Title: The False Shame of Fools

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Takes place shortly after s7ep7: The Mentalists. Stand alone Hunt with the boys just being the boys.

Author's note: While not the first FanFic I've ever written, I've written tons, this is the first time I've ever shared one so hopefully you'll all enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing.



Dean thumped into the crypt wall, the air whooshing out of his lungs. He briefly toyed with the idea of passing out in a very manly fashion but instead, struggled back to his feet with a muttered: "Son of a bitch." Sam was wrestling with the Ghoul. It towered over his giant younger brother at a whopping seven feet. Just their luck the thing had snacked on the local Basketball teams' star center before they got to it.

"Dean!" Sam called, the Ghoul pushing his legs out from under him with sheer force. It angled toward his neck, jaws wide.

"Oh no you don't." Dean swept his hatchet from the floor. He jumped on top of a stone coffin and, with a practiced swing, bit clear through the Ghoul's neck. It collapsed in a heap as its head toppled to the side and Dean grinned at his little brother gasping his way back to his feet. "Gettin' soft, Sammy."

"Says the guy who was…" Sam's sentence cut off with a grunt when the Ghoul's leg snapped out, kicking him viciously in the thigh. He tumbled backwards, Dean cursing and watched it surge to its feet. The head hung at an impossible angle still attached by what looked like sinew and brain stem. Dean's slice hadn't been clean enough.

"Now you're just pissin me off." Dean growled and hacked past the reaching arms to finish severing the head. This time it fell away and hit the crypt floor with a wet splat as the body toppled the other way, dead at last. Sam came up beside his brother, bent over rubbing his thigh and opened his mouth. "Don't say it, Sammy." Dean warned. "I'm still holding the hatchet." Sam closed his mouth and settled for a smirk instead. "Let's burn this thing and get out. I need a shower."

Sam hobbled over to their bag for the lighter fluid and said "And better aim." Under his breath.

"You say something?" Dean asked, hefting the axe and Sam shrugged with a grin. "That's what I thought." The burn went quickly, Dean studiously ignoring the occasional chuckle from Sam and they headed back to the crappy motel of the week.




"Don't 'Dean' me, little brother. You think I didn't see you limp up those stairs? How's the leg?" Dean fixed piercing green eyes on his sibling, raising his brows to say 'don't give me crap on this.'

Sam rolled expressive, hazel eyes to the ceiling, blew dark hair from his eyes and sat on the edge of his bed. "Fine. Jerk."

Dean snorted. "Drop 'em, bitch."

Sam struggled to keep the disgusted look off his face. As irritating as 'Daddy Dean' could be, he couldn't help but admit to himself he had missed it, Dean. His brother. Both of them alive and…well…alive. He wasn't willing to damage the newfound peace they had with each other since Lilydale only two weeks before. He undid his belt and stood to shove his battered jeans down below his knees and sank back to the bed. "It's just a bruise, man." Dean hissed through his teeth and bent to get a better look at the massive bruise just above Sam's right knee. It was the size of his fist, quickly purpling and he would have swore he was actually watching it swell.

He raised his eyes to meet Sam's. "Just a bruise?"

"Doesn't even hurt much." Sam smiled.

"Uh huh." Dean placed his hand atop the bruise and gently pressed. It was enough. A cold sweat broke out across his brothers' face as he quickly sucked in a gasp of air. "No arguments, Sam. You're letting me wrap this or you won't be walking tomorrow." Dean went to rummage in his bag for the first aid kit. "Just a bruise." He said and shook his head.

"Not my fault I got donkey kicked by a seven foot Ghoul. You're the one who didn't get its head off."

Dean sat down across from him, ace bandage in hand and grinned wickedly. "You sure you wanna point out shortcomings to the guy who's gonna have your leg in his hands?"

"Good point." Sam laughed. "I withdraw the comment."

"This is deep tissue bruising, Sammy." Dean straightened the leg. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch."

Sam grunted as Dean pulled the first wrap of the bandage tight. Sweat broke out on his face again and Sam concentrated on the hideous, paisley wallpaper of their motel room. He counted the cracks in the ceiling and then the stains on the brown, threadbare carpet and did his best to ignore the hot pokers digging into his thigh. Dean worked quickly, knowing Sam was in agony. Even so, his little brother let only a few pained grunts escape but he was covered in a cold sweat. Dean pulled the end of the bandage tight and fixed it in place.

"There you go, Buddy." He patted Sam's good knee and rose. "I'll go grab some ice."

"Thanks, Dean." Sam managed, voice thin with pain.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it." Dean grabbed the ice bucket from the bathroom and went for the door, smirking. "Back on the road tomorrow, Princess."

Despite the pain, Sam heaved a pillow at his brothers head as he laughed out the door. Sam grinned once the door was shut and shook his head. "Jerk." He toed off his shoes and got his jeans the rest of the way off before pushing himself back to the headboard. He was glad Dean wasn't there to hear the whimper as he got his leg up on the bed. Sam dropped his head back with an exhausted thump and closed his eyes.

Dean found him that way when he returned. Head back, eyes closed and gently snoring. He gave a small shake of his head. "Bitch." He dug out a ziplock baggy and filled it with ice. Then propped it on Sam's thigh with a pillow. His little brother still wore his jacket and shirt, bare legs sticking out and Dean decided to leave it rather than wake him. He pulled the thin duvet from the far side of the bed and covered his legs and sighed.

Part of him was still braced for Sam's marbles to go spilling across the floor again. It was an ever present worry at the back of his mind. If he was honest with himself, Purgatory's most wanted loose in the world didn't scare him half so much as losing his brother again. "Not gonna happen." He said softly with a fierce look at the sleeping face, peaceful for a change, and headed into the bathroom to check his own bruises.


The rumble of the engine as they sped East made Dean grind his teeth. He flexed his grip on the steering wheel and glared at the dash. "I want my baby back." He growled. Sam chuckled beside him.

"Hey I miss her too."

Dean glanced over. Even with his seat all the way back, Sam's knees were still on a level with the bottom of the window. "Sasquatch." Dean tossed at him but inwardly smiled. The Impala was home for them and it warmed him to know they both missed her comforts.

Sam snorted. "So, what did Bobby say is in Ohio?"

"A job." Dean answered. Needling Sam was an old past time he was rediscovering his love for.

"Hah. Hah. What kind of job, smart-ass?"

"Our kind." Dean aimed an innocent smile toward the passenger seat, happy to see it was working.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience with the teenage older brother he was suddenly riding with. "Dean."

"Yes, Sammy?" Came the sugar sweet response and Sam growled. Dean laughed and punched his brother lightly in the arm. "Lighten up man." He relented at Sam's long suffering bitch face. "Ok, ok. Bobