AN: I want to give a big thank you to Ridley C James for allowing me to use her characters. I've wanted to write a Brotherhood story for a while now particularly something focusing on a young Caleb Reaves. I couldn't have done this story without Ridley's help, so thank you again! I hope that I've done the characters justice, please enjoy this story.

This story took far longer to write than I'd originally expected, and I'm not all that sure what I actually think of the end result. But if I stare at it much longer I might just go insane, so I'm giving it to you. As Always I'll let you be the judge.

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

Watching Over You

Caleb slammed his shovel into the hard dirt stepping down on the edge with his boot; the casket couldn't be much deeper he was already close to six feet down. He was breathing hard and despite the cold weather sweat was dripping down his face; they'd been at this for hours, the weather working against them on this 'simple' salt and burn. Caleb breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the tip of his shovel slam against wood, "Got it," he called to his mentor who'd been keeping watch.

Apparently it was the youngest hunter's job to do most of the work. Caleb saw it for what it was, strength training, just one of the many lessons John Winchester threw his way. He even had an idea of what it was like to be a Marine; John was a drill sergeant when it came to training. Always prepared might have been well and good for the boy scouts, but the Knight expected something more. Caleb felt a surge of adrenaline at nearing the end his tired body working quickly to clear away the last of the soil.

Tossing his shovel out of the hole the young psychic accepted John's hand and climbed out wincing when pain flared in his side. Once on solid ground Caleb tried to catch his breath as the older hunter jumped into the hole and broke open the coffin.

"Look sharp Junior!" John barked gruffly, throwing a glance at the younger man.

Caleb forced himself to straighten from his hunched position drawing in slow breaths, his gold eyes glancing around the deserted property. "Not nearly as easy to dig with cold earth Johnny," he said swiping a hand down his face. It had taken them longer than expected to track down the old grave site, and with a little luck it would be the last step to cleansing the old Moore house. Some salt, plenty of lighter fluid and a single match had the old bones up in flames.

John's hand on his shoulder caused Caleb to jump, not even aware that the older hunter was standing beside him. "You feeling alright?"

Truth by told he wasn't, hadn't been feeling right for the last couple of days but refused to say anything not wanting to be taken off the hunt. Caleb nodded pulling a hand through his hair, "Fine," he lied though there really wasn't a reason to with the job done. He and John would be heading back to Pastor Jim's for the rest of his winter vacation.

"You don't look it," John said eying him critically before his right palm came to rest on Caleb's forehead.

Reaves pulled back dumping the first load of dirt back into the hole. "Just a cold," he tried to assure, not wanting the concern to go any further. But the pain in his side was doing its best to impede his movements.

John grabbed the shovel from Caleb's hands, "Go put the bag back in the car kiddo," he said making quick work of the mount of dirt.

The young hunter sighed but did as he was told zipping the duffel before walking back over to the Impala.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

Mackland Ames relaxed back in the living room, the lights from the Christmas tree and the fire warmly illuminating the room. The snap and pop of the flames was the only sound. Silence in Pastor Jim's house was rare these days, with two small children running around the old house had never felt more alive. Sam and Dean had been put to bed hours ago, and Mac might have followed if he hadn't been intent on waiting up for his son's return. John had called near three hours ago to let him know they were on their way back; he'd also expressed concern over Caleb's health.

He thought back on the last couple of days trying to remember if anything stood out. Caleb wasn't a reclusive boy, but they were still getting to know each other, their relationship continuing to grow two years since he'd finalized the adoption. Mac hoped it was nothing more than a cold that a good night's sleep and some warm food could take care of.

The sound of the door opening had Mac getting to his feet, and he watched his son critically from the archway not making his presence known just yet. Caleb's face was pale and his cheeks flushed, which could have been from the cold weather, but the fine sheen of sweat suggested otherwise. He was also walking a little hunched towards his right side which immediately set warning bells off in the doctor's head.

"How'd it go?" he asked stepping into the kitchen drawing both sets of eyes to him.

"No blood spilled," Caleb replied with his usual cocky smile, but the expression didn't reach his amber eyes.

