Author's note: Thank you to the ever awesome PleaseBeLive and all the people who kept prodding me to actually post something, Peace out to all of you

Disclaimer: Sam, Dean and John Winchester are in no way chained in my basement, I do not own them nor have I created them. One of the small sadnesses in life. Kudos to Eric Kripke and anyone else who feels they have had a hand in allowing these boys boys to exist.


A tale told by an idiot

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing – Shakespeare


"Your brother is stable. He should be awake in a few hours. You can go and see him now."

Sam was halfway inside the room before the doctor had stopped talking.
He quickly wiped away the tears that returned to his eyes, not knowing how he'd live it down if Dean found out he was crying because Dean had survived, again.

"Cute, Dean, I ought to take a picture of you like this, I swear that's gonna make up for the fact that I can't punch you right now," Sam joked, trying to control his voice. Okay, first crying and now freaky vocals. I'm almost glad you're not awake.

"Wow, he looks beaten," said a voice from behind him.

Sam swivelled around, noticing that he still had those annoying tears in his eyes. You're acting like a freakin' ten year old girl. There, it's official. Dean's been saying it for years anyway.

A girl leaned against the doorframe. She looked tired.

"What'd he do, take ten rounds against Rocky Balboa?" she asked.

Sam glanced at Dean. It wasn't exactly pretty, what with the IV drip, the respirator and the heart monitor and God knew what those other beeping machines were doing in the room.

"Mind if I come in?" she asked and entered before Sam could answer. She was kind of intimidating, probably only a couple of years older than him though. Around eighteen, nineteen.

"I don't want to bother you, it's just that I need to hide out somewhere for a couple of minutes. Doc Frankenstein is looking for me," she explained and Sam started liking her. She talked a little like Dean.

"My brother always talks in film references," he told her.

"What, the hotty in the bed. Seriously, what'd he do to get himself locked in here?"

Sam shrugged, not knowing which lie to give her at present moment that would explain the wounds, the strange monitors and the "well, he's stable now" sentence.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"I'm Sam," he muttered, afraid of her curiosity and still worried about Dean.

She caught the hint as Sam turned to face his brother.

"Hey, I've been here long enough to recognize when something's serious and those strange beeping devices are way overkill. Your brother's fine, they're probably just trying to show off their efficiency."

She took a glimpse outside the room.

"Doc's gone, I'm outta here. See you 'round, Sam," she extended her hand and Sam shook it, thinking he might enjoy his stay at this hospital a little.

As she walked out of the door she turned towards Sam once more.

"First thing we do, let's kill all the doctors," she winked and was gone.

"It's lawyers," mumbled Sam, lacking the mental strength at that moment to think of a better answer. "Dean, hurry and wake up. I think you're gonna like this hospital too," he smiled and sat down beside his sedated, drooling brother. Now, how to get hold of that camera.


"I told you to stay with Sammy," yelled John, making Sam shake with rage in the next room. Their dad was giving Dean hell and it was all Sam's fault. He was being treated like he was friggin five and Dean like he'd killed him.

"It's the only thing that's important for you to think about and you constantly let me down. You let Sam down, Dean."


Dean woke with a shock. Protect Sam, priority one. Where is Sam?

"Hey Dean. Welcome back to life."

Sam, safe. Priority two: Aspirin. Head... hurts.

"Head... hurts," he managed to mumble through the tube in his mouth. He gagged and pulled it out.

Sam handed him a pill and cup with water in it. Thanks, Sammy, you already knew what I'd need.

He fell asleep again, peaceful in the knowledge that Sam was sitting beside him and probably wouldn't move until he woke up.


Dean was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sam wondered whether he should try and talk to him or leave him be. He might be pissed at him. After all, it was his fault that dad had given Dean the fifteen minute riot act. He knew, though, that although Dean wouldn't admit it, he often needed to talk.

"Hey... Dean?"

Dean stayed silent. Sam bit his lip, wondering whether he'd misjudged, but then... "Yeah?"

