Heat of the Moment
Story by Penpractice
Rated: T
Summary: Supernatural Brotherhood AU: A heated moment has 11-yr-old Dean running for cover. Can Caleb and Mac help track him down before he finds too much trouble and help with the hurts that fall outside the reach of painkillers? Hurt!/Comfort!
Disclaimer: All Supernatural belongs to Kripke and the Brotherhood AU belongs to Ridley C. James.
A big thank you to Meilean for her kind welcome to the Brotherhood AU family and advice and support with this story. She has done an amazing job as a beta however I am a compulsive tweaker (in the editing sense, not the methamphetamine sense) so any mistakes are mine.
This my first foray into the Brotherhood AU universe and I hope I have done this wonderful world justice. All comments welcome, I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1
I never meant to be so bad to you
One thing I said that I would never do
A look from you and I would fall from grace
And that would wipe the smile right from my face
Asia
Dr Mackland Ames pulled the blue Jeep Wrangler into the traffic on the interstate. Next to him, his son grunted slightly in his travel-nap.
He had gone to collect the eighteen-year-old after a hunt had left Caleb with a concussion and a fractured ankle. Typically, it had not been his son but Bobby who had called to report the injuries. Even when Mac had reached out, Caleb had tried to deflect and been adamant that he was not leaving his jeep behind. So Mac had flown down to Georgia to pick up both his son and the car. Otherwise, the doctor suspected that Caleb would have attempted to drive himself back to New York, ankle be damned.
"I don't need picking up like some sort of school kid, it's humiliating," Caleb had grumbled as Mac had helped him out of the wheelchair the hospital insisted they use until out of the building, and into the passenger seat.
"I am not just your father Caleb, I am responsible for hunters out in the field as the Scholar, not to mention the Hippocratic oath I took as a doctor."
Caleb wasn't impressed or fooled. His dad might form one third of the powerful Triad that ran The Brotherhood, a secret organisation that hunted evil, but he had never put any of his roles, Doctor, FBI liaison, Scholar of the Brotherhood, above the one he'd taken on when he'd adopted a scared and hostile young psychic.
However, since Caleb received his ring, making him an official member of the Brotherhood, there were new relationships and boundaries that they were still negotiating. Caleb took his entry to the honoured ranks seriously and didn't want it to seem, or even to feel, that his close relationships with all three of the Triad offered him any special treatment.
In an effort to cheer the disgruntled young man, Mac had suggested they stop in and visit the Winchesters en-route, since the small nomadic family were currently staying in Virginia. John Winchester, Knight of the Brotherhood, was Caleb's mentor and hero. More importantly, the older of John's two sons, eleven-year-old Dean Winchester, was Caleb's best friend. Despite the age difference, mutual traumatic pasts, and a shared need to care for those around them, meant both boys had found a kindred spirit. The serendipity of the wild storms that brought them together had saved them both.
Despite the disgruntled eye-roll, Caleb had settled, more content than he'd been since Mackland had arrived, and fallen asleep shortly after.
SPNBROAU
"You tell anyone I did this and the next thing I'm baking is WooBee," Dean threatened his six-year-old little brother, with a glare at the one-eyed bear who was currently perched on the table watching them.
"Why?" Sam didn't look the slightest bit concerned by the threat, only curious.
"Because hunters don't bake," Dean said. The oven mitt somewhat stifled his harshly pointed finger and he frowned. He had a clear idea of exactly how much stick he'd get from his best friend for this. His dad wasn't going to be impressed either.
"Pastor Jim bakes," Sam said after some consideration. The pastor was the Guardian, leader of the Brotherhood, and something of an adopted grandfather to the boys.
"That's different."
"Why is it?"
"Because it is."
Sam mulled it over.
"But why?"
Dean paused for a moment. He usually took time to consider and respond properly to his brother but between the non-stop questions, and being talked into baking for the kindergartener's 'Sea Creatures Activity Day' - which he was certain was going to bite him in the ass - he was not in the mood to pander any further.
"Because Pastor Jim sometimes has to wear a dress for work and people who wear dresses bake," Dean postulated irritably. A wicked smirk flashed across his lips, knowing that sooner or later his parrot of a brother was going to repeat that little gem.
Luckily, his skewed logic worked for the six-year-old and Sammy sat happily at the table, swinging his feet as he watched Dean pulling the hot tray, containing vaguely fish shaped cookies, from the oven.
"I'd better try one," Sam said seriously. "Just to make sure they're good." He'd scooted to the front of his seat eagerly and was looking hopeful.
Dean's voice got a warning tone. "Don't you dare touch them!"
The lip came out and the eyes filled.
"I mean it, Sammy. They're too hot, you'll burn yourself."
Still pouting, Sam shifted back in his seat. "Okay," he mumbled.
Dean sighed. "You can have one when they've cooled down. But NOT before!" Dean put on his most authoritative voice and pointed his finger sternly. Sam nodded, looking a little happier. "Good. I'll be right back. Just wait." He'd been desperate for the toilet for ages but had been terrified if he left the cookies they'd burn and Sam would be upset.
Dad had been gone over a week and was two days overdue. Dean wasn't worried. Well, not really. Dad was often later back than expected and at least this time they had enough supplies. Still, the rule was, if he didn't hear by tomorrow, he had to call Pastor Jim or Mac. If Sam's event at school had been just a little later, Dean might have gotten out of playing Julia Child.
It wasn't really that which bothered him though. He knew why Dad was late back. It was the same reason Dean didn't want to bake cookies. This week was one of several through the year when Dad didn't want to come home and see his dead wife's eyes looking at him (which Dean had inherited) any more than Dean wanted the smell of cookies in the house (which was why he'd been so careful not to let them burn.)
He was just washing his hands, trying to rinse away his memories, when he heard the scream. Bouncing off the door frame in his haste, he sprinted to the kitchen, arriving just as the front door burst open with a bang and John Winchester filled the space, gun in hand.
His hair was dishevelled, his clothes torn and stained. But power and danger radiated from him, even as a waft of bar smoke and booze billowed out.
Identifying the figure wasn't the threat, Dean turned his attention back to his little brother. Sam was standing on a chair beside the oven, cradling his hand. Tears were pouring down his cheeks.
"What the hell is going on?" John demanded, looking over the messy kitchen before settling his eyes on his sobbing six-year-old.
"Dean said I could," Sam squeaked in the face of his father's fury.
John threw a glare at the older boy before shoving him aside. He moved before Sam, dropping the heavy duffle he carried to the floor with a thud.
"Let me see," he said gently, lifting the boy down then taking Sam's hand.
It was a bit pink but didn't seem too badly hurt. John's eyes roamed from the injury, to Sam's wet eyes, to the cookie tray, finally turning thunderous as they fell on Dean. Then he swallowed and looked back at his youngest.
"Go to the bathroom and run your hand under the cold tap. Keep it there until I come and check."
Sam sniffed and blinked his tear-dewed lashes. When John grabbed his bag back up and stood, the six-year-old nodded and ran off.
Sam ran the tap at full force, trying to drown out the yelling he could hear from the other room. Still, he heard the thud, right as the yelling stopped.
A moment later he heard the front door slam.
Sam expected his brother to appear. The rushing water was starting to become uncomfortably cold, but Dean didn't come and it was an age before his dad finally did.
SPNBROAU
Dean was shaking with the unfairness of it. He hadn't even wanted to make the stupid cookies, but he had; he'd told stupid Sammy not to touch them, but he had; stupid Dad never hurt him, not like that, but he had.
Dean ran, as hard and fast as he could, for as long as he could.
But as far and as fast as he ran, Dean couldn't outrace the truth. It wasn't the cookies, Sammy, or Dad that was stupid. He'd known baking was a bad idea but he'd done it anyway. He'd known Sammy couldn't be trusted to be patient, but he'd left him anyway. His father was right to be mad. Sammy had been hurt as a direct result of something Dean had done. He'd not only failed to prevent something happening to his little brother, but he'd actually caused it.
The knowledge pushed him on, even beyond his exhaustion, until he literally collapsed. Sobs heaved from him and not because of his scuffed knees and palms, or even the freshly blooming bruise on his face.
As if on cue, thunder roared across the sky, a flash of lightning heralding a downpour heavy enough to obscure visibility.