"If his arms worked as fast as his mouth we'd have been back hours ago," John said sarcastically making his way over to the counter to pour himself a drink.

Caleb's response was an inappropriate hand gesture Mac knew his son was lucky John didn't see.

The physician gave his son a stern look and directed him towards the stairs following Caleb into his room. "How're you feeling?" he asked quietly mindful of the thin walls, and sleeping boys next door.

"Tired," his son replied falling onto his bed with a sigh.

Mac took a seat on the edge of the mattress, dropping his hand down on Caleb's forehead, "John told me you hadn't been feeling well."

"You try digging up a grave in the middle of December," Caleb returned batting the hand away. He tried without success to find a more comfortable position but the pain in his side was continuing to stab at him.

"Seriously Caleb," Mac said taking hold of the young psychic's wrist eyes glancing down at his watch. "You're running a fever."

He didn't want his dad worrying, though he had to admit it felt good to know there were people in his life that did care about him. "It's just a cold," he said watching as his dad got to his feet, making his way to the small bathroom before returning with a thermometer in hand.

"How long have you been feeling sick?" he asked shaking the instrument a couple of times.

"Couple of days," Caleb replied with a shrug, having it shoved under his tongue for his effort.

Mac studied his son while giving the thermometer time to work. Caleb had folded his arms across his chest in a distinctly childish fashion, "Why didn't you say something?" he finally asked.

"No big deal," the teenager stated around the thermometer, which Mackland removed reading the tiny numbers.

"A temperature of 101 is a big deal Caleb," Mac said simply, "Stay here," he ordered leaving the room.

The young psychic sighed in defeat, unable to believe his body's terrible timing; he wasn't even going to get one day off from school for this. Mackland returned less than a minute later, his black doctor's bag in hand. "I'll be alright once I've slept," he tired not wanting to deal with an examination for just a cold.

Mac put the bag down on the night stand, "I'm going to give you something to bring down your fever," he explained going back into the bathroom to fill a glass with water. When he came back the doctor retook his seat and pulled out a white bottle of pills.

Caleb accepted the pill his dad handed him and popped it into his mouth shifted to sit up so he could drink the water. He was forced to dry swallow the pill when the pain ignited in his side; he cursed breathing sharply through his nose. "Caleb?" Mac spoke his name worriedly free hand resting on the side of his son's neck.

"Side hurts," he managed to say drawing a shaking breath, not daring to move again.

Mackland pushed Caleb's shirt up, "Right here?" he asked pressing gently into the lower right side of his son's abdomen.

Caleb gasped his body lurching away from the contact. "Yes!" he hissed eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Son, that could be your appendix," Mac told him seriously, hand resting on Caleb's chest. "We need to check you out at the clinic."

"No!" Caleb responded immediately, the thought of setting foot inside a hospital sending a wave of panic through him. It was just a cold, "I'll feel better tomorrow..." he muttered looking imploringly as his dad.

Mac sighed, running a hand through his hair, "We can't take that risk Caleb," he began not looking the least bit pleased. "At the very least you should have an ultrasound and blood work done."

Reaves shook his head trying to swallow back the panic regain control of his racing heart.

"I know how you feel," Mac said gently, "But I've got to make sure you're okay Caleb. I'm going to go let Jim know, then call ahead," Mac said moving to get up from the bed.

Caleb's hand grabbed hold of his dad's arm, "Please," he said before the thought had even occurred to him, not liking how desperate his voice sounded.

"We'll check you out and come right back," he promised with a reassuring smile he knew wouldn't really helped. He also knew it probably wouldn't be that easy, especially if Caleb was suffering from acute appendicitis. But if it would ease the boy's anxieties Mac knew he's say just about anything.

Caleb watched his adoptive father leave the room, and pushed himself up against the headboard unable to just wait lying down. Gold eyes darted around the room, his mind awash with the pain, anxiety, and cold fear. He had no good memories to associate with the hospital and wasn't interested in trying to change that. It shouldn't have been that big of a deal, why did it immediately have to be something as bad as his appendix?

