A/N: Hey folks! :)

Well, *grins sheepishly* I was attacked by an evil plot bunny that forced me to write this down. (I had to write it. Blame two boring lessons of psychology)

This is a one-shot. I'm a cruel, cruel person, I know. *hides behind a huge stone*

But I have good news for all of you who are reading my story A Storm Is Going To Come. I'm working on the new chapter right now, so there will be an update soon.

For the timeline: Plays somewhere in Season 2 after Born Under A Bad Sign (2x14) but before All Hell Breaks Loose 1 (2x21)

And (as always) the hugest of huge thanks to my amazing beta Enkidu07. Honey, you're one of the sweetest people I've ever met! *smishes*

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own anything except my crazy fantasy. Everything belongs to Kripke, the CW and to Ridley C. James.

Okay, and now enough of my ramblings. Have fun reading! ;)

oooooooooooo

It Doesn't Matter

Dean panted, his grip tightened on the doorframe to his hospital room, the wood cool and solid beneath his hand. The room spun sluggishly around him. He swallowed back a wave of nausea, closing his eyes for a second hoping the lightheadedness would ease.

His body wasn't ready to leave the hospital and if he was honest, he really wanted to crawl back to bed and pass out until he didn't feel like death warmed over. But there was no way he would let Sammy down.

He inhaled shakily, wincing as his broken ribs protested against the movement.

"What the hell, Deuce? AMA, seriously? You just woke up for fucks sake!" Caleb snapped, stopping Dean with a hand on his shoulder, worry and fear clearly evident underneath the anger.

"I'm not sitting here without doing something," Dean snapped back, batting the psychic's hand away.

He was hurt, exhausted and worried and the last thing he needed on top of everything else was someone reminding him of how dumb signing out against medical advice was right now.

The momentum of the sudden movement pulled on every injury and stitch he had. He groaned and stumbled slightly, his knees suddenly like jell-o.

"Whoa, easy." Caleb steadied him, his face softened. With a heavy sigh he pulled Dean's good arm over his shoulder. "Mac will kill me for this."

Dean showed him a weak grin. "Thanks." He didn't like it but he really wasn't feeling so good and was glad for the support.

ooooooooo

The way out was slow going. Caleb had parked John's truck as close as possible but it still seemed like a small eternity until they finally reached the familiar black vehicle.

Every new step sent shockwaves of pain through Winchester's battered and bruised body.

Dean slowly doubted that his decision to leave the hospital had been such a smart move. But he couldn't just sit there while some crazy-assed demons used his little brother as a punching bag or god-knows-what. No fucking way.

"Hang in there, kiddo. We're almost there." Caleb's voice cut through his musings. Dean wondered if the psychic was reading him but talking seemed too much of an effort right now. Instead he settled for just nodding, fighting hard to ignore the dark dots that danced in front of his eyes.

One foot in front of the other – how hard could that be?

ooooooooo

Despite Dean's best efforts sleep won out. The familiar feeling of his Dad's truck and Caleb's comforting presence next to him eventually lulled him to sleep.

Dean was sure he had just closed his eyes when a hand on his forehead pulled him out of the depths of unconsciousness. Though with awareness also came the pain.

The younger hunter moaned softly, fighting to control his hitching breathing.

"Deuce?" Caleb's concerned voice cut through the ringing in his ears. Worried amber eyes watched him closely.

Dean blinked slowly, shivering slightly. He needed a moment to get his bearings.

Caleb must have picked up on his disorientation.

"We're at the motel," Reaves said, a frown appeared on his brow. "You're warm."

"I'm fine." Dean replied unconvincingly, sitting up straighter. The movement pulled painfully at the stitches in his side, reminding him of why Caleb was hovering so closely. Dean didn't need to be a psychic to know that finding him badly beaten up, unconscious and barely breathing in some back alley had terrified Caleb.

"Sure you are. Come on, let's get you inside."

Dean slowly slid out of the truck and almost went down. He wasn't prepared for the sudden dizzy-spell that assaulted his senses, making his knees buckle.

"You know, this is one hell of a dumb idea." Caleb steadied him before Dean could add new injuries to his already growing list.

"Acknowledged."

"You have a fever." Reaves pointed out, pulling Dean's arm over his shoulder.

"I'm fine." Dean emphasized. "You found any new information?" He added quietly, exhaustion clearly audible in his voice.

"No. Though it doesn't matter because you're so going to rest first."

"Not gonna happen," Dean pressed out between clenched teeth. Flaring pain erupted with each step in his side and ribs, sending waves of agony through the rest of his body.

"Damn it, Deuce. You're ready to crash. You're so not in the condition to search for Sam. Not to mention to fight those bastards who did this to him. Not like this."

A defiant look crossed Dean's face. "Watch me." He jerked away from Reaves, pain and an absurd feeling of betrayal giving him the strength to remain upright, to make it into their motel room under his own steam.

How could Damien even suggest that he should rest while Sam was still out there hurt – or worse?

They were talking about Sammy, for crying out loud and after everything that had happened since his father's death Caleb of all people should understand that. There wasn't much of his small family left and he would fight tooth and nail to protect the few remaining members.

oooooooooo

"Dean." Caleb followed his best friend into the motel room, silently cursing Winchester's stubbornness.

He found the younger hunter hunched over on the bed furthest from the door, pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, his eyes closed tightly. Pain lines were clearly visible on Dean's face.

"Damn it, Deuce." Caleb sat down next to him on the edge of the mattress, eyeing him closely.

Dean's face was ghostly white. The bruises and cuts stood out in a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. A thin sheen of sweat covered his pale features.

"You're dead on your feet."

"Your concern's heartbreaking, Captain Obvious." Dean blinked slowly, the frown on his forehead deepened.

Caleb sighed. "Look Deuce, I'm sorry, okay? I want to find Sam as bad as you are." He exhaled heavily, raking a hand through his dark hair. "I might have a lead but as long as I can do the research on my own, you'll rest." Caleb stopped the coming protest with a gesture of his hand. "I won't keep you from helping the Runt, but you can't help him if you collapse." Reaves reasoned, squeezing the younger man's neck, the heat he felt more pronounced than before.

"I let him down." Dean whispered, his voice low and barely audible. His eyes fixed on something Caleb couldn't see.

"That's bull and you know it. You're no fucking superhero, man." Caleb protested vehemently, hoping to erase some of the guilt that started to fester. Thanks to his vision he had seen the attack from a first row seat, had seen Dean's unconscious form on the wet pavement for real, bleeding and broken.

Caleb couldn't wait to get his hands on these sons of bitches.

Dean snorted softly. "Pot. Kettle. Black." He rubbed a hand over his eyes, his voice strained from pain and exhaustion. "But it doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. I let him down. I let them take him." Dean sagged against Caleb, their shoulders touching. His glassy and slightly unfocused green eyes meeting Caleb's. The psychic winced at the desperate pleading inside of them.

"Easy. I've got you." Caleb reassured, steadying his best friend. "Just rest for a minute. We'll find him. It's going to be okay." He helped Dean lay down. His stomach knotted at the lack of protest and smart-ass remarks.

"I should have fought harder." Dean muttered, his eyes drooping. Caleb could see him fight to stay awake and losing.

He rested his hand against Dean's forehead, sliding his fingers through the younger hunter's hair before removing his touch all together.

"Rest. I'll take this watch, Deuce. It's going to be okay."

oooooooooooo

End

*hides behind my notepad* Please don't hate me. Maybe there will be more, but for now I'm happy with it the way it is. ^^°

Thanks so much for reading! And reviews feed my muse! :)