Author note 1: Okay, so I promised someone to make my chapters short, but... I couldn't be bothered seeing as this one took me aaaages^^ As always many, many "bowing down in reverence" thanks to my beta for being lovely.

Author note 2: Righto, I was thinking I'd write down all the Shakespeare quotes I had in the last chapter

1: First thing we do, let's kill the lawyers - Henry VI
2: Speak low, if you speak love - Much ado about nothing
3:Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes; it provokes desire, but it takes away the performance - Macbeth (The Scottish play)
4: (This is one which appears later in this chapter) If music be the food of love, play on - Twelfth night

Also, the reason for no posting (as people may have realized) fan fiction was being mean (like, demonically mean. Yes that was a bad Supernatural reference, oh well, enjoy the chapter)^^

As a last, annoying note: I STILL DON'T OWN ANYTHING SUPERNATURAL (that is, both the series and generally speaking)


Every time I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face getting clearer
The past is gone
It went by, like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay

Yeah, I know nobody knows
where it comes and where it goes
I know it's everybody's sin
You got to lose to know how to win

Dream on - Aerosmith


Dean fired towards the entrance, once, but there was nothing to hit.

Motioning to Sam to hide in the bathroom, he inched forwards, shotgun trained at the door.

Sam reached under his own pillow and drew out a 10mm handgun, checking ammunition and flicking the safety off before doing as he'd been told. Dean mentally congratulated him and stayed where he was, between Sam and the broken door, half of it still managing to hang on by one of its hinges. The other half was lying on the floor, splinters all over the place.

Dean felt something against his foot and realized that he wasn't wearing shoes or socks, seeing as he and Sam had decided to stay at the motel all evening. Dean kept his weight on the other foot, as he concentrated on trying to discern his attacker in the shadows outside. He needed to move forwards though, if he wanted to see clearly and, right now, the fragments of the shattered door were lowest on his list of priorities. He moved forwards and grimaced as splinters sliced his feet. He was leaving bloody footprints behind him.

"Hey, you son of a bitch," he shouted, "stop playing your friggin' game of hide and seek."

Dean was now standing in front of the bed closest to the door, a couple of meters from the hole into the darkness beyond.

Suddenly something hurt and it wasn't the pieces of wood. Something was digging deep into the flesh around his ankle. He flinched and understood that it was a fingernail, but he didn't want to alert the ghoul to the fact that he knew. The nail dug its way deeper. Dean felt it tap the bone and waves of nausea and uncertainty forced themselves through his body. Was it alerting him to the fact that it was there, hurting him, taunting him?

He breathed, controlling the rising pain, and then turned his upper body so the gun was pointed at the bed. He fired three times.


Sam sat in the diner as a waitress approached him.

She smiled at him and Sam could tell that she was looking him up and down, although she was probably around Dean's age. Still, she couldn't know that Sam was tall for his age, almost taller than Dean. I wonder if I will grow taller than him one day. If we survive for that long I'll never let him live that down.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, smiling at him.

Sam stared determinedly at the menu, wishing that his older brother could be here to distract her, maybe just be here, healthy.

"We have a great selection on burgers," she continued, still smiling.

"I'll just have a latte," Sam said.

She nodded at the request, seemingly disappointed at his lack of answer.

His mobile beeped and he read the message from his dad consisting of he usual coordinates specifying his location – about a day's drive from where he and Dean were – and a short text: Closing on ghoul.

Sam put the phone back in his pocket, disappointed at the apparent lack of interest in Dean's condition, but relieved that they were safe.

Alright Dean, I'm going to make up for being a bitch and getting your ass thrown into hospital.


Five days later

Dean grimaced. "No."

"Come on, I'll show you around the hospital and you can't walk."

Dean flinched, remembering the fingernail.

"How did you know?" he asked, annoyed.

"Your brother," she answered, simply. "He's told me about you and what to look out for. No exercise, walking, certain food, drink and… there's the fact that you're probably bored as hell right now so he came up with a solution."

"What solution?"

She shrugged and pushed the wheelchair forwards, knocking it against the bed. Dean looked at it in disgust.

She sighed. "If you agree then I'll rip up that picture I drew of you. Deal?"

"Alright," he grumbled and removed the duvet.

It had been almost a week since he'd first woken in the hospital and he'd now been given standard pyjamas and a warning to stay in bed. Guess I've already freaked all the totally non – hot medical staff here. Seriously, I didn't know pulling that dumb tube out of my mouth was actually dangerous and, hell, I needed that aspirin.

He felt like an old man in the pyjamas, but it beat the gown. Yeah, she'd really have loved seeing me in that, he thought.

She stared at his feet where the fragments of wood had been removed; still, they probably look pretty torn up.

Dean got out of bed, hoping perhaps that his recently broken leg – and cut feet for that matter – would hold him, but he lost his balance, his body not used to movement yet, and she grabbed his arm, steadying him before helping him firmly into the wheelchair.

"Gee, thanks," he muttered.

"Hey, princess, I wouldn't be trying to put your masculinity in question," she winked and wheeled him out of the room.

As she passed reception the nurse raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"He's allowed a walk, ask doc," she smiled innocently then continued before the nurse could disagree.

"I thought you were gonna show me the sights of the hospital," he smirked.

"Screw the hospital, it's not good for you," she answered. "Sam's got the car ready. You're gonna take me for a drive," she smiled.

As they reached the parking lot the impala seemed to flash flirtatiously at Dean and Sam stood in front of the car.

"Hi baby," said Dean and patted her black hood.

"It's just his thing," murmured Sam and she laughed.

Sam walked to Dean and helped his brother out of the chair. Dean shook himself loose, agitated at the attention he was receiving, all because of these stupidly, stubborn, "refusing to heal" feet. And the leg, maybe. Perhaps my upper body isn't all that great either yet. But it's the stupid feet that are doing this, stupid splinters, stupid claws. And I hate that stupid hospital. Don't worry, baby, I love you.

He started thinking about the ghoul, whether their dad had tracked it down yet. I will kill that bitch if it gets near Sammy again. Speaking of Sam…

"Did you drive the car here, Sam?" asked Dean suspiciously as he got into the drivers seat, absentmindedly, protectively stroking the steering wheel.

Sam looked guilty. "Well, you didn't wanna be pushed by a wheelchair all the way to the motel did you?"

Dean shrugged, but still looked doubtful.

"Look, I didn't break the goddamn car, okay," Sam muttered, eyes suddenly fixed to the tarmac coating the hospital parking lot.

Dean caught something in his voice then. What, Sammy, you feeling guilty 'bout something? And I'm not talking about the car.

"Sam?"

Sam looked up, his face like he expected Dean to start shouting, preparing for an onslaught.

"Sam…" Dean tried again, then: "… Thanks for bringing the car, bro."

The girl had respectfully held back, but sensing a rising amount of awkwardness at that moment she wisely decided it was time for her to "step in."

She got in the passenger side and slammed the door behind her, causing both the boys to jump in surprise, both lost in a world of unsaid, yet perfectly understood and accepted words. Not a bad Chick Flick for someone still wearing hospital clothes, thought Dean as he blinked himself back to reality. He ran his hand lovingly across the steering wheel again. Good solution, Sammy. Best cure for any broken bones: A long drive with someone hot in the passenger seat. And some quality music.

Sam was smirking at Dean's attire.

"Beats the leather jacket thing you've got going on, Dean."

"Shut up," grumbled Dean, missing real clothes.

"Sweet, guys, but I think we'd better go before hospital security follows us," she smiled innocently.

"Why would they want to do that?" asked Dean.

"I'm kidnapping a patient," she answered.

Dean raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "And you're not a patient?"

"I'm different," she shrugged.

Dean turned towards Sam.

"Don't get into trouble, alright?" he said.

"Yeah, sure, I'm not you Dean," grinned Sam.