His voice sounded all wrong, like he'd been spending the last ten seconds of silence on keeping it under control. Dean have you been crying? Dean doesn't cry. Not since he was a kid.

"I'm sorry."

Dean sat up and turned towards his bed and Sam could see his face clearly in the moonlight. No sign of tears, good. Just bewilderment.

"For what?"

"I got you into trouble again. I should just do what you tell me for once. "

Sam felt his annoyingly exaggerated emotions trying to get the better of him, but he knew Dean would disapprove of crying.

"You're not crying Sammy?" asked Dean, amused. "I keep telling you you're actually a ten year old girl, you just don't know it yet."

"I'm not crying," grumbled Sam.

Dean was silent for a long time again, his face neutral.

"Looks like I'm just gonna have to take better care of you, bro, that's all. Just... next time, stay with me, promise?"

Sam nodded.

"Promise."


"Please, Mr. Hammett," the doctor said as two nurses tried to force Dean back onto the bed. Sam looked like he was trying not to laugh.

These doctors had seriously underestimated their patient's tolerance towards anything that could be seen as a threat towards Sam. In the beginning, Dean just hadn't been exactly happy when they'd tried to treat Sam like he was five. Now he was seriously pissed off.

The doctor had strolled in, berated Dean on how to take care of his younger brother and then told Dean that he was lucky nobody was calling child custody service.

Stupid, doc. Really stupid.

"Get – of – me," shouted a half sedated Dean.

The doctor was at a loss and looked at Sam for support. Sam just shrugged in a way that suggested "Hey, maybe you shouldn't have started off by preaching to him how irresponsible it was to drag me along to the hospital, doc.

Dean grunted in pain as one of the nurses applied pressure to one of his broken ribs.

"Listen, if you don't lie back down we're going to be putting you under sedation again," the doctor said, desperate.

Dean listened to that and let the nurses push him back onto the mattress.

"Okay, let's start from the beginning - " the doctor tried, but Dean cut in: "Doc, if you have anything to tell me that I don't already know then go right ahead, but if all you want is to friggin bitch about Sammy then get the hell out of my room."

"- ..." the doctor finished, gaping like a fish stuck on land.

"I know. I have three broken ribs, concussion, some messed up bones in my arms and legs, wounds to the chest, almost completely crushed my lungs and..." he stopped suddenly, seeing the horrified look on Sam's face.

The doctor nodded to the two nurses and they left.

"We'll be monitoring you... until you're better," said the doctor, secretly hoping Dean would be getting better soon. He turned to Sam. "Try and make sure your brother gets some rest."

Then he finally left.

Sam sat himself beside Dean. "You really should get some rest, you know."
Dean could see that he was trying not show how freaked he was.

"You know I was just joking, right? To get doc Frankenstein out of here."

"Seriously dude, you need to stop with the whole excessive "protect Sam" mission of yours, it's gonna get you killed one day," Sam said, trying to stop his voice from shaking too much.

Then he laughed, remembering the day before.

"What?" asked Dean.

"There's a seriously cool chick here, you're gonna like her."

"Yeah, is she a nurse?" asked Dean, interested.

"Patient, she promised she'd be back."

"Well, if she saw me, then she will be," smiled Dean, knowing that Sam probably had good taste.

"Dude, you were drooling."

"… Bitch."

"Jerk."


John Winchester had decided to go on the hunt... alone. He couldn't trust Dean to take care of Sam properly so he'd left them both at the motel, safe.

Dean was lying on the bed, barely taking his eyes of Sam.

Sam was uneasy, he knew that Dean would usually be out in town, having a beer, finding the hottest waitress.

"Dean, you wanna go do something?" asked Sam.

"Nah, love this place, free cable, nice beds, hell, we even have beer. Just wanna relax a bit until dad's back." Dean's voice sounded carefully neutral.

"It wasn't your fault I ran off, you know. I wasn't hurt, you found me before it hurt me. I'm not gonna be any less safe if we step out of this room," Sam argued, hoping to shake Dean out of his apathy.

"Dad gave an order. I'm not gonna go against it, I never do."

