Hello all. Apologies that this story keeps disappearing, FF just seems to be glitching with this one for some reason. Sometimes it's there, sometimes it's not. Hopefully it will get sorted and stay put. Thank you so much for reading and especially those kind enough to review, it really means a lot.

So, on we go ...

Chapter 3

Dean was lying face down in the mud. His attempts to stand had not gone well, his attempts to stagger along, worse. He was just removing a rock that had been digging into his hip bone, when he heard it.

'Hold on Deuce, we're coming.'

"Caleb?"

So far, he'd managed to hold off tears but the familiar voice in his head had a few squeezing through the cracks in his armour. He felt them escape and quickly swiped them aside, smearing more mud across his face. He pressed his hands to the ground again.

'Don't move, we're coming, just stay still.'

Giving up on his arms, he managed to lift his head and saw figures running towards him. Between the murky light and his double vision, he couldn't even make out how many there were, let alone who they were. Panic started to creep in.

"Dean!"

The booming voice of his father reached him and he felt a flood of both relief and fear.

Then he was there.

"Damnit Dean, what were you thinking?" John demanded roughly, dropping to his knees beside the boy. Dean flinched when John reached out a hand to his head and John's hand stuttered back.

"It's okay, just don't move." The second familiar voice had Dean squinting in confusion, he turned his head the other way.

"Mac?"

"Hey Dean," Mac said gently. "Can you tell me where it hurts?"

"I'm fine," Dean tried again to push himself up. Wincing slightly. "Damien?" he was sure he'd heard him.

"I'm here, Deuce, just stay still and let Mac check you over." Caleb had initially led the charge to Dean's location but been left behind once John had spotted the fallen figure.

"Where's Sammy?" Dean asked, confused.

"He's in the car, he's fine," John said more gently. He reached out again and brushed some mud from Dean's hair. This time Dean didn't flinch but he didn't turn his face back to his father either.

Instead, he rolled over so he was on his back, despite the doctor's grumbles. Mac continued to run his hands carefully over Dean. The boy was shivering violently. Exertion and pain had helped hold off some of the cold, but now he was still it was quickly making itself known.

"There are some nasty contusions," Mac said. "What else hurts son?"

"My head, my back, arms, ankle, everywhere." Mac was frowning worriedly as he moved his attention down to where Dean's shirt was knotted around his ankle. John slipped off his jacket and laid it over the shivering boy's torso. "But I can move, it's just walking that is a problem."

"I know the feeling," Caleb grinned at him, flopping down into the dirt with his injured leg stretched out.

"What happened to you?" Dean's concerned eyes ran from the CAM boot to the bruise peeking out from under Caleb's long hair.

"I was on a hunt." The proud jut of the chin, the casual sweeping back of his hair that allowed his ring to catch the light was not missed by the two older hunters, who made quick eye contact.

"What was it?"

"Angry ghost," Caleb shrugged. Technically it had been a desperate housewife that had caused the injuries but he wasn't telling that story if he could help it. "What about you?"

Dean looked down.

"It was an accident," he said quietly.

"So you fell off the train?" John interrupted. "How many times are we going to have to have this conversation before you get it through that thick skull of yours? You do not run off on your own!"

'I didn't run off, the train ran off, I just happened to be on it.'

A snort of laughter escaped Caleb and John glared at him.

"This is funny to you?" his hand waved over Dean, indicating the injuries.

"Stay out of my head, Damien!" The usually affectionate nickname was spat out like an insult, all of the ire Dean was unable to project at his father being lashed at his best friend instead.

Caleb backed off, stung by the harsh tone.

John's scowl had turned to a frown. He made no secret of the fact that he hated 'that psychic shit' but a hidden part of him sometimes envied Caleb's ability to know what Dean was thinking. There were times when John wished he could dive into those sucking green whirlpools of his eldest to discover what truly lay beneath, even knowing it would probably be the death of him if he did.