Swallowing back the pain Caleb got up from the bed, wondering futilely what John would have thought. Would someone who wasn't a doctor have immediately jumped to such a dire conclusion? Caleb slipped his sock feet into an old pair of running shoes he kept at the end of his bed, and quietly opened the door to the adjoining bedroom where the Winchester boys slept.

Atticus Finch raised his head, at Caleb's entrance regarding the boy from his usual spot at the end of the bed. "Stay," he whispered, holding his breath as the dog wagged his tail but thankfully didn't get up.

Caleb moved on silent feet towards the window and the only option he had to avoid going to the clinic. He realized he was being childish giving into his fears, and even wondered for a moment if this might have been because of the fever. Caleb mentally cursed when the lock of the window screeched loudly from lack of use.

"Damien?" a sleepy voice asked.

Caleb turned from the window right hand holding his side, "Go back to sleep Deuce," he told the boy.

"What's going on?" Dean asked getting out of bed.

"Nothing," Reaves said with a sigh, "Just need to get out of the house for a while." Drawing in a shallow breath Caleb reached down and pulled the window open feeling the rush of cold air race into the room. When he glanced over his shoulder again he saw Dean was pulling a thick sweater over his head. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Coming with you," the eight year old said like it should have been obvious.

Caleb considered arguing with the younger boy, but knew he didn't have forever before Mac would come back upstairs to get him.

"Dean?" Sammy's head left his pillow, and Caleb sighed in defeat.

"It's okay Sammy," Dean told his brother moving to cover him back up with the blankets, "Caleb got back safe, he's going to bed now."

He breathed a sigh of relief as the four year old nodded in understanding and snuggled back under his blankets. Reaves didn't hesitate in slipping out the window onto the roof of the porch, Dean followed right behind him taking a moment to close the window behind them.

"Did you get in trouble?" Dean asked as they made their way to the old oak its strong branches offering the quickest way to the ground.

"No," he replied biting down on the inside of his cheek as he climbed down the tree. He dropped the last few feet crumpling to his knees when the impact jarred his side.

"Damien!" Winchester called landing beside him.

The pain tore through his chest forcing the oxygen from his lungs as black spots swam before his eyes. For a minute Caleb was sure he was going to pass out, before he finally pulled in a ragged breath, falling back against the tree.

Dean was in front of him, expression stricken as he reached out to Caleb, "Where are you hurt?"

Drawing a few shallow breaths Caleb shook his head, "S'okay…" he forced out.

"Were you hurt on the hunt with Dad?" Dean asked shifting closer hazel eyes searching him for some hidden injury.

The cold air seemed to help numb the pain, and Caleb began breathing a little easier, "I'll be alright," his voice sounded stronger this time, as he rested a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"You don't look like it Damien," Dean told him bluntly.

"Thanks Deuce," pulling in a breath the young psychic forced himself to his feet, amber eyes searching out the only safe haven within reach. Pushing off the tree Caleb made his way towards old barn.

Dean kept pace closing the heavy wooden door behind them, "Why are you running?"

Caleb gratefully lowered himself down onto the nearest bale of hay, right hand holding his side as the pain throbbed in time with his heart. "I'm not running," he responded quickly wishing it were true. "I just…" Caleb trailed off shutting his eyes.

Winchester looked at him critically hazel eyes darting back towards the door, "What are you afraid of?" the kid was sharp.

In the time Caleb had spent with the Winchesters both hunting with their dad, and providing the service of free babysitter he'd had a lot of time to get to know Dean, and vise versa. How he'd first met Mackland Ames had come up a while ago, and he'd discovered his dislike of hospitals was shared by the eight year old. It didn't matter that their reasons were completely different. "Mac wants to make trip to the clinic…" he told the boy finally, letting his head fall back against the wall.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

Sammy rolled over in his bed large brown eyes blinking sleepily as he focused in the second pillow, where Dean's head should have been. The blankets were tossed back the pillow scrunched up but there was no sign of Dean. Panic flooded Sammy's senses as he shot up in bed searching their dark room for any sign of his brother. "Dean?" he called but only Atticus responded huffing softly before getting down from the bed.

