Looking For Space

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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CHAPTER 11: Answered Prayers

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And all things, whatever ye shall ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive.

~ Matthew 21: 22

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When Mackland heard the motel room door click open, he put his book down and sat up on the couch, was surprised to see Dean enter the room with Caleb's guiding hand on his shoulder. Wasn't sure what was more astounding, that Dean wasn't wearing a scowl of protestation at being escorted into their motel room…or the youth's worrying array of bruises, ripped and bloody clothing or the limp he couldn't suppress. And though his own son wasn't supporting any outward malaise, there was a haunted look in Caleb's eyes.

Of course Caleb's declaration was wholly unnecessary, "Dad, Dean's hurt," because he was already heading for the boy, slowed his approach when he saw the flicker of uncertainty in Dean's eyes. 'Like he thinks I'm going to lash out at him for how he behaved at the motel, for being disrespectful.' And that was the last thing Mac had in mind. Stopping in front of Dean but not making a move to touch him, Mac used his gentle tone as he teased, "So, is the restraining order you put out on me lifted or does your fake mom still hate my guts?"

That got Dean's lips quirking into an amused smirk. "She's moved on. Doesn't even remember your name anymore."

"Ouch, that hurts…almost as much as this probably does," Mac compared, gently reaching out to skim his fingers over Dean's bruised jawline.

"Nah…Caleb hits like a girl," Dean downplayed, shot Caleb a look and knew he did something good when his best friend's terse expression cracked, and Caleb ran his hand down his face in a sign of lightened anguish.

Mac quirked an eyebrow at that exchange but kept his concerned focus on who Caleb would want him to: Dean. "Okay, then let's skip all the other 'I'm fine', 'I'm not hurt', 'Nothing's broken' dialogue andhave you take a seat on the couch so I can look you over."

At Dean's token expression of objection to medical treatment, Caleb leaned close to the younger boy, gently prodded, "Go on, Dean." Then he led Dean across the room, didn't leave the boy's side until Dean was settled on the couch with a wince. Then Caleb only went a few feet to sit on the arm of the chair diagonal from Dean's position.

In the meantime, Mac had scurried off to his bedroom and was returning with his trusty black doctor's goodie bag. Taking a seat on the low table in front of the couch, he pulled out his penlight, which, according to both Dean and Caleb, was a nasty torture instrument for anyone ever having had their bell rung. Which both of them had, numerous times, once or twice at the same time.

"I don't have a concussion," Dean protested.

Though he gave the boy a patronizing, "Un huh," Ames was actually relieved to get a predictable response from Dean, had felt his concern climbing at the rare meekness. Dean proved he wasn't lying when his examination found the boy's pupils dilated like they were supposed to.

"Alright. Off with the coat and your shirt. Caleb help him," Mac instructed, saw his son immediately jump at the chance to help Dean.

Dean, however, wasn't so excited about the next step. "My shirt….why?" Because, ok, the limp he was doing jack hiding but his bruised up back…Caleb didn't know about and Mac didn't need to know about. But his protest earned him the laser eyed interrogative gazes of Ames and Reaves. "What?! Guy can't be modest?" he grumbled in response to their expressions.

Caleb exchanged a concerned look with his father before he stepped forward and manhandled, albeit with infinite care, Dean out of his jacket. But when he went to pull the shirt over the kid's head, he froze, realized the mojo bag was still hanging around Dean's neck, was still cutting off the reassuring intimate contact he treasured with the younger boy.

Looking down to see what had Caleb paling, Dean paled himself at the sight of the bag, of the proof of how hard he had rebelled against Damien's hold on him. Dean raised a bloody hand to lift the bag over his head but Caleb intercepted him, completed the task for him far faster than he could have managed. With shame and apology Dean turned his face up to Caleb's but his friend's expression was all about worry. Straightaway Dean realized that that the psychic was tuned into his emotions, knew just how craptastic he was feeling.

Reeling a little when his connection with Dean abruptly flipped on, Caleb pressed his lips together, rode out the pain that wasn't his. Was kind of glad he was getting the full 411 now, with Mac ready and willing to patch Dean up, to take the younger man's pain away. And to do that, Dean's shirt needed removed. But his attempt to lift it over Dean's head met resistance, which he trailed down to its source: Dean's hands curled around the hem of the shirt, ensuring it didn't get lifted over his head, and subsequently, so he and Mac didn't get a look at his chest…or his back.

Gut churning at the thought of what Dean didn't want him to see, Caleb crouched down in front of the fifteen year old, didn't want to use force on the kid…had done that too often lately with disastrous results. "Dean, something you wanna tell us?" he quietly asked, didn't like that Dean's gaze was nervously flickering away from his.

And no, Dean didn't want to make this moment into some confessional, wanted his injury to be downplayed, hoped like heck Damien didn't see his back and go on the rampage like they had managed to avoid since the tram went kablooey. Releasing his death grip on his t-shirt, Dean held his breath…for like two second before it came out in a grunt of pain as Caleb jostled his arms over his head to slip the t-shirt off.