He didn't have this problem with Sammy. The younger boy had no issues voicing any - and every - thought that ran through his head. But in many ways the part of Dean that had fallen silent at four-years-old, had stayed that way. Sure, other parts of him had come forth, had started to speak on his behalf, but he feared the core of his boy still hadn't uttered a word, at least not to John.

But then, after what happened, John couldn't blame him.

"Enough!" Mackland intervened. "John, the lecture can wait until we get this boy to a hospital. This ankle is broken and there's a possibility of internal injuries." Dean was blinking at him. "I don't think there are any, but I want some scans to be sure," he said more gently. "And Caleb, since both you and Dean have head injuries, I think it would be wise to err on the side of caution."

Caleb rolled his eyes, he had an image to project after all. But in reality, he hadn't meant to read Dean, the thoughts had just leaked through.

Satisfied that Caleb and John had backed off, Mac returned his full focus to his patient. There was a nasty laceration on Dean's cheek, swelling the area around it and turning the white of his eye red. It was impossible for Mac to know if it was from John or the jump from the train. His fingers gently brushed over the area, concern filled his eyes when the boy flinched. Something in Mac's expression must have given him away to the perceptive eleven-year-old and Dean flushed slightly.

"I don't think the cheek bone is fractured but this is a nasty gash, it might need a couple of stitches. I'm going to use some butterfly sutures for now to keep it closed and we'll see."

Dean gave him a small grateful smile for the implied silence on the cause. He suspected Mac would want to talk about it later but if they could at least keep Caleb and Sammy out of it, it was something.

"Here they are, Mac," said an eager voice. Mackland turned to smile at the little boy who had obviously escaped the confines of the Impala, where he had been told to wait, and was now holding up a pack of steri-strips, his teddy bear hanging limply from the other hand.

"Sam, I told you to stay in the car," John growled.

"But I'm helping, Daddy." Sam used his face to full effect, wide eyes staring up at the Knight.

"You need to help by doing as you are told," John said firmly, though he put a hand on the little boy's head, signalling permission to stay.

Once released from his father's hand, Sam smiled in victory and turned back to his brother, kneeling beside the older boy.

"Are you okay, Sammy?" Dean looked him over.

"Did you really go on a train? I've never been on a train? Was it fun?"

"The getting off part sucked." Dean tried again to lift his head and winced when it flopped back to the ground.

Sam offered his bear. "You can use WooBee for a pillow."

"Thanks Sammy, but I'll be getting up as soon as Mac's finished."

"You're not going anywhere on this ankle I'm afraid. John, can we get the car closer?"

John frowned at the expanse of field between them and where the car was. "Not without risk of getting stuck. Is he safe to move?"

Mac nodded. "I believe so, getting him out of this rain would be good."

"I can hop," Dean suggested, trying again to get up. Caleb's eyes ran over his friend, the kid seemed distinctly agitated.

John forestalled any further discussion by simply sweeping up his son.

"Let's get the hell out of here," he said, heading towards the car.

Mac noticed how he didn't look at Dean. Pointedly the doctor handed his son the crutches that were lying on the ground.

John drove with Caleb shotgun, giving the teen and his booted foot necessary leg room. Mac had folded himself into the back seat next to his patient. Sam was on Dean's other side, kneeling on the seat and patting his brother on the head.

Dean was avoiding all eyes by staring at the floor, which is perhaps why he saw them.

"Why are my underpants on the floor of the car?" he asked, distracted from his brooding.

"Mac was playing with them," Caleb answered, deadpan.

Dean looked shocked and leaned slightly away from the doctor. Mac glared at the back of his son's head.

"Don't worry, Caleb will get them cleaned when he does our laundry," John said, just as impassively.

Caleb opened his mouth to argue, remembered the 'wisdom' that had led the Runt to pick underpants as the best item to locate Dean, and closed it again. Besides, he shrugged to himself, with Dean out of action, what choice did Johnny have? It's not like Sammy could do it. From the corner of his eye, he contemplated his mentor through another little chip in the rose tinting on his glasses.

