Heroes-Revisited

By Ridley C. James, July 2006 re-edited in 2007

Beta & contributor: Tidia

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me.

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Chapter 6/13

“The cowards think of what they can lose, the heroes of what they can win.” --J. M. Charlier

Dean had lost all control. He was frantically trying to push past his weakness and the pounding in his head to get to his feet as he watched the monster lift his little brother higher into the air.

Sam's terrified gaze was locked on the behemoth. He struggled in the crushing grip as he was brought eye level with the raw.

Dean pushed at the ground fruitlessly, trying to get to his brother before it was too late when Sam suddenly cried out in pain.

The cry reverberated through Dean, sending his racing heart to a screeching halt, setting every nerve on end. "I'll kill you," he shouted, using the only part of his body that was cooperating, although the threat came out pathetically weaker than his emotions justified.

To his amazement the raw screamed back. It wasn’t a howl of rage, but one of shocked pain. The beast roughly dropped Sam to the ground, and grabbed its head with claw-like hands, writhing in agony.

Dean was confused by the monster's actions, but ignored it as he half-crawled, half-dragged himself the few feet to his brother. "Sammy?" He reached for Sam, whose face was still twisted in agony.

The raw screamed again, staggering until it bumped into another wall, shaking its head like it had been stunned.

What disturbed Dean the most was Sam cried out too, bringing his own hands up to his head. "Sam!" He searched frantically for the source of his brother's pain, but saw no wound.

"Dean!" Sam gasped, his eyes still clenched tight. "Help."

Using his mangled hands wasn't easy, but he managed to get Sam up off the ground enough to rest his brother's trembling body against his chest. "Sammy? What's wrong?"

"My…head," Sam cried out, and bucked in his brother's arms.

Dean held on to him and silently swore to take the raw head apart piece by piece as Sam once again whimpered and burrowed closer against his chest trying to escape whatever was hurting him. A thin line of blood trickled from his nose and Dean brushed it away with his thumb. "Shit! Sammy?"

When his brother didn't respond, he lifted his gaze to the monster and watched as it continued to stagger until both its legs collapsed beneath it, sending it to its knees not far from where Dean held his brother.

"Please stop…," Sam whispered. "Make it stop, Dean."

"What, Sammy? Talk to me."

"I can't stop it…" Sam moaned. "It…"

"What, Sam?" Dean growled in frustration, helpless to stop what was hurting his brother. He glanced up again, wondering if Sam was talking about the raw, which just hit the wall again as if something had flung it, or struck it. Nothing was fucking making any sense.

Sam cried out again, and jerked in his arms. "Caleb!" Then his brother was deathly still.

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“Sam!” Caleb cried out. He brought one hand to his head, and braced himself on the ground with the other.

“Junior?” John rested a hand on the younger hunter’s shoulder.

Reaves struggled to regain his focus, the shift in realities momentarily disorienting. He looked up at his mentor. "We have to get out of here. Now."

“I’ve got it covered,” John said. “Tiny Tim has come to our rescue.”

John helped him to stand and Reaves ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Good. We’ve got to get to them.”

“What’s going on? Are the boys alright?”

Caleb licked his lips, trying to keep himself from being sick. He looked at John feeling guilty as hell. “I don’t know.” When Caleb's gift had come on-line at the age of thirteen it had landed him in a psych ward of a hospital where Mackland Ames had found him. Mac became his adopted father, helped him gain control of his abilities and Jim Murphy gave him a place in The Brotherhood. They believed and trusted him. And now he had hurt Sam.

John removed his touch. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Caleb never expected the teen to put up a fight. To somehow instinctively throw up barriers Reaves had to tear down in order to save his life and Dean's. If there was any sacrifice to be made, Caleb had been willing, but Sam would never be forfeit. “I think I bought us some time, but…”

"Did the EMC thing work?"

“Sort of.”

The arrival of the ladder spared the psychic any further details and he gestured for John to start up. “I’ll give you a hand from this end.”

John frowned, but knew answers weren’t as important as getting to his boys. He used his arms to pull himself up the first few rungs until he could balance on his uninjured foot. With Caleb helping, they made it to the top in fairly good time.

“Are you okay?” Daryl asked, his gaze sweeping over the hunters. “You look bad.”

“Nothing we can’t handle, kid.” John grimaced as he tried to put his full weight on his injured leg. He turned to Reaves. “We need to hurry.”

Caleb rolled his eyes at the man. "I'll hurry; you and G.I. Junior back me up."

The younger hunter grabbed the ladder, pulled it up, and started to the entrance to the raw head's lair. There would be time later to explain to John his son was unconscious, and Caleb had no idea of how to bring him out of it. For now, he just needed to complete the mission-bring Dean and Sam home.

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Dean kept his eye on the raw, scooting back farther away from it, pulling Sammy with him. He watched the creature, but leaned his head close to Sam's face, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief when he felt the brush of warm breath on his cheek. "Wake up, little brother. Wake up, and it will all be over," he whispered, hoping to God he was telling the truth. "Come on, Sammy, I need for you to wake up." Dean tightened his hold on his brother and tried to pull them even further from the rallying raw.

The thirteen-year-old remained motionless and Dean bit his lip to keep from losing the shaky grip he had on his emotions. Sam's nose was still bleeding, and Dean didn't want to think about what might be causing it. He hadn't seen the beast do anything to his brother but pick him up and then drop him to the ground. Dean had done worse to the kid in countless sparring sessions. Sam was tough.

In the back of his mind, Phillip's crying still registered as did the grunts and groans of the raw head slowly struggling to its feet, but Dean's attention was focused on the steady rise and fall of Sam's chest. If he was still breathing, then everything else could be worked around.

A shuffling near him finally forced his eyes from Sam. He looked up to find the monster towering over them. He looked almost as unhappy with the turn events as Dean.

"Back off," Dean growled, again pushing himself across the ground with his one good leg, dragging a lifeless Sam with him until their backs were literally against the wall. There was no where left to go.

Dean was going to kill the raw head if it was the last thing he did. The creature was looking at Sam like he was a prized pork chop. The seventeen-year-old was well aware of his inability at that moment to protect his brother. It was unfamiliar and terrifying.

The raw reached to take Sam from Dean, a heinous gleam in his wide-set, beady eyes. "No!" Dean did the only thing he could do. He curled himself over Sam’s prone form, shielding him from the raw.

He expected to feel the slashing tear of claws on his skin or another bone-crushing blow, but instead, the beast screamed. A distinct snap and crackle filled the air along with the stench of burning flesh.

"Shocked to see me, you sick son of a bitch?" Caleb smirked as the raw whirled on him, shaking and trembling from the mega volts of electricity now coursing through sinew and bones from the tazer blast.

Dean glanced up, never quite so glad to see someone in his entire life. “Caleb.”

Then his father was there, larger than life. John stepped along side Caleb, firing his own weapon into the beast.

Dean tightened the hold on his brother and watched in morbid fascination as the thing bubbled and melted like a dripping candle, its features running together like colored wax until it exploded in one big mess of red, orange, and black blubber.

John raced to his sons, who were covered with the gory remains of their former captor. "Dean?"

“Dad?” Dean stared at him with a somewhat dazed expression.

John knelt in front of the teen. "Son?"

Dean managed a weak imitation of his usual cocky smile. "What the hell took you guys so long?"

"Ah, fell into the usual trappings. Caleb had to fix his damn hair-you know what a princess he can be," John quipped, doing his best not to slip in the slimy residue of the raw. "You okay, Ace?"

The seventeen-year-old was pretty sure he looked like he felt, which was anything but okay. He could feel the bruises throbbing hot on his face and he was aware of the blood trickling from the cuts on his head. “About as good as I look.”

John glanced to the blossoming of vivid purples and blues near Dean’s right temple and forehead where a long gash ran back into his hairline and then to the boy’s wrists which were manacled and a fucking mess. “That’s not making me feel better.”

Dean watched his father’s features grow grimmer as John's attention shifted to the still form of his youngest son wrapped securely in his brother's embrace.

"Sammy?"

Dean looked down at his brother, his smile fading. "He's breathing," Dean said, glancing at his father. "I…I don't know what happened, Dad. One minute he was charging in here like some comic book superhero, and the next he was…" Dean licked his dry lips, trying unsuccessfully to keep the tremor out of his voice. "He's hurt. I'm sorry."

John looked over his shoulder to where Caleb was bent over the other Patterson boy, untying his hands, trying to calm his terrified crying. Daryl was with him, clinging to the older child.

"I know, John. I'm sorry." Reaves didn't turned around. He couldn’t face the Winchesters. He had caused the harm.

Dean watched his father's face. It was full of emotion, most of it unreadable. He reached out for Sam, and before Dean could catch himself, he flinched and drew back, tightening his hold on his brother.

"It's okay, Dude." John reached out and ran his hand over Dean’s hair. “I'm just going to check your brother out. Take it easy."

John waited until Dean nodded his understanding before starting his examination. He let Dean hang onto Sam as he checked his youngest son’s pulse. "How long has he been like this?"

"Five minutes or more," Dean offered, watching his father.

"His nose was bleeding."

John sighed heavily. "Did your brother slur his words? Did he seem disoriented?"

"What?" Dean frowned. "He was in pain-kept saying his head was hurting." He looked at his father. "What the hell is going on? What's wrong with him?"

John lifted each of Sam's eyelids, praying for some reaction as he rubbed his knuckles across the boy's sternum. "Damn it," he bit out when he got no reaction, hoping to hell his son's skull wasn't slowly filling with blood.

"Dad?" Dean could feel panic creeping in. "He's going to be okay, right?"

John removed his hands from Sam and rocked back on his heels. "Caleb?"

Reaves had moved unnoticed to stand behind Winchester. "We need to hurry."

John glared up at him. “You’ve been saying that a hell of a lot today.”

Caleb ignored him instead kneeling beside Dean. “Good to see you in one piece, Deuce.”

The teen swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”

"I got Sammy, okay."

Dean nodded. “Okay.”

Caleb lifted Sam from his brother, knowing John would never manage with his injured ankle. “We need a hospital, Johnny.”

Dean watched his father give a resigned nod. "Hospital?" The teen nearly choked on the word. Not that he wasn't all for it, but his father rarely allowed that amenity unless injuries were serious.

John looked at his oldest son. "Both of you need to be looked at, Ace."

"I'm good." Dean shook his head, trying to prove his words by attempting to stand. "Just worry about Sammy."

John reached out and steadied him, giving him a stern look. "That's an order."

"You better let me get rid of Deuce's new taste in jewelry," Caleb nodded to the twisted metal around Dean's wrists, "Or we're going to have some explaining to do."

"You can do it in the car." John glanced away from Caleb and motioned to Daryl. "Help your brother, son. We're getting the hell out of here."

"Roger, sir." Daryl smiled, his arm wrapped securely around Phillip's waist.

"John…I'm. . ." Caleb started only to have the other hunter cut him off with a silent glare.

"Not now."

The other hunter nodded, feeling the immense weight of the slight kid in his arms. Apologies were not going to be sufficient.

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They made horrible time back to the Impala. John and Dean were sporting useless legs, and depended on the children for help. Caleb carried Sam and led the way. Dean's concussion reared its ugly head, causing him to vomit on the forest floor on two occasions. John worried the boy might pass out before they arrived at the car. But Dean held on, like a good soldier, pushing through his own pain in the desire to get help for Sam.

Once they reached the car, John drove, despite his leg, thankful it was his left ankle. The small boys were dropped off not far from their house with rehearsed stories of deer hunters who had rescued them from a very bad man. John didn't know what they would actually end up recounting. Either way his family’s time in the small town was up.

"Ow!" Dean's snarl had him glancing in the rearview mirror where he could see Caleb and his son wrestling with the metal around the seventeen year-old's wrist.

"I almost got it, Deuce," Caleb growled back as he worked to get some leverage beneath the last manacle. “Stop your whining.”

“It being a big chunk of my skin!” Dean panted; gritting his teeth as the other hunter finally worked the metal cutter, and pulled apart the cuff along with some of the teen’s flesh. Instead of crying out, Dean tasted blood as he bit his own lip to hold the weakness at bay. Still, his eyes filled, and he glanced down to his unconscious brother lying across his lap to bolster his defenses.

"Sorry.” Caleb’s voice softened. “I need to clean these."

Reaves tossed the bloodied scrap out the window and retrieved the first aid kit.

Dean shook his head. "It can wait." He hissed slightly as he let his injured but free hand rest on Sam's chest.

Caleb gently squeezed Dean’s shoulder. "It'll be a minute and what would Mac say if you got gangrene?" Sometimes, Dean could be as stubborn as the man driving.

Dean’s mouth twitched. "He'd say green was a good color for me."

"Like black, blue, red and brown.” Caleb raked his eyes over the hurt teen and shook his head. "I don't think so." Reaves saturated a cotton ball with hydrogen peroxide and dabbed at Dean's wrist trying to clean some of the debris. The injuries had him wishing he could go back and kill the raw again, only slower and in a more painful manner.

Dean was speaking again, but not to him. The psychic tried not to listen as the words meant to comfort Sam drove small spikes of guilt through his heart.

Through the years Caleb watched Dean sacrifice himself over and over again to protect his brother from enemies, and even from their own father. It made Reaves more determined to protect Dean. And now he had caused those he had sworn to protect pain.

"Do you know what's wrong with Sam?"

The soft question caught the hunter off guard, and Caleb stopped his ministrations to find Dean's gaze on him, his green eyes reflecting an unspoken vulnerability that had his chest tightening and his throat threatening to close up. "Kind of."

"Was it the raw?" The question might have been straightforward, but it held untold implications. Did Dean fail his brother? Was there something he could have done to stop it from happening?

"No." Caleb braced himself. "It was me." It was all me.

Caleb briefly met John’s eyes in the rearview mirror before the younger hunter focused on Dean again. "I had a vision. The raw was going to kill him. Snap his neck. So, I had to do something."

A deep frown marred the teen's face, seeming more painful and accusing because of the vicious bruising already scarring his features. "You did this?" Dean asked, disbelievingly. "On purpose?”

"Not on purpose! I was trying to help. I know you don't understand, but I had to do something, and it's the only thing I could manage at the time."

"So you what? You got inside his head…messed with him?"

"Sam was supposed to be an amplifier."

"What?!" Dean asked, incredulously, his eyes going first to Sam's slack face and then to his father's reflected in the rearview mirror. "You let him do this? You knew about it?"

"Dean…," John started, but Caleb interrupted.

"You'd rather we let the raw kill him? I saw the thing do it, Deuce! He snapped his neck like some godforsaken twig, and then dumped his body at your feet like it was some kind of fucking joke. I felt Sam's pain, your pain."

“And what about the pain you caused Sam, Caleb? Did you feel that, too? Because I sure as hell did!”

"Shut the hell up! Both of you just shut the hell up!” John snapped from the front seat. “I don't want to hear anything else from either of you until we get to the hospital." He turned the volume up on the radio and pushed the car harder.

"I didn’t have any choice. If it came down to it, I would have done it all over again." Caleb kept his voice low so John wouldn't overhear.

Dean glared at him. "We all have choices, Damien. Jim tells us that all the time. You made a bad one."

Caleb looked down at Sam and then at Dean. "Like the one you made when we were hunting.” For all rights and purposes Dean Winchester was his best friend, but at moments like this he could twist the knife in Reaves’s gut like no one else. “None of us would be here if you hadn't had to do things your way, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. The look on his face told Reaves’s he probably had a similar power over the teen. Caleb swallowed hard as he saw, felt, the rush of pain run through the other boy. He tried to take it back. "I didn't mean that, Deuce. It wasn't your fault. I knew better, but it was the only way to save his life."

Dean turned away, his eyes straying to the buildings passing by.

Caleb sighed and rested his head against the other window. They were in the city, the hospital couldn't be far. Sam hadn’t stirred, but Caleb was reassured by the fact the kid was still breathing. Sam would be all right. He had to be. If not, Caleb was pretty sure Sam wouldn’t be the only one lost to him.

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