At first, Dean thought he was actually gonna dodge the bullet…until Caleb gave up looking at his unmarred chest and circled the couch, where he got a breathtaking view of the roadmap of bruises discoloring Dean's entire back. "Dad," Caleb hoarsely beckoned and Mac came around the couch at his bidding, scowled at the evidence of the pain Dean had to be in, had put himself in.

"Don't make a federal case about it," Dean groused at the unwanted attention, eyes straight ahead and not on the two men ogling his back.

"Dean, how did this happen? Why didn't you come to me sooner?" Mac sharply questioned, always upset when those he loved were in pain when he had the means to ease it. That is, if they bothered to admit something as human as being in pain.

"Dad, don't," Caleb quietly warned, didn't want Dean feeling more vulnerable, to go ducking for the hills after finally letting down his walls.

Dean chose to answer one of Mac's question, though it dripped with smart aleck wit. "I took a ride on an awesome mud slide. Slide needs a little help on the shock absorption before it goes public."

At Mac's raised eyebrow of confusion, Caleb put the pieces together, supplied the translation to his father. "Hand bridge, Dean falling….me freaking out 'cause I thought he was dead…again."

Dean's eyes widened at Caleb's recap, knew Caleb wasn't a freak out kinda guy. Was cool under pressure. 'Unless you're in danger. You know this, you know how he feels about you, how upset he always gets when you're in jeopardy of getting hurt.' And Dean did know, had just buried that truth under his own hurt for so long that Damian caring about him had started to seem like a lie he told himself.

Dean gritted his teeth when Mac's cold hands pressed on his back but didn't make a sound of pain. He knew what Mac would determine: that he didn't have any broken bones, that it was just deep bruising, that he'd have a date with ice packs in the foreseeable future.

"No broken bones or internal injuries," Mac reported as he reclaimed his seat on the table in front of Dean, pulled Dean's bleeding hands onto his lap for inspection. "Cuts don't look deep. Little soap, water, antiseptic, bandaging and they'll heal nicely." Gave the hands in his grip a reassuring squeeze before he released them, felt his heart lighten at Dean's eye roll at his attempt to baby him. "Now onto your leg. Drop your pants, kiddo."

But Caleb called out, "Wait!" as he looked down at Dean from his stance over the boy. "Please tell me you're not in one of your commando stages. I don't want to be scarred for life."

Dean smirked. "Unlike you, I know what modest is and I like underwear," making a show of dropping his pants to show his boxer shorts.

Mac fought the urge to give his son a proud smile, knew Caleb's taunt had been a well-planned manipulation, caused Dean to forego his usual refusal to shed out of clothing, pants particularly. Instead Mac focused on the scraped, bleeding knees and the swelling ankle Dean was sporting. With careful motions, he eased Dean's leg onto his lap and removed the boy's shoe. He prodded the obvious ankle trauma and up the boy's calf and thigh before meeting Dean's noticeably paler features. "It's a bad ankle sprain and some pulled muscles. I think your "mud slide" is a liability nightmare."

"Oh, but what a rush," Dean drawled before he realized the stink eye Damien and Mac were giving him. Fearing that Mac would take that opportunity to lecture him on being reckless, he hastily changed the subject. "Nice accommodations," he drawled, giving he luxury room a once over from his vantage point. "I didn't think this town had anything up to your standards."

"Josh found it. You know he likes to travel in style," Caleb joked but it was strained, could sense his father fighting back the urge to go all fatherly/Scholarly on Dean and deliver the lecture brewing in his head.

Dean's jaw clenched at the mention of Joshua, kind of forgot he had been on the hunt too, had witnessed the whole him-being-bait thing. 'Josh probably thought it was the most useful I've ever been on a hunt.' Clearing his throat he tried to offhandedly ask, "So, he still in town or did he bail already?" Really hoped the older hunter was gone, that he didn't have to worry about running into him, especially now when he looked like roadkill that was backed over five times.

And to prove that Caleb knew what Dean was thinking without even using his psychic mojo, Caleb quietly answered Dean's inquiry, "Bailed…right after he tore me a new one for using you as bait on the hunt."

Dean's shock was obvious. "Thought he would have gotten a kick out of that."

Caleb shook his head. "Was royally pissed at me…and rightly so."

"Huh…maybe he can be my new wing man," Dean drawled but there was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"Not happening," Caleb growled, knew Dean thought his possessiveness was put on..but it wasn't by much.

Dean merely smirked before he turned his focus back to Mac, who had pulled an ace bandage from his bag. "Does my ankle really have to be wrapped? I can walk on it." Because he wanted to be as mobile as he could be, didn't feel like hobbling around without a shoe for a week or so.

"I think the point is for you to not walk on it," Caleb taunted, enjoyed Dean's glare.

"I was talking to the actual doctor in the room," Dean shot back.

Mac decided it was time to intervene. "And the actual doctor in the room says your ankle's getting wrapped, your hands are getting cleaned and your back's getting iced. Now I'm going for water to clean out your hands and knees and you're staying right here." He gently lifted Dean's leg off his lap in preparation of standing up, but before he could ease Dean's leg back to the table, Caleb slipped into his vacated spot, carefully settled Dean's foot onto his lap. Nodding to his son, Mac headed for the bathroom, grabbing the ice bucket along the way.

"Once Mac's had his wicked way with you, you can sack out on my bed for a while," Caleb suggested, wasn't all that surprised when Dean protested, though it wasn't in the way he had expected.

"You can take me back to my motel, I'm ok to be alone," Dean declared, didn't want to come off like some wussy who needed his hand held just because he had a close call with death. 'Yeah, because I've crossed paths with Death so often, we're on first name basis.'

The kid's bravery almost put a chink in Caleb's armor, tore him up a little inside, made his words come out a bit thready. "Well, I'm not ok with you being alone. With you being out of my sight." Let Dean see in his eyes that it wasn't about trust, it was about fear, his. That his gut was still turned inside out over the tram incident, the numerous what-could-have-beens.

Caleb's open vulnerability had Dean nervously dropping his gaze to his knees and his hands worriedly pulling on some of the frayed thread of his ripped jeans. "Jason almost went without me. If I hadn't talked him out of it…" He stopped there, left the rest said only in his head. 'If Caleb didn't talk me out of going on the tram…if I hadn't talked Jason out of it, one or both of us would be dead right now. And some or all of it would have been my fault. So much for decisions being easy if they weren't about a hunt.'

Reading Dean's inner turmoil, Caleb put a hand on Dean's shoulder, waited until green eyes met his before he spoke. "With my Mom, most of the time I get that I couldn't have saved her, that I was too young, too small, but today, when I thought I didn't save you.." But he couldn't say more, didn't think he could open his mouth right then without breaking down again.

Trust and love shone in Dean's eyes as they held his best friend's anguished gaze. "But you did save me."

Removing his hand from Dean's shoulder, Caleb shook his head in disgust, "I shoulda knocked you out and thrown you in the Jeep. Instead I was so worried that you'd hate me more than you already did that I let you walk back into the terminal. And then when I realized what a cowardly, colossally stupid thing I'd done, letting you slip through my fingers, I couldn't get in the door. Couldn't stop you."

Quietly, Dean confessed, "If you would have physically stopped me today, I would have just gone on the tram when you weren't around or….or found something crazier to do. Like I said, it was my choice…and you let me make it."

Caleb released a shuttering breath, "I'm so proud of you, for the choice you did made."

Dean tilted his head in confusion. "Thought you were pissed at me."

Caleb chuckled. "Yeah, I'm kinda both."

"You're screwed up," Dean sallied back, lips fighting down a smirk.

Ruffling Dean's hair, Caleb shot back, "Yeah and some of that you can take credit for."

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After Mac did his doctor routine, dosed Dean with pain killers and a muscle relaxant, Caleb aided his charge to the bedroom, parked Dean on the bed and bent down to remove his sole remaining shoe. Found it easier to speak to said shoe than Dean. "Tell me it's over. That you're not going to do any more dares."

If Caleb's tone had been the least bit judgmental, Dean might have blown it off, said his whole life was a dare. But there was no criticism in his friend's tone, only heartfelt appeal. "It's over," he said, because it was. Jason might have gotten killed today because Dean wanted to up the ante, wanted a higher rush. And like Caleb had said, at least if someone died hunting, they were trying to do something honorable, to save lives, not satisfy some needy desire for freedom.

Caleb looked up at Dean from his crouched position. "Good because…I can't lose you. You get that now, right?" Didn't know what he would do, could do if Dean didn't grasp that all important fact.

After hearing Caleb scream his name, seeing his friend running wildly down the mountain, uncaring if he broke his own neck, yeah, Dean got that Caleb wouldn't take his death well. Swallowing, he nodded, verbalized when Caleb's pensive gaze remained locked on him, "I do." Felt that the responsibility to stay alive, it was a comforting weight, felt strange to be openly loved that much.

Caleb accepted Dean's declaration with hope. "Ok, kiddo." Then he stood up, watched the kid lay down. "Settle on your stomach and I'll hook you up with some nice ice packs."

"Dude, ice packs are not nice," Dean grumbled but did as he was instructed, was one minute listening to Caleb tell one of his infamous college party stories and the next, he was zonked out.

Pulling a chair close to the bed, Caleb flung his tall frame into the seat. Sat there and watched his little brother dream hopefully happy dreams. His own dreams that night, he knew, wouldn't be that peaceful. He wasn't some Pollyanna, didn't think bad think didn't happen to good people, knew exactly how close a call Dean had had, how easily the day could have ended in tragedy. And the fact that it hadn't, that was worth sending a thanks heavenward for answered prayers.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading & reviewing!

And I wanted to send out a thank you to my guest reviewer last chapter who requested John and Sam make an appearance in the story. That's been my plan all along but I was afraid everyone would expect me to finish the story here. So thanks so much for not only wanting more of the story but for asking for something I wanted to include in the tale!

So I hope you all are up for a few more chapters before this story concludes.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.