Caleb fell quiet as they turned towards the hospital. In the back of the car, Mac was still asking Dean the odd quiet question and Sammy was commenting how, as jellyfish don't have bones, they can't break them.

"Yeah, but tentacle sprain is a bitc … painful," Caleb smirked, turning to catch Dean's eye. Dean threw a worried look towards the back of his father's head but John just snorted in humour and shook his head.

"How do you treat tentacle sprain Mac?" Sam asked, leaning over his brother and making Dean grimace. Mac gently moved the little boy back.

"Carefully Samuel, very carefully."

John snorted again and Caleb disguised a laugh as a cough. His humour disappeared as they pulled up to the building. He swallowed hard and took a moment to prepare himself.

"You don't have to come in, Damien," Dean said quietly, as Mackland slipped from the car and headed towards the entrance of the building.

Caleb turned, grin firmly in place, to look over to the back seat. "Nice try. You just want to keep all the hot nurse action to yourself."

"I'm eleven, dumb ass."

"That's a bad word," Sam said, looking at his brother reproachfully.

"Alright you three, let's get Dean patched up. Then you can continue working on this little trio act of yours at home." John slid from the front seat, opened the back door, scooped Sammy out of the way, then leant in to lift Dean out. By the time he'd backed out of the car with Dean in his arms, Mackland had brought a wheelchair and a nurse.

Inside, just as Dean was taken through to the exam area, John was waylaid by an insistent woman with a stack of paperwork. Mac watched the way Sammy was dragged over with his father, a scared look on his little face, and followed. Reaching the two of them he heard the under-breath grumbles, about fucking forms that always want a bunch of useless crap about your great aunt's bra size. The Scholar intervened, lifting the forms from John's hands.

"No hospital form has ever asked for a great aunt's bra size," he said soberly. Then he winked at the little boy and held his pen over the form. "Now, do you prefer boxers or briefs? Or are you more a commando man?"

Sammy giggled and the shocked look John cast at his friend broke through his irritation.

"You choose now to find your funny bone, doctor?"

Caleb was looking resentfully at the swing doors through which Dean had been wheeled and he was not allowed to go.

Dean's voice, or perhaps just his own inner maverick, whispered to him. Since when have you ever worried about what you're allowed to do?

No one was looking. Well except that cute nurse behind the desk who kept throwing glances at him. He gave her his most winning smile and winked. Predictably, she blushed and looked away. The moment she did, he slipped through the doors.

He thought he'd have to search for Dean but as soon as he was through the doors he heard a familiar voice.

"Get off me."

"You need to stop moving so I can complete my exam."

"No, where's my dad?"

"Nurse, get some restraints before he does more damage to this ankle."

"Get your damn hands off him!" Caleb interrupted, coming around the curtain to see Dean squirming away from a pot-bellied doctor and a young nurse who was trying to pry John's jacket from the boy's hands.

"Damien," Dean breathed with relief at the sight of a familiar face. "Where's Dad?"

"Doing paperwork." Caleb moved to Dean's side, putting a supporting hand on his shoulder. "You know it's usually the girl's job to play hard to get." He eased the nurse's grip off of the jacket and then gently removed it from Dean's hands.

"Who are you?" The doctor demanded.

Caleb turned to frown at the man in the white coat. All he knew about him was that he had threatened to restrain Dean, and that was all he needed to know.

"I'll tell you who I am. I am the son of Dr Mackland Ames, and I can assure you, he's not going to be too happy with you manhandling his patient."

"Doctor Ames …" The ER doctor said, eyeing the scruffy looking teen sceptically. "I know him by reputation of course. He was a great doctor."

"Was?" Caleb spluttered indignantly.

"Well yes," the doctor said, a little condescendingly. "Before he went off chasing little green men."