Pushing back his blankets the little boy slid to the edge of his bed hopping down onto the floor. Sam hugged Woobee bear tightly to him as he made his way over to the door that joined his room to Caleb's and pulled it open, but found the other bed empty as well. Walking out into the hall Sammy could hear voices speaking in the kitchen bellow, and made his way slowly down the stairs chubby hand holding tightly to the railing.

"Sammy?" John spoke his name firmly, "What are you doing out of bed?"

He looked up at his dad, noticing Mackland was on the phone behind him, and Jim was there too, pouring steaming coffee. "Daddy where's Dean?" he asked squinting at the bright lights.

"He's not sleeping?" Jim asked.

Sammy shook his head, "Neither's Caleb…"

All eyes went from Sammy to Mackland, who was just hanging up the phone, "He's not in his room?" the doctor asked leaning down towards the little boy.

"No," he stressed the word shaking his head.

"Damn it!" Mac swore, "I can't believe he'd take off."

John put his drink down on the table, "There aren't many places they could go."

Pastor Jim reached down to pick Sammy up, "Come along my boy."

"But I want to help find Dean," he protested around a yawn, watching his Dad and Mac who were putting on their shoes and coats.

"Your father and Mackland will find the boys," Jim told him patiently, as he started back up the stairs.

"But what if Dean's hurt?" Sammy asked worriedly squirming in the pastor's arms.

Jim's free hand rubbed the four year old's back in small circles, "Your brother's just fine Samuel."

"But what about Caleb?" he pressed, twisting in Jim's arms, "Was he hurt?"

The pastor walked back into Samuel's room, "Caleb will be fine too," Jim assured lying Sammy back down on the bed. "He's just frightened."

Sammy moved so he was sitting against his pillow, as Jim drew the blankets back up over him, "What's he scared of?" he asked curiously.

Jim sat down next to the little boy, considering what the best answer would be. Samuel was a very bright and perceptive child, "Sometimes we can't control the things we're afraid of," he explained brushing the bangs from Sam's eyes.

"Like clowns?" he asked with a shudder.

Jim smiled and nodded, "Just like that my boy."

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked his concern was palatable.

"Nothing a good night sleep can't fix," he returned gold eyes meeting hazel. He wanted it to be true, to convince himself as well as his dad, but for now he'd have to settle for Dean.

Winchester got up from the hay bale moving to stand in front of Caleb, "What if you're wrong?"

Caleb winced; the pain beginning to grow stronger, "I'm not!" his words were hardly convincing and he knew it.

"Caleb," he wondered if it was sign of just how worried Dean was that he hadn't called him Damien. "I think maybe Mac's right."

"Bite your tongue," he grit his teeth, the fear that had driven him slowly being overrun.

"Do you remember what you told me?" Dean asked.

The young psychic shook his head causing a wave of nausea to wash over him, he couldn't tell if it was the movement alone or the emotions rolling off Dean mixing with his own. "A little more specific?" he swallowed hard pulling a hand down his face.

Dean could clearly remember Caleb's words to him; it was all he'd been able to hear over the racing of his heart and the roar of the fire. Dean had been so excited to finally be allowed to help on one of his Dad's hunts, even if it was just a simple salt and burn. But when he saw the old wood coffin go up in flames everything else had disappeared, and all he could see was his mother on the roof of the nursery as it exploded into flames.

He'd panicked forgetting everything except that night and the nightmare he'd witnessed. Dean blinked seeing his sick friend in front of him "You told me I couldn't give into my fear," he began licking his lips, "You said it would only get worse."

"How philosophical of me…" Caleb replied dryly.

Dean glared at his friend, concern for Caleb causing a tightening knot in his chest. He was scared for Reaves, the young hunter looked worse now than when they'd left the house. Caleb's right hand held his side tightly and his gold eyes were glazed over by pain. "You can't keep running," he said softly wanting to run back to the house, but at the same time not wanting to betray his friend.

Reaves heard the panic in Dean's voice, and remembered the words that had help Dean in that moment when fear had won out over everything else. He hadn't expected his own words to be used against him. Caleb tried to smirk, "I was right…" he saw a flash of relief in Dean's eyes before the pain in his stomach flared across his chest.

Caleb doubled over desperately trying to just catch his breath, only vaguely aware of Winchester pulling open the barn door. "Dad!" he heard Dean shout desperately, and a second later Caleb looked up to see John and Mac rushing over.

"Go back to the house Dean," John ordered flatly as Mackland knelt in front of his son.

"Look at me Caleb," Mac instructed one hand coming to rest on the back of his neck, squeezing gently.

The psychic drew in a shaking breath, forcing himself to straighten a little so he was looking Mac in the eyes. "Why couldn't it just be a stomach ache?" he managed to ask.

"Wish I knew," Mac returned gently, taking in his son's labored breaths; both arms were wrapped tightly around his stomach. "I need you to sit up," he tired to help Caleb straighten so he could check him out, placing two fingers on the side of his son's neck to check his pulse.

"Is the pain constant Caleb?" Mack asked.

"Yeah…"

"Do you want me to call for an ambulance?" John asked standing behind Mackland's left shoulder.

He considered the offer for a second, taking note of the spike in Caleb's pulse. "It'll be faster if we take him," Mac said lifting the boy off the hay bale, and following John from the barn. It concerned him a little that Caleb didn't protest being carried he just rested his head against Mac's shoulder.

Once in the car the physician ducked his head so he could see Caleb's face, "You still with me?"

"Yeah," he replied raising his head amber eyes flashing in the glow of a passing street light.

"It won't be much longer," Mac assured, glancing up as the Impala accelerated down the deserted road. The low ceiling of clouds reflected the street lights back creating a warm orange glow over the small town, as flakes of snow began to fall.

The Scholar breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the lit sign for the clinic coming towards them fast. He tightened his grip on Caleb as in John pulled the Impala up in front of the small emergency entrance. Winchester got out and quickly opened the back door before disappearing inside.

"We're here," he said shifting towards the door.

Caleb raised his head; "Yay…" his sarcasm was evident.

Mac helped his son out of the car, and looked up to see the doctor on staff coming towards them, a nurse at his side pushing a gurney. He didn't need to be psychic to notice the change in Caleb's demeanor when the medical staff approached.

"Dr. Ames," the man greeted, "I'm Dr. Thomas, this is your son Caleb?"

Mackland nodded curtly laying Caleb out on the gurney, "It looks like a case of acute appendicitis," he explained jogging along side the gurney as they made their way into the emergency room.

Caleb squinted as a large light was switched on above him the nurse working quickly to insert an IV line into the back of his left hand. Mac remained by his head placing a restraining hand on Caleb's shoulder, when Dr. Thomas began his examination. Caleb swore his body jumping when the man's hands pressed into his abdomen.

"It's rigid," the doctor announced, looking back over his shoulder, "Get him to the OR."

Reaves blinked the room beginning to swim in and out of focus, he could hear the people talking around him but their words weren't making any sense. He tried to shift on the bed, noticing the pain in his stomach had lessened suddenly. Mackland leaned into his line of sight a hand resting on Caleb's forehead which focused his attention.

"Don't fight the medication," Mac said squeezing Caleb's shoulder, and all he could do was nod. Or at least he thought he did, but couldn't seem to open his eyes to find out. The blackness was rising up around him, and thankfully taking away the pain.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

Caleb glanced back over his shoulder to where Dean sat on the back bench of the Impala, hazel eyes staring intently out the window. He could feel the excitement pouring off the eight year old, as they rolled up in front of an old graveyard. Without thinking Caleb reached out brushing his thoughts across Dean's, the link felt like it was electrified and he was amazed that Dean was sitting still.

John's oldest could hardly wait to start hunting along side his Dad. At only eight years, Dean was less a child and more a solider in training. Caleb thought Dean viewed the life of hunting like most children did super heroes in comic books, he wanted to be a part of the life. There was only one thing in life Dean wanted more, and that was to protect his little brother. As excited as Dean was at finally being allowed to come along, he was still worried about Sammy, despite the fact that the Runt was in the protection of Pastor Jim.

"Are you boys ready?" John asked shutting off the Impala the keys disappearing into his pocket.

"Yes Sir," they replied in unison.

Caleb got out of the car the creak of the door's hinges breaking the silence, that hung over cemetery. He made his way to the trunk of the Impala Dean following half a step behind. Pulling out one of the two shovels Caleb passed the worn duffel to Dean and stepped back.

John led the way into the cemetery flashlight pausing on the gravestones just long enough to read the name. "Here we go," the Knight said, coming to a stop in front of a weather worn marker.

"Agnes?" Dean scoffed, "You got your ass kicked by little old Agnes, Damien?"

Caleb cuffed the kid across the back of the head "Keep laughing Deuce," he growled cutting the ground with the tip of his shovel. They hadn't been sure in the beginning that they were dealing with a spirit, all signs had pointed to a poltergeist.

"Keep your eyes open Ace," John ordered pressing his foot down on the edge of his shovel, four feet from where Caleb had started digging.

Reaves looked forward to the day when Dean could take on more responsibilities especially those of junior hunter. But until then, he was the one who did most of the digging. Caleb was surprised by the patience Dean possessed, he'd been convinced that the kid would quickly become tired with the boring job of grave digging. But he stood on alert near the edge of the growing hole, a sawed off shotgun in hand.

Caleb rubbed his forehead across the inside of his arm, as he cleared away the last bit of dirt from the end of the coffin. Using the shovel like a lever Caleb forced open the top half.

"Wow…" Dean said staring down into the pit.

The psychic could only agree, Agnes was surprisingly well preserved. Climbing from the hole, Caleb prided the other half of the casket opened while John pulled out the salt and lighter fluid. Leaning back against the headstone Caleb watched as the remains went up in flames, the fire engulfing everything inside the grave.

Panic washed over Caleb in tidal waves, and his amber eyes immediately sought Dean out. The boy was frozen at the edge of pit, eyes wide with horror. "Deuce?" he called taking a step towards Winchester not sure if the boy would acknowledge him.

He didn't need to read Dean's thoughts to know that the boy wasn't standing in the graveyard anymore. He'd been transported back to the moment he'd witnessed his mother's death. Caleb knew this kind of panic had found himself pulled back to the night of his parent's deaths on more than one occasion just from the sound of the ocean. He'd thought there was no escaping it, as he relived the terror again and again.

Caleb grabbed Dean pulling him away from the edge, "Deuce look at me!" he said blocking Dean's view of the flames. "It's alright, you're not there," he could feel John standing over him, but was too focused on Dean to hear what if anything he said.

Dean's eyes slowly met Caleb's the light in them wild as tremors ran down his small frame. "Damien…" he all but whispered the name like a prayer.

"It's alright," he lied; it'd never be alright. Nothing could change the past. The only thing they could do was harden themselves to the reality. "You're not there," he assured again watching as realization slowly awakened.

Dean gasped for breath, shaking, his eyes closing tightly. Caleb pulled the kid too him, "You can't give into it Deuce," he said, the words as much for himself as Dean. "It'll only make the fear stronger," he'd learned that the hard way.

---SPN The Brotherhood SPN---

He heard voices speaking softly. At first unable to make out the words only recognizing the voices were non-threatening. Tone did nothing to reassure Caleb that he was safe, he could tell by the sterile smell that he was in a hospital, and that was enough to make him panic.

"Let's move him to his room," the words filtered through, the meaning becoming clear, and Caleb knew the voice immediately. His body relaxed back against the mattress Mac's presence coming into focus when his hand gently squeezed Caleb's shoulder.

Waking from anesthesia was a slow process, and Caleb found himself mentally blinded, the drugs clouded his psychic abilities. He hated the feeling, like a part of his brain was closed off by a glass door, he knew it was there could see it but couldn't reach out and touch it. Caleb was forced to rely on his other senses.

"He should wake soon," another voice said and he thought it sounded vaguely familiar, more than likely Dr. Thomas. "If you need anything Dr. Ames, please just ask."

"Thank you," Mac replied the mattress compressing as he took a seat near Caleb's hip.

The psychic was more than happy to continue feigning sleep but Mackland had other ideas.

"I know you're awake Caleb," his dad said voice infinitely patient.

Caleb cracked open one eye his body still feeling heavy from the drugs, "What time is it?" he asked swallowing in an attempt to work some moisture over his tongue.

"Almost ten," Mac responded producing a cup and straw seemingly from out of nowhere. Morning light filtered into the private room from curtains too thin to really offer much cover.

Caleb took a couple of sips of the water, even room temperature it was refreshing, and his body greedily demanded more. "Easy," Mac admonished pulling the cup out of Caleb's reach.

"Killjoy."

"You'll thank me when you're not throwing it back up," the physician returned calmly, a small relieved smile tugging at his lips.

"You look worse than I do," he observed noting the dark circled under his dad's eyes.

Mackland looked down at his son one eyebrow raised; the sixteen year old looked exhausted, eyes slightly sunken face still pale. "I doubt that," he released a breath, "You scared the hell out of me."

Caleb looked away feeling his face redden, "Yeah…sorry about that," he wanted it to be sincere but felt positive if he'd had to do it all again, he'd still have run. Caleb seriously doubted he'd ever willingly want to make a trip to the hospital.

"How are you feeling now?" Mac asked hand coming to rest briefly on Caleb's forehead drawing his attention back, "Any pain?"

The psychic shook his head, looking down at himself as Mackland folded back the blankets hands moving to check the surgical incision. "So when can I go?" Caleb asked glancing around the white hospital room before amber eyes landed longingly on the door.

Mackland's expression changed becoming serious, "You just got out of surgery," he said closing the flimsy hospital gown before pulling the white sheets back up.

Caleb sighed, pulling a hand down his face, "So that would mean?"

"At least twenty-four hours."

Caleb shut his eyes; he'd known the answer before even asking the question. "No way we could speed it up?" he seriously doubted it, but couldn't stop himself from asking.

Now it was Mac's turn to sigh as he looked down at his son. Caleb had come through the surgery well, no unexpected complications. Still he wanted to be sure the boy received the right post operative care, the last thing Caleb needed was to develop an infection which would require him to stay longer. He felt Caleb's gold eyes boring into him, as he waited for an answer. Mackland wanted to give him something positive, if only to help his son relax.

"We'll see how you're doing tonight," he offered finally, seeing the light of relief wash through Caleb's eyes.

An excited knock at the door drew Mac from the edge of the bed, and Caleb watched raising his head from the pillow.

"Caleb!" Sammy cheered running into the room the second he could squeeze through the opening.

"Hey Runt," he greeted with a smile as the four year old, crawled up onto the bed beside him.

Sammy looked at the teenager critically, "Are you sick?" he asked worriedly.

"He's going to be just fine Sam," Mackland assured reaching down to rise up the top half of the hospital bed.

"But Dean said you were hurt," the little boy pressed on bouncing a little on the mattress, "He was crying."

Caleb glanced over Sammy's shoulder in time to see a healthy blush rush across Dean's face, as he stepped into the room followed by his father and Jim. Dean made his way to the bed, "I didn't know what was wrong with you," he defended, green eyes staring at the floor.

"You caused us quite the worry," Jim said taking a seat in one of the two chairs in the room.

He felt the weight of all eyes in the room, glancing briefly to Mac who was doing his best to hide his smile, to John who had yet to say a word, "I'm alright now," he tried, tone apologetic.

"Good," Dean said looking up at him, his lips twitching with a tiny smile.

"Just don't expect me to believe you next time," John offered arms folded firmly across his chest.

"Harsh," Caleb laughed dryly, letting his head fall back against the pillow, eyes searching the ceiling, "Guess I deserve it."

"No," Sammy suddenly defended, "He was scared, Pastor Jim said so!" the little boy defended taking hold of Caleb's right hand.

Reaves arched an eyebrow at Jim, who was watching the exchange with a tiny smile on his face.

"Are you scared now?" Sammy asked drawing Caleb's attention back, with a squeeze of his hand.

"I'm okay Runt," he said and watched as Sammy's face lit up.

"I'm never scared when Dean holds my hand," he said in almost a whisper.

Thanks for Reading!

Morganeth Taren'drel