His voice somehow suggested that he'd wanted to add "unlike some," but decided against it.

Sam wanted to hit him, mostly because he knew this was his own fault. He'd left when Dean wasn't looking, been caught by their hunt – a deranged ghoul – and almost dragged into the woods. But he was safe now. Dean had found him - he knew Dean would always protect him.

"Dean?"

" … Yeah?"

"Thanks for finding me," said Sam and looked across to Dean.

He hadn't moved, seemed to be staring at something interesting on the ceiling.

"It's my job, I suppose," he finally muttered, then turned his head towards Sam, who was looking like a beaten puppy. Look number 3, the one Sam didn't know he could do, but would probably be misusing in a couple of years to get numbers and manipulate... well, everybody.

"Hey… Sammy?"

Sam looked up, the downtrodden – puppy still in his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Doesn't mean I don't like my job," said Dean, smiling and turning his head back to gaze at the ceiling.

Mission accomplished, Sam was definitely looking happier.

"Sam, you wanna order a pizza and we can watch that crap program you been nagging about, alright?"

Sam stood up, eager, then hesitated. "Better than a night out?"

"Way better," answered Dean.


Dean woke up. Sam, priority one.

He listened for the sound of his presence and heard breathing from the chair beside his bed. Great, priority two: Need... damn, another headache.

"Headache," he mumbled, his tongue feeling dry and his voice grating.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that sunshine." Not Sam.

He opened his eyes and sat up, ready to defend his brother, but felt how he couldn't get further out of bed. His body hated him right now.

"Lie back, Sam's just gone to get a coffee. I haven't abducted him."

He took in her appearance in a series of key words: Blonde, slim, small mouth, green eyes, nice body. Damn, Sam had been right. She wasn't bad, not bad at all. She really was making him like this hospital more already.

"So, what are you in for?" she asked.

Dean saw that she was holding a pad of paper and a pencil.

"Credit card fraud," answered Dean. "You?"

She shrugged. "Hit and run."

Dean winced. "Seriously?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but I'm in here all the time anyway for some reason or other. They're starting to think it's Munchausen."

Dean laughed and tried to sit up. He groaned a little and she stood up in concern and pushed him gently back into bed.

"You don't look like you're used to taking it easy," she said.

Dean shrugged. "Just lying in bed all day, relaxing, watching daytime TV – which is total crap by the way. Not really my thing."

"Yeah, I heard you've freaked every employee in this place. Thanks for that by the way," she told him.

"Thanks for what?"

"You made this the perfect hiding place, nobody wants to go in here. Oh, by the way, I've been sitting and drawing you while you slept. Special order of your brother. He said he didn't have a camera," she smiled.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered.

"Speak low, if you speak love," she said.

She laughed at Dean's confused face. "I'm currently into Shakespeare so I'm brushing up on quotes I remember. Just tell me when that starts to annoy you."

"Nah, I like Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet... the ghost one, the soap in which no one likes the person who likes them and they all fall asleep in the woods..." he trailed off.

"Not bad Lysander."

"I'm Dean."

"Great, you got the hint. Your brother has been secretive about anything involving you, I was beginning to think you might be criminal," she joked, although Dean noted a mischievous tone in her carefully neutral voice.

Good boy, Sam. Never tell strangers to much.

"So... what's your name?" he asked.

"What's in a name?" she laughed.

"Easier communication for one," he argued.

"Good point," she agreed.

"So... what do I call you?"

"Whatever you want," she shrugged.

Dean looked surprised. "Okay, if I think that's sort of naughty, will you hold it against me?"

She shook her head, laughing again. She laughed a lot.

"So, maybe I should take you out for a drink sometime, when I can actually stand," he hinted.

"Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes; it provokes desire, but it takes away the performance."

"You forgot the part with drink," Sam said, entering with two cups of coffee. "Suits him just perfectly."

"Well, look who knows his Shakespeare," she said, sounding impressed.

"Sam, you brought coffee?" asked Dean.

"Not for you. Doctors' orders," grinned Sam. "One for me and one for mystery girl over there."