"Well, I dunno, if you meet a hot waitress, get her number for me."

"If dad calls?"

Dean hesitated. "I'll be back today, just need a drive in my baby and a bit of Q and A with the girl without a name," he assured.

Dean leaned out of the car, motioning to Sam to come closer. "Sammy, dad's chasing the ghoul which means it's not here. You'll be safe," he promised.

Sam nodded, believing and Dean shut the door.


The impala drove away and Sam started wandering back to the motel, feeling a little like a lost puppy. Yeah, well you can't be dependant on Dean your whole life, hell a couple of years and you're going to university. They're not gonna like that.

Sam somehow wished he'd enrolled at the local school, but there'd been too much going on, me being attacked, Dean in hospital.

He stood outside a pair of normal gates, the building looking like a copy of every school he'd ever been at, although I doubt I remember them all. Maybe seven or eight stand out.

He remembered his favourite school. He'd been… Huh. I don't remember right now. I remember Barry. Dirk. He'd actually felt like a normal kid at that school, liked, popular. Just for a little while.

Then dad had picked them up, Dean eager to leave, me wanting to stay. I hope Barry's okay.

Sam's phone rang.

"Sammy?"

"Dad."

"I'm on my way back to you," John said, his voice panicked.

"Did you kill the ghoul?"

Hesitation: "No. Where's Dean?"

Sam hesitated, not wanting to get Dean in trouble, but not wanting to lie either. "He's in hospital," he said, settling on half of the truth.

"Is he… okay?" John suddenly sounded unsure.

"He's fine, dad, what do you mean you didn't kill it?" asked Sam, hoping that his fears were unfounded.

"The trail it left was a trick," said John and Sam sensed a rising alarm in John, although it was clear he was trying to bury it.

"Dad, how far away are you?" asked Sam, knowing that he didn't want to think about the ghoul.

"A day. I'll be back soon. You two just keep each other safe, okay?"

"Okay dad. Sure."

There was a click as John hung up and Sam suddenly felt sick. You two keep each other safe, okay?

Dean, come back.


Dean had put on one of his cassettes - Aerosmith, Dream On - and was tapping the steering wheel absentmindedly.

Suddenly he heard the sound of her beside him, humming along to the tune. He turned to her and started singing, gently. "Sing with me, if it's just for today, maybe tomorrow the good lord will take you away."

The song ended and she leaned back, closing her eyes.

"If music were the food of love, play on," she said.

Dean stayed silent and stared ahead.

"What?" she asked.

"You gonna tell me anything about yourself?" He asked, still focusing on the road ahead.

"I dunno, what about you, Dean? I don't have an awful lot of information on you or your brother." Her voice grew a little colder.

"At least you know my name," countered Dean.

Suddenly she seemed embarrassed. "It's…"

Dean turned to look at her for a second, before looking out the front again. She cleared her throat.

"It's… I've got a stupid name," she muttered.

Dean was amazed. "Seriously? That's it?"

"Yeah, what were you expecting, some deep dark secret just cos' I wasn't saying my name?"

Hell, it's possible. Just look at me, thought Dean. I'm sure this is ironic somehow.

She continued: "You, on the other hand, rolling into town in this gorgeous car, your younger brother dragging your beaten ass to hospital, you are quite the mystery. So I'm gonna assume you're some secret government agent and avoid the disappointment of possibly finding out you're just a guy looking after his brother and you two just happened to be here at a bad time."

She gasped in a lungful of air, having said all that in one breath.

Dean laughed. "So… what is your name?"

"Not saying," she answered, pouting.

"Fine, then I'm not telling you anything either," he answered.

"It's not like it matters, you're probably ramblin' on as soon as you're better, right?" she asked, her voice sounding like she was hoping for something.

Dean flashed a grin in her direction. "Nah, think we might be staying for a little while."

She looked relieved, but as Dean looked out his window he worriedly bit his lip. Seriously hope Sammy's okay. Yeah, dad tracked the ghoul across five towns, Sam's safe. Seeya later bro.