For a while Dean didn't move. But eventually, slowly, he pushed himself up. The temptation was there, but quitting wasn't an option. He squinted up through the downpour at the black clouds. He didn't want to return home drenched as well as disgraced, his father hardly needed more reasons to be mad at him. He needed to find shelter, to dry off and wait out the storm.
Looking around, he realised he'd made it as far as the old rail yard. To his left a link chain fence and a murky veil of heavy rain stood between him and a string of empty freight carriages, sitting askew, like a discarded necklace, tarnished and forgotten.
Dean forced himself to his feet and eyed the fence. He quickly identified a weak spot and made short work of getting through. As more lightning flashed across the sky, he clambered aboard one of the unused train cars.
He found himself rerunning the moment before he left. He'd been disciplined by his father plenty. That was to be expected when you weren't too bright and had a tendency to screw up. Sure, Caleb, Mac, and Pastor Jim tried to say different but Jim always saw the best in people, Mac phrased everything in a positive light, and Caleb was just plain biased. But this had been different.
His father had been pacing and yelling. Dean had brought himself front and centre, ready to accept responsibility. His dad had turned, suddenly, and the bag had flown. Dean had felt the impact with his face, felt the explosion of pain, the moment of disassociation where he wasn't sure what had happened or even where he was. Then realisation. Then he'd run.
Maybe Dad hadn't meant it? John might get frustrated with him, Dean understood that, but his dad loved him, not like Sammy, but he loved him, he did.
SPNBROAU
Mac pulled into a space outside the run-down flats, a frown marring his handsome face as he viewed the peeling paint and wind-blown litter. The storm that had blown in, darkening the sky except for the bright flashes of lightning, gave the place an ominous feeling.
Blinking awake, Caleb rubbed his aching head as Mac got out and jogged around the jeep to open his door for him.
"I don't need help," the teen grumbled. The look of mirth tinted concern on his father's face had him huffing. "Fine, I'll use the crutches, but I can manage."
Mac seemed happy to settle for the compromise and reached into the back to pull out the crutches.
As they made their way towards the last apartment on the left, knowing, even if they didn't have the door number, that this was where the family they were looking for would be, Mac hovered alongside his limping son. Caleb was about to tell him to back off when a dizzy spell sent him stumbling sideways. Mac steadied him, his concerned gaze expertly appraising before letting go with a resigned sigh.
Caleb cleared any signs of weakness from his face and set his eyes determinedly on their destination.
Before they could knock on the door, it opened. John Winchester filled the space, shadows darkening his face, his gaze aimed somewhere around Mac's navel. His expression turned to surprise as his eyes raised to view the two visitors.
"Mac? What are you doing here?" John's focus moved to appraise the slightly battered teen. "Junior," he took in the young man's sheepish shrug. "It looks like someone needs some extra training. Which rule did you disregard?" The tone was harsh, the quirk of the lip teasing, but the eyes showed concern.
"Don't blame me, Bobby was lead hunter," Caleb groused.
Okay, so maybe he'd not strictly adhered to the plan but that wasn't the reason the terrified wife of the ghost possessed man they'd gone to help had accidently pushed him down the stairs. She'd lashed out in the heat of the moment. No one can be held accountable for that, right?
"Then I'll look forward to reading his report," John smirked. He moved aside and Caleb limped into the dingy apartment. He was barely across the threshold when a small shape bounded into him, nearly knocking him over.
"Hey Caleb. I've been reading about jellyfish. Did you know they are over 600 million years old? Dean said that's even older than Dad and so Dad said he's got to detail the car. I'm going to give a report on jellyfish for Mrs Garmory, she's my teacher, but I don't have enough facts yet. And everyone is bringing in food. Marybeth said she's bringing in snails." He screwed up his face at that. "Snails to eat! Will you help me with my report? Is that why you came to visit?" Sam finally paused for breath when John put a restraining hand on his head.
"Caleb needs to get in the door before his nanny duties can start, kiddo." John nudged the excitable six-year-old back into the room allowing Caleb to move forward and Mac to enter behind him.
"Escargot is actually quite the delicacy," the doctor commented mildly.
"You didn't like it when I made it for dinner." Caleb's innocent tone was belied by the wicked grin.
"Garden snails boiled in soup are not escargot," Mac said severely, recalling the 'meal' Caleb had cooked for him. John and Sam laughed.