"Seriously, does anyone know your name?" Dean sounded disappointed.

"Hey, I'm whoever you want me to be," she winked, and then she turned to Sam. "Give it to your brother, not really the coffee type. And teach him some Shakespeare while you're at it," she told him and stood up to leave.

"You're leaving?" asked Sam, turning his puppy eyes on her at full strength.

"Yeah. I'm sure the doctors think I bailed the hospital by now. Time to rejoin the Rocky Horror Picture Show with Hannibal Lector in the lead," she grinned, leaving the room, her drawing of a sleeping Dean tucked securely under her arm.

Dean stared after her. "Dude, you were right," he said, awestruck. "Seriously though, I'm reeling with all the references she can give."

"Dad, I need you to come back. Dean is hurt, he's in hospital. He's getting better, but... it was the ghoul, it came for me. We stopped it from killing Dean, but it got away. I – I need you to come back. Please."

Sam hung up the hospital phone and considered visiting Dean, but he was sleeping and Sam needed to take a walk. I know you don't want chick flick moments so I'm just going to mentally communicate this to you, okay Dean: Sorry.

Sam left the hospital and looked at the town he was in. He couldn't remember the name, somewhere in Illinois. The day was cloudy and boring, everything looking so drearily normal.
It was hard to imagine that this town's citizens were being plagued by the five murders committed that month. Murders, which the Winchesters knew were performed by the ghoul that now had both Sam and Dean's scent.
Sam was starving. He crossed the road to the diner on the other side and didn't notice that someone was watching him.


There was a knock on the door. Dean stood up quickly and silently, grabbing the shotgun beside the bed, pushing Sam onto the bed behind him and standing protectively in front of him.

"Sammy, I can smell you."

The voice.

"I followed your scent all the way here and now that daddy has gone out to find me..." the voice taunted.

"The ghoul?" mouthed Dean. Sam nodded, real fear vibrating from every part of his body. He was shaking. Dean knelt down in front of him.

"Sam, it's okay, I'm here to protect you."

Sam nodded, believing.

And the door crashed off its hinges.


Sam walked into the hospital, well… something which looked like Sam.
The ghoul had tasted Sam's blood and could, as such, assume his shape. Dean's too.
No point in copying Dean though, seeing as this particular visit was for him. The ghoul wondered where their dad was, surely Sammy has contacted him, told him his son is injured.

Shame. But if daddy wasn't around the ghoul would have to suffice with his sons, maybe just the one though. Agony was a more satisfying game than death. It lasted longer.

Which one to kill? Choices, choices.

Dean was sleeping.
He hated sleeping in hospitals, but Sammy had taken a walk and the hospitals eye–candy hadn't come back, so sleeping, regaining his strength faster, had advantages.
Besides, an added bonus about hospitals was that they were busy. Nothing supernatural was likely to get him in here.
The ghoul – now disguised as one of its older victims, a man in his late twenties – gazed at the prone figure, relishing the extreme power it had over the older brother's life.

Snap the neck, a pillow, injection… too easy. This has to be more fun.

It lifted a hand and drew a long nail, silently, towards Dean's cheek, caressing the air without actually touching his face, imagining the blood if it scratched his eyes out.

Yes, this will be fun.

It walked to the end of the bed and pulled the duvet carefully to the side. Dean was wearing standard hospital gown and his feet were exposed. There were numerous cuts, but one stood out. It was a round hole, deeper than the others, probably going as far as the bone.
It gently touched the hole, noticing an involuntary shiver and relishing the subconscious fear at the pain it had inflicted on Dean.
Dean stirred and it let the duvet drop, backing away, but smiling pleasantly, eerily at him.

I think I've made my choice.

Suddenly it heard a sound of running steps coming towards the room.
Too late to exit without being seen, it crawled under the hospital bed and watched as a girl around nineteen entered, out of breath.

Interesting.


As the ever desperate author I am: Pretty, pretty please review. It would seriously make my year^^

Oh, and the titel will be explained around the endish methinks, but I promise it will make sense (unless it already does)