"I guess I can get a name of the hospital records," hinted Dean.

She leaned over and punched him on the shoulder.


The bullets smashed through the bed, wood chips and mattress stuffing flying into Dean's face. He moved his arm in front of his face, shielding his eyes and felt the pressure release from his ankle. Suddenly noticing the fact that his leg couldn't hold him up, he fell to the floor, keeping the shotgun close to his chest.

He breathed deeply for a few seconds before focusing on the dark space beneath the shattered bed frame.

Nothing moved.

Sam stood in the middle of the room, his handgun pointed towards the door. There wasn't a lock. He heard the shotgun firing and the thump as something fell to the floor.

"Okay Sam, either that was the ghoul and you are safe, or that was Dean and you've gotta save his ass. Either way you're gonna open that door now."

Still holding the gun pointed in front of him he opened the door and walked into the bedroom. There was no sign of either the ghoul or Dean.

"Dean," he shouted, his voice panicked.

"Yeah?"

Dean used the shotgun to push himself to his feet, trying to look calm. He smiled and Sam lowered his gun, relieved.

Something grabbed Dean and pulled him under the remainder of the bed, slicing into his feet with long claws. Sam ran to the bed and tipped it over and the ghoul – in the shape of a man in his late twenties – pulled an unconscious and bloody Dean to his feet, keeping a hand around his neck.

Suddenly they heard sirens, close.

Sam kept his gun trained at the ghoul's head, but was afraid it'd manage to snap Dean's neck before he killed it. It giggled and moved its fingers onto Dean's face, causing pinpricks of blood to trickle down his cheeks where the ghoul punctured the skin. It traced a nail just below Dean's eye and Sam took a step forwards, protective.

The ghoul dragged Dean back and then pulled his head back by his hair. There was a wound on his forehead and the ghoul smelled it, closing its eyes and relishing the scent.

Sam used the distraction and fired once, hitting the ghoul in the head, causing it to lose its hold on Dean. Sam fired again, two in the chest, one just grazing the side its head, two in the legs.

Instead of at least incapacitating it, it snarled and ran through the door.

Dean was lying on the floor and Sam could hear the arrival of an ambulance.

He quickly did a medical scan on Dean, basically confirming that he was still alive before Dean was on his way to the hospital.

The doctors asked Sam questions - "name, address, parents, age, insurance" - and Sam answered per automatic, knowing the alias they were currently going by. He mentioned that his father wasn't around, but would be back, no, he didn't know when.

What had happened?

They'd been attacked by some strangers with guns, knives; hence the deeper cuts in Dean's legs, feet, arms.

Dean had an operation and Sam waited outside, anxiously awaiting the doctor's approval to see his brother.

The ghoul stood outside the hospital.

Which one to kill? Choices, choices.


The man in his late twenties wore a name tag: Theodore Mitchell.

He was usually just a janitor working late at the hospital, often seen, easily forgotten. Nobody really knew what he looked like, so nobody noticed the difference between the real Theo and the fake one.

This Theo was waiting for the older Winchester and his friend to return, time for fun and games.

Also, there was something bothering it. John Winchester, leaving his boys alone. Only possibility is that he thought I was out of town. Now, obviously I didn't lead him away, but something did and I want him back here. Games are more fun when there's a crowd. Huh, I think I know who it was.

Theo left the hospital that night, enjoying the spectacle left in the aftermath of the disappearance of Dean and… I wonder if he knows, it thought. Although I'm betting there's so much she isn't telling him. I could use that to my advantage.

It wandered through the woods, entering a dilapidated, abandoned graveyard that served as home and emergency food supplies.

The real Theo was waiting, still alive, but not for long.


Half my life's
in books' written pages
Lived and learned from fools and
from sages
You know it's true
All the things come back to you

Sing with me, sing for the years
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears
Sing with me just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good lord will take you away
Dream On


TADA...