"Actually Mac, I'm glad you're here," John said as Caleb winced into a chair. "I could use a fresh pair of eyes on this." John waved vaguely towards his research. Though freshly showered, Mackland thought his friend looked tired and weighted by worry.
For a while Caleb was subjected to incessant chatter from Sam about jellyfish while John and Mac reviewed John's notes.
Eventually an alarm sounded on John's watch and he pulled an, only slightly burnt, meal from the oven. Mac looked surprised, John didn't cook. Coming closer, Caleb smirked. Judging by the somewhat rude arrangement of the cheese on the top, it was clear Dean had prepared his classic 'hunter's pie'. A variation on shepherd's pie, made primarily from whatever canned meat he could obtain within budget, topped with smash and cheese.
When John served up the dish into four bowls Caleb narrowed his eyes suspiciously, cursing the stupid concussion that left him foggy in the psychic department. He didn't sense any danger but he had the distinct impression Dean was not nearby.
"Where's Deuce?" He'd hadn't been worried about the absence of his best friend, Dean sometimes needed a break from constantly caring for his little brother. On the rare occasion John stayed around long enough, Dean would sometimes take the opportunity to go to an arcade or movie.
"He went out to lick things," Sam mumbled having suddenly come over shy, he tucked himself against Caleb's arm.
"He what?" Caleb was starting to have a bad feeling.
"He's cooling off," John translated. "He'll be back when he's hungry."
But he'll be staying that way, Caleb thought with a frown looking at the four full bowls and the empty oven dish.
Perhaps it was the look on his face, or the fire in his eye but Mackland seemed to know what Caleb was thinking. A slight cough stopped him from commenting and they all ate, mostly in silence.
Afterwards John turned stern eyes on his youngest. "Samuel, you can clean that pigsty you call a bedroom."
"But …"
"Anything still left on that floor come barrack inspection gets thrown out." John's 'no-nonsense' tone was in full effect. Sam was known to push against this on occasion but, perhaps because his brother wasn't there to hide behind, he wisely closed his mouth and headed to the bedroom.
Mac glanced at his watch then made quick eye contact with his son but neither of them said anything, they didn't want to get Dean into any more trouble.
As John and Mac turned back to the research, Caleb made his way through to the room Sam had disappeared into, ignoring the reprimand from his father for not using his crutches.
Sam looked up in fear when the door opened but quickly relaxed when he saw who it was. He returned to his book, the room as messy as ever.
"Jellyfish don't have brains, so I'm not sure how they do stuff." The six-year-old commented, tilting his head at the page of his book. "Dean said you manage it." Sam looked curiously at Caleb as if he would actually have the answers on how to function without a brain. The big innocent eyes blinking at him did not fool the teen. Sitting on the bed, he tugged the small boy to him, flipping him upside down.
"No brain huh? Well I've still got functioning tentacles." Caleb set to work tickling the helpless kid, causing Sam's shrieks of laughter and muffled calls for help to ring through the house.
"I hope all that noise means that room is clean," John bellowed.
Caleb let Sam go and looked around at the mess. Books, crayons, lego, army men, and clothes all seemed to be everywhere except in the drawers provided for the purposes of storing them.
"I'll make you a deal. I'll help with the clean-up and you tell me what happened with Deuce."
Sammy nodded then sat watching as Caleb scooped legos into a tub. After a moment Caleb paused and looked at him. "I said I'd help, not do everything for you," he said sternly. Sam sighed deeply but started to pick up clothes and shove them unceremoniously into drawers.
"So what happened with Dean?" Caleb asked. Sam instantly looked upset. The teen both felt the prickle at his psychic senses and saw the warning lip wobble. He sat on Dean's bed and Sam came over to climb up onto his lap. Caleb usually tried to discourage this sort of thing, but Sam was oblivious to boundaries, especially when he needed reassurance.
"I was in the bathroom so I couldn't see, but Dad was yelling, then Dean left. He didn't even say bye or anything."
"You didn't hear what the big bad wolf was blowing hot air about?"
A small smile tried to peek through Sam's unhappiness, Caleb's description somehow making the Knight's temper less threatening for the little boy.
"I don't know. But I think it was because I hurt my hand." Sam looked guilty.
SPNBROAU
AN: This is a four-part story and is complete, I will be posting the rest soon. Thank you for reading.