"Mac doesn't chase little green men," Caleb said, stepping towards the doctor. He knew in some circles Mac's research into the paranormal had raised some eyebrows but generally speaking, his father's reputation as a doctor still demanded their respect.

Dean grabbed the teen's wrist, sensing the danger emanating off him. If Caleb got kicked out, he'd be by himself again. While he'd rather break his other ankle than admit it, he didn't want to be alone.

"Well, apart from that one time," he said with a small smile on his lips and an entreaty in his eyes.

Sensing the boy's suppressed fear, Caleb reined himself in and played along.

"True, there was that one time," he grinned. They both recalled the bits and pieces they'd heard about a rather embarrassing leprechaun hunt that no one was allowed to ever mention again.

The ER doctor, inferring he was being made fun of, glowered at Caleb. "I don't care who you are, young man, you're not supposed to be back here."

"Actually, minors are supposed to be accompanied," Caleb corrected.

"Hey, watch who you're calling a minor," Dean disputed, not liking the look this man was giving his friend.

"They are supposed to be accompanied by a 'responsible adult'," the doctor said pompously.

"Well, we're fresh out of those," came a gruff voice. "So I will have to do." John appeared around the curtain closely followed by Mac.

"Speak for yourself, Winchester," Mackland teased. They had realised Caleb had disappeared and followed. Hearing the tone of the conversation, if not the specifics, they determined, with nothing more than a glance between them, that some defusing was required.

"Hey Dean!" Sammy's outside voice was in full force as he squeezed his way between Mac and John's legs and climbed up onto the examination bed his brother was laying on. "Are you better? Can we go home now?"

The ER doctor, who had been watching them all with bemusement and rising colour, slammed his stethoscope down on the instrument tray. "Enough! This is a hospital, not a circus. I must ask you all to leave while I examine my patient."

Dean's hand reached out and grasped Caleb's arm. Mac saw the fear on the eleven-year-old's face and spoke calmly.

"Doctor, Dean is clearly upset and scared, if you could just give us a minute, we will calm him down and get him into a gown, then you can complete your examination."

"Are you the boy's father?" Mac felt John bristle beside him. "No, I am Doctor Ames, a family friend." Caleb smirked as the colour dropped from the ER doctor's face.

"Of course, Dr Ames, take all the time you need." He hurried the nurse out leaving them to themselves.

Though he didn't voice it, Caleb could hear the call in Dean that just wanted to go home. It pulled at his protective instincts, especially as he couldn't give the boy what he so desperately wanted.

"Easy, Kiddo," he said quietly as he helped him out of his t-shirt. "We'll have you out of here as soon as possible."

"Junior, take Sammy down to the cafeteria. We'll come find you when we've spoken to the doctor."

"But …"

"Dean will need an x-ray at the very least, but more likely they'll want to do more extensive scans to check for any other damage. It will take a while." Mac gave his son a significant look, his eyes flicking briefly to the six-year-old. Caleb got it, but he didn't like it.

"I won't be far, Deuce," he promised, lifting Sam from the bed and placing him on the floor. He whispered in his father's ear as he passed, "don't leave him alone, please."

Mac nodded.

SPNBROAU

As a result of that promise, John and Mac found themselves in hard plastic chairs in a corridor outside of MRI. They had stayed with Dean as far as they could and assured him they would be waiting outside the entire time.

Mac looked at the man next to him. John was leant forwards, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Waiting was not the man's style and Mac could feel the nervous energy running through him. This restlessness was always present but worse on weeks such as this one, the week he met Mary. While not usually as bad as the November anniversary, it had been a consideration when Mac decided to visit.

He was sympathetic to his friend's pain but not the way it sometimes got lashed out at those nearest to him, especially when the nearest were merely children. Mackland struggled with many of John's parenting decisions, on many levels, as a doctor, as a psychiatrist, as a father, and simply as a human being. But he also knew his friend.

"What happened?" Flawed though he was, John was not a man to intentionally hurt his children. At the very least he had to give the man a chance to explain himself.

John looked at him, clearly about to say 'you damn well know what happened' but, catching the Scholar's eye he realised what was really being asked. He scowled.

"He let Sam get hurt, what if it had been something nastier than a hot tray? I can't allow him to get sloppy."

"He did not let Samuel get hurt. Sam disobeyed the order Dean had given him and hurt himself, as young children are prone to do from time to time."

"And if Dean had told me that –"

"Given what happened to him when you thought it was his fault, I doubt Dean would ever tell you it was Sam's." Mac could see John's temper rising and sighed, running a finger across his eyebrow. "John, you hit him."

"God damn it, Mac. It was an accident! I've never … I mean discipline, yes, but I don't beat my kids."

"Then explain to me how you accidently hit your son so hard that he is lucky his cheek bone is not fractured, hard enough to have him fleeing from the family that means everything to him," Mac demanded to know.

John felt wrongly accused. "Jesus!" he threw his hands up in exasperation. "I didn't see him standing behind me. I knocked him down with my duffle." John had turned to throw his bag on the bed, not realising Dean had moved. The duffle had caught the kid smack in the face. Dean had been knocked down, scrambled up, and fled, before John had even taken in what had happened. Some of the bluster left John's eyes, the father underneath peeking through. "I would never hit him like that intentionally."

"It's not the first time, John," Mac said seriously, trying to keep his tone practical and not accusing. John didn't lower his guard often and much as it pained Mac to see the rawness that lay beneath it, the issue was too important not to address.

John glared at him. Then his eyes went distant, his mind flicking back until it landed on the right memory. His mind's eye reran the moment. Dean had run away that time too, all the way to Auburn on a Greyhound. When Caleb had brought him back, an argument had ensued and John caught Dean by mistake, knocking the boy to the ground.

Mac watched the moment of recall, and though he could see John starting to shake his head, the dark eyes were pained.

"That wasn't the same, and it was an accident too."

"Dean did something you didn't like, you were angry, you lashed out, he ended up on the floor bleeding. I suspect that for Dean it is very much the same."

"So I suppose this is the moment when that hot-headed boy of yours screams at me for being a lousy parent and –"

"WHERE IS HE?"

Caleb burst through the door startling both men. John frowned, it was a little too on the nose, even for the overly dramatic teen.

But Caleb wasn't looking for John, his interruption had other causes.

He had been trying to keep Sam entertained, giving in to the kid's demand for cake, much of which was still smeared across the little boy's face. Caleb's link to Dean was not something he was always conscious of, more like a hum in the background that is so constant you don't really hear it. But you sure as hell notice it if it disappears.

Much like Caleb's stomach, which dropped so suddenly and completely he wouldn't have been surprised to spot it making a sloppy mess on the floor under his chair. All sense had left. He had no thought for rules, for rational behaviour, he had one thought only, find Deuce!

Minutes later he was hopping through the door near MRI, crutch under one arm, Sammy's hand clasped tightly in his other, the little boy dragging the other crutch.

Having startled John and Mac from their seats, he looked around, Dean must be nearby, he had to be.

He spotted the huge, resolute 'No Entry' sign on the solid door opposite them. Dropping his crutch and Sammy's hand, the teen limped towards it, pain and difficulty be damned, and rattled the handle. It was locked and before he could plan some kind of assault to get through, Mac was grabbing his arm.

"Caleb, what's wrong?"

Caleb was struggling to pull away, he had to get through that door, get to Dean, but his injured leg made him wobble and only Mac's strong grip kept his butt from the floor.

"Caleb!" Mac shook his son slightly and made him look at him. "That's enough!" Seeing the pain and panic in the golden eyes he softened. "Dean is just undergoing a scan, he's fine. He'll be out before you know it."

The psychic had started shaking his head before Mac had even finished.

"He's not fine!"

"What do you mean?" Mac was struggling to keep calm in the face of the fear pouring off his son.

"He's not … I can't …" Caleb's hand waved vaguely towards his head. His eyes were filling. His head turned, as if by its own accord, towards the door through which Dean had to be.

"Caleb. Listen to me. Caleb!" Mac grabbed his son's chin and forced him to make eye contact. "Dean is in a machine that surrounds him with electromagnetic waves." The teen blinked at him, trying desperately to grasp the thread of reassurance his father was offering. "We know that the electromagnetic fields created by ghosts can interfere with your abilities. Factor in your concussion and it is no surprise that the signal would be disrupted." Caleb tried to breathe but the gap where Dean should be still seemed to be constricting his heart. "People are monitored very carefully during imaging. If anything was wrong with Dean we would know, I promise."

"But he…"

"I know, Son."

Sammy had headed straight for his father. John had scooped up the terrified child and was trying to remove at least some of the cake from his face with a bandana.

"Where's Dean? I want Dean." Sammy insisted.

John looked at his baby and brushed the long hair from in front of his eyes.

"Me too, kiddo," he whispered, like it was a secret.

SPNBROAU

With so much real estate damaged, Dean's scan was going to take a while. John took Sammy to pick up some clean clothes for Dean and a couple of books to try and keep the little boy occupied. Mac wished he could distract Caleb to make the time pass more quickly. There was no way to pry him from the doorway until Dean reappeared through it. So Mac sat him down and took the chair next to him. In quiet tones he started to describe what the MRI did, how it worked, the different areas they would look at and what the images should be able to show them, trying to give his son as clear a picture as possible of what was happening in that room.

He stopped his quiet recitation when he noticed the pained furrows on the teen's brow.

"Caleb?" His son's eyes were closed. Mackland sighed. "Caleb, I told you, the machine …"

"I know how the fucking MRI works. The machine stops me reaching Deuce," Caleb said, opening his eyes annoyed. The furrows became marginally less deep but he was clearly still in pain. "But the radiologist isn't in the machine."

"And?" Mac forced himself to stay calm and patient, there were enough hot-heads in the mix already.

Caleb sighed exhaustedly, the technician wasn't known to him and his concussion was making it harder but he'd got something, not much, but enough.

"Dean's okay."

"See, I told you. Now please stop and just wait." Mac's hand came up to check his son's forehead.

Caleb avoided the hand and nodded, but the moment he'd given his agreement he wished he hadn't. Linking to the radiologist didn't completely dispel the fear the missing link to Dean induced, but it did take the edge off. Severing that last small connection had the fear tempest swirling in his belly once more. His eyes fixed on the door, staring as if he could make his own x-ray and see right through it if he tried hard enough.

By the time the door opened, Caleb felt like he'd lost years off his life. He jumped up, nearly knocking over the orderly who was backing out, pulling the gurney with Dean on.

"Deuce?"

Dean didn't answer. His eyes were closed, his face slack. But the moment Caleb touched him he understood. Between the sedative and laying in the machine unmoving for a long time, Dean had fallen asleep. He was fine.

Still, he rested his hand on the boy's chest, feeling the reassuring heartbeats. The physical connection completed the psychic link. It throbbed through his whole body, pounding painfully in his head but, in the wake of its absence, he'd take the pain.

Dean didn't wake, but his head shifted slightly towards his friend.

When Caleb didn't move after a moment, the orderlies started to push the gurney, expecting him to manoeuvre back out of the way. Instead he hobbled alongside, even insisting on cramming into the elevator with them.

John and Sammy were waiting near Dean's room. John raised an eyebrow at the way Caleb was using the gurney as a crutch as he hopped alongside it, much to the disgruntlement of the orderlies. Mac reassured the Knight, with little more than a shrug, that there was nothing to worry about. But he saw the tightness in John's jaw, the way he pulled Sammy a little closer to him, as the unconscious form of his firstborn was wheeled past.

SPNBROAU