Title: Jus ad Bellum

Author: Kalmiel

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own the Winchester brother, or any of the Supernatural people or places. Nor the Impala. (But if offered Jensen Ackles, I would gladly accept) They all belong to a freakin' genius named Eric Kripke and Robert Singer and the CW.

Nor do I own the characters of Caleb Reaves or Mackland Ames or the wonderful Brotherhood. That belongs to another genius named Ridley C. James, who created the entire amazing concept, and graciously allows us peons to use the characters. Thank you, Ridley.

A/N: To those of you who read Ridley's stories, she's currently writing an awesome fic called 'To the Victor Goes The Spoils' But my fic doesn't connect with hers at all, because they is no possible way I can compete with her grins

So just to give you guys a heads up, this story will contain Brotherhood characters (Caleb, Mac and Dr. Elizabeth McCroy) but has nothing at all to with Ridley's fic. Nor does this have anything to do with the two previous one-shots I wrote. This is something new… a plot bunny I just couldn't get rid of.

Pastor Jim's Cabin

Blue Earth, Minnesota

Present Day

"So let me get this straight," Caleb sat at Jim's scrubbed wooden table. "Henriksen got hold of you-"

"Yeah, thanks to Bela… the bitch." Dean muttered.

Caleb growled at the mention of the thief's name. "I swear to God, when I get hold of her… she's a dead woman."

No one set his friend up and then allowed him and Sammy to get surrounded by a horde of demons and then simply walk away. Not the future Scholar and Guardian. Not on his watch.

No freakin' way.

Not to mention Deuce got shot. That really pissed him off royally.

Right now both he, Deuce, Sammy, and Caleb's father, Dr. Mackland Ames were all sitting around the table. Mackland was examining Dean's shoulder; which was an ugly, infected, and as it turned out, broken mess.

The doctor in question hissed with displeasure as he probed Dean's shoulder as gently as he could.

But even that gentle touch must have been agony to the injured body part, as Caleb watched his closest friend go milk-white, and sweat broke out on his forehead, dampening his short blond hair.

But Dean Winchester personified stubborn and his pain tolerance was famous.

He didn't say a word or murmur of protest.

"Damn it Dean… this shoulder is horrible. You should have called us sooner."

Dean's jade-green eyes turned hard and rather flinty. "I'm so sorry Mac. I was sorta in jail when the shooting occurred. Then Sammy and I were busting our asses trying to get everyone out alive," he paused, then added bitterly. "For all the freakin' good it did."

Caleb frowned, hearing the all-too familiar self-loathing in Deuce's voice.

He reached out and grabbed his friend's good arm. "Listen to me Deuce, and listen hard. You had no idea that the crazy demon bitch…" he glanced over at Sam. "What did your buddy Ruby say her name was?"

"Lillith." Sammy said quietly, his brown gaze focused mournfully on the angry wreck that was his older brother's shoulder, and fought back a shudder.

"Lillith was gonna turn up there after your mass exorcism. You were trying to save a innocent kid from getting her freakin' heart cut out, for hell's sake."

Mac sighed, and all three of the younger hunters looked at him expectantly.

Sitting back in his chair, Mac said. "Dean's shoulder needs cleans out thoroughly, stitched and set. And you need I.V. fluids and antibiotics."

And probably a blood transfusion, too, He thought looking at Dean's paper-white skin.

He sighed again. "I'll call in a favor to Elizabeth McCroy. Providing she's still working at the hospital," he added, almost grudgingly. "She is an excellent physician… she might have been lured away to a more prestigious position somewhere else."

Dr. Elizabeth McCroy had been called out to patch them up after the aftermath of hunting accident more than once, and Caleb and Dean had been in her hospital also.

So Pastor Jim had let her in out their little secret, and she helped out when they needed more medical help than Mac could provide without a hospital.

Dean slanted a sideways glance at Mac. "The hospital? Why do I gotta go to the freakin' hospital?"

Caleb sighed. Typical Deuce… typical Winchester stubbornness, trying to act like a superhero.

"Because genius, you have an infected bullet wound and a broken shoulder-blade and collarbone. Probably need a blood transfusion, too, by the color of your skin. Need I go on?"

"Can't Mac just patch me up here," Dean asked somewhat mournfully. "He has before."

"Simple wounds- stitches, concussions, yes. A shoulder badly broken and infected is not 'simple'. I don't have the proper equipment, and you need an X-Ray to make sure it's set properly. Or you'll loose function in that arm," Mac paused. "And I don't have to warn you that without the antibiotics, the danger of sepsis and-"

"Fuck," Dean swore interrupting Mac's tirade. "Well, at least call and make sure she's still working there before we go striding in there."

Mac nodded, striding over to pick up the phone. "That, at least, I can do."

Dean nodded, and as soon as Mac was out of the room, he finally let down his guard, and slumped down limply in his chair.

"Deuce?" Caleb asked in alarm at the same time Sam cried out "Dean!"

Who opened one jade-green eye, hazy with fever. "What Damien?"

"Just makin' sure you were checking out on us Big Guy," Caleb replied. He reached over, and placed a hand on Dean's forehead, despite Deuce's feeble attempts to brush it away.

Caleb hissed. Dean was on fire, touching his forehead was like touching a hot stove… it was radiating such fierce heat.

Swearing, Caleb dug through Mac's black bag, and pulled out a new thermometer. He ripped it out of the package, and shoved it under Dean's tongue before his stubborn friend could utter a word of protest.

But he could see it starting in his eyes, so Caleb wagged a finger. "No-no-no. You're so hot, you feel you've been in a oven. The thermometer stays in Deuce."

The was quick; taking roughly sixty seconds to get a reading.

104.1

"Shit!"

TBC...?