctuating the silence around him. With effort Dean managed to raise his head between his arms and confirm what his aching body was screaming at him. Dean was hung suspended from the rough ceiling his boots barely able to touch the ground.

Drawing in a dust filled breath; Dean began to cough the motion jerking at his already numb shoulders. "Fuck," he spat the coppery taste from his mouth, blinking against the pain, and tried to get his bearings. It didn't take a genius to know he was in trouble, Dean tried for a minute to take stock of himself but in the dark room he couldn't see much of anything.

Blinking rapidly Dean fought to think clearly, to remember what had happened before he'd clearly lost consciousness,

"Deuce, you back with me?"

"Damien?!" he latched onto the sound of his friend's voice like a life line, hazel eyes searching the shadows.

"Yeah I'm here," Caleb said softly, and Dean could hear him shifting off to his right, boots scraping against the ground.

Dean let his head drop, "I wish that was a good sign…"

"Hey, I'm here to rescue you," Reaves threw back indignantly.

Chains continued to rattle and not just from the ceiling he was suspended from, "Oh well, I feel much better now." Dean began to cough again, his body straining to draw a clear breath.

Dean hung limply after the fit finally passed, "Do I even want to remember what happened?" he asked spitting more blood from his mouth.

"Probably not," was Caleb's harsh reply.

"Where are you?" Dean asked peering into the darkness; he couldn't see anything beyond darker shadows.

Metal links rattled loudly, "Chained to the wall."

Dean choked on a dry laugh, "Lucky bastard…" he muttered trying to ignore the pronounced ache forming at the base of his neck.

"Guess I didn't piss her off as bad as you," Caleb returned.

"Her…" Winchester repeated.

-A gust of wind tore through the trees, swirling around Dean's position…Gun raised he caught the flash of movement, and took off after it…She stepped from the shadows, flesh bare under the night sky, eyes aglow with an eerie light-

"Ungh," the groan slipped through Dean's tightly clenched teeth as the flashes of memory spiking through his aching skull.

"Stay with me Deuce!" Caleb ordered sharply.

He swallowed back the pain, "Don't have to shout." Dean drew several shallow breaths, "Not a werewolf?"

"Another gold star for baby Einstein," Reaves said in confirmation.

Dean coughed feeling the muscles in his side and back pull sharply, "Really have to…start listening…to the kid," he gasped painfully.

"In our defense all intel pointed to werewolf, even the lunar cycle fit," as he spoke Dean could hear him shifting, metal grating against metal, material scraping against the rock.

"You have any better ideas?" he asked letting his head fall against his right arm.

Caleb was silent for a moment, and Dean seriously hoped that was a good sign. "Best guess now? Skin-walker," he answered voice sounding closer to Dean's ears.

"At least we were packing the right weapons," he wheezed tiredly.

"I had a shot," Dean admitted trying hard not to remember specifics, his head still felt about ready to crack open.

"Why didn't you take it?" Reaves demanded, though there was no heat in his voice.

Winchester blinked painfully aware of how much that mistake had cost him, "I don't know…"

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

Sam strode out of their house, feeling way too antsy to just sit down and do nothing. Dad had left an hour ago to pick up Mac from the airport in the nearby town of Cortez. Sam felt like pulling out his hair, Caleb had been gone for too long, and they were still no closer to finding him.

Sam had taken that time to compile a list of creatures that could possibly fit the descriptions of the few witnesses. If it absolutely couldn't be a werewolf, and Sam felt positive it wasn't, his best guess was some form of shapeshifter. But he was continually hung up on the hearts; he couldn't find any records of a shapeshifter removing its victim's heart.

Drawing in a breath of the crisp morning air, Sam blinked in surprise when he saw the trunk of the Impala standing open. Walking over he saw Dean looking down into the hidden compartment. He looked lost in thought both hands resting on the back of his car. For a moment Sam was worried Dean was planning to take off half cocked on a rescue mission. It was what he expected; it was what Sam wanted to do.

"What are you doing?" he asked curiously brown eyes sweeping over the array of weapons and protection charms.

Dean looked up slowly, his eyes not actually meeting Sam's, "You ever wonder why the things we hunt do what they do?"

"What?" Sam blinked in surprise that was the absolute last question he's expected Dean to ask.

"Why it kills," his brother clarified, hazel eyes finally looking into Sam's.

The younger hunter shook his head slightly, "You sure you didn't hit your head last night?"

Dean gave him an unimpressed look, "I'm being serious."

"Alright," he placated with a raised hand, "Sure I've thought about it before, I just always assumed if I asked you your answer would be 'Because they're evil Sam.'" He thought he'd done a rather good imitation of his brother's voice.

"Yeah probably," Dean admitted with a crooked smirk.

Sam leaned his hip against the side of the Impala, "What would you say to the possibility that we're actually hunting a shapeshifter?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Just the fact that I can't think of anything else it could be," he replied with a frustrated sigh. "The few eyewitness reports were sketchy at best, but they all spoke of some animal like creature. And we both know werewolves don't actually change like that."

Dean dropped the lid to the hidden compartment before returning his attention to Sam, "What about the missing hearts?"

Sam pulled a hand through his hair, "That's what doesn't make sense to me, I can't think of what the shapeshifter would need with them. It's not like tricking hunters into believe it's a werewolf would help it, silver bullets work on both."

"And none of that helps narrow down were the bastard took Caleb!" Sam fumed waiting to see if Dean would rise to the frustration.

Dean just slammed the trunk with a sigh and moved towards the house.

"What's the matter with you?" Sam demanded stalking after his brother.

Dean glanced at Sam through the corner of his eye, "We can't do anything until we narrow down the search area."

"I know that!" he threw back, hands clenching into fists, "But I'm supposed to be the one saying it." Sam couldn't say for sure, but he could have sworn he saw his brother smile, before Dean disappeared back inside the house.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

"You still with me Deuce?" Caleb called into the darkness.

It was a minute before Dean spoke voice thin, "Yeah…"

Reaves had been working to free himself for what felt like hours, his wrists were cuffed together a thick rusted chain attaching him securely to the rough stone wall. He had no clear idea of where they were being held beyond the general knowledge that it was a cave.

He'd tried to keep Dean talking while he worked to free himself, but it was an uphill struggle. He knew the kid was hurt, and wished he had even a little light to find out how bad. "C'mon Deuce," he coaxed, while the fingers of his right hand tried to manipulate the broken clip from his mechanical pencil inside the lock.

"Tell me what you know about skin-walkers."

"Again?" Dean said with a cough that made Reaves wince.

"Humor me," he made it an order, needing Dean to fight to stay awake.

Winchester coughed again, his breathing sounding harsh and labored, "What…do you want to know?"

"Tell me about the Yenaldlooshii," he said quickly, grinding his teeth together as he felt the mechanism shift in the lock.

Caleb heard what sounded like it could have been a laugh, if it hadn't been so pained, "No one told me…there'd be a test…"

"Just trying to keep you on your toes Deuce."

The kid sucked in a sharp breath, "S'all that's touching…" he mumbled.

"Damnit," Reaves swore under his breath. "Don't tell me you've forgotten about the Navajo Skin-walkers lore, have you?" he forced himself to ask, trying to keep his tone light.

"I remember," Dean answered softly, "I remember…"

Holding his breath Caleb felt the lock begin to give, the cuff binding his wrist loosening just a fraction. He twisted the small piece of metal, wanting to cry out in relief when the old cuff fell away. Caleb made short work of the other, and immediately reached into his front pocket for his lighter.

"I've got it Deuce," he assured sparking the flame to life, "Just hang on a little longer."

"That's not funny…" Dean returned.

The tiny flame fought against the darkness, offering Reaves his first glimpse of their surroundings. There didn't appear to be much in the room besides themselves, but he did catch sight of a lantern. Caleb lit the wick filling the small room with light, before turning his full attention on Dean.

"Damn…" the word left him barely above a whisper.

Winchester hung suspended from the ceiling, the toes of his boots barely touching the floor. The kid was a mess, his body swaying as tremors ran down his spine. There was dried blood around his mouth, and trailing down the side of his head, there was also a fair amount staining the front of his shirt.

Caleb didn't waste a minute going to his friend's aid, "You're a mess Deuce."

"Prettier than you…Damian," Dean returned squinting at him.

"That's good," he said dryly, "Keep your sense of humor." Reaves looked up at the restraints holding Dean's bloodied wrists. "C'mon lets get you down from there."

With great care Caleb unhooked Dean from the ceiling already prepared to take the kid's weight. Dean would have collapsed immediately if the psychic hadn't been there to gently lower him to the ground. "You know the drill," he said taking a careful hold of Dean's head as he thumbed back the lid on his right eye. Reaves couldn't say with absolute certainty but he thought both pupils were responsive to the light from the lantern.

"Looks like you hit your head pretty good," Caleb reached back for their only source of light bringing it closer.

"Don't have to worry about that," Dean replied sounding a little more alert.

"I know you Winchester's have skulls of steel, where else do you hurt?"

"Arms are numb," he muttered blinking slowly.

"Just wait until your circulation catches up," it wouldn't be pleasant. Reaves pulled aside Dean's button down shirt, and carefully ran both hands down the kid's ribs. He wasn't surprised when Winchester gasped in pain, his reflexes trying to drive him away. "Easy," he breathed gently, finishing his exam.

"Your bedside manner sucks," Dean pointed out eyes falling closed.

"Which is why I became an architect and not a doctor," Caleb returned glancing briefly towards the only way out of their room.

He felt torn, as he rested on hand lightly on Dean's forehead, "I need you to stay awake Deuce."

"Yeah, yeah," Winchester breathed not opening his eyes.

"Hey," he snapped, "Look at me!"

Dean's eyes snapped open immediately in response to the harsh order. Caleb felt guilt rise up in him at resorting to using a John Winchester tactic. But if that's what it took to keep the kid conscious he wasn't about to stop or apologize.

"Don't try to move, I'm just going to take a quick look around okay?" he made it a question, even though he knew it had to be done no matter what.

"I'll be here," Dean replied with a slight nod of his head.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

"Hey Mac," Sam greeted with obvious relief, coming outside to meet the Scholar.

Dr. Mackland Ames rested a hand briefly on the fifteen year-old's shoulder easily able to tell just how worried the boy was. It was nothing compared to the fear that had gripped his own heart when he'd received the call from John. It didn't matter how many years Caleb hunted, or how old he got, nothing could ease Mac's fears of loosing his only son.

He'd wanted to be able to blame John for this happening on his watch, but knew the Knight was already blaming himself. Besides nothing would be accomplished by throwing accusations around.

"How's Dean?" he asked the boy, knowing how easily Dean could begin blaming himself for something like this.

Sam shook his head, "He hasn't been acting like himself."

"What do you mean?" John asked coming up to Sam's left.

"I don't know, lost in thought," he shrugged, "Way too calm? It's like he's not even worried about finding Caleb."

"It's unusual but this could be his attempt at dealing with the situation," Mac offered, he thought it was a better way of dealing rather than rushing off unprepared.

Sam looked at him intently a great deal of worry showing in those large brown eyes, "That's what I've been telling myself, but I'm not used to him being the voice or reason."

Mackland squeezed Sam's shoulder before moving towards the front door, he couldn't waste anymore time.

Dean was waiting for them in the living room, and got to his feet as the Scholar stepped into the room. "Mac," he said with a nod of his head.

The physician offered John's eldest a smile as he reached out with his right hand intending on pulling the boy into a quick hug. The second his fingertips made contact with Dean's denim jacket, his mind was assaulted by sharp images and emotions. He saw Dean collapsing deep in the forest, a shadowed figure standing over his prone body. Pain washed over him, as fear gripped his heart. A dark cave opened up before him, and in the distance he could hear rushing water. Mackland saw the boy hanging limply from the ceiling.

Breathing sharply though his nose Mac lashed out with his mind, pinning the creature against the far wall. He heard both Sam and John shout in surprise, but wasn't paying attention to the actual words.

"You're not Dean," he said flatly.

Thanks for Reading!

Morganeth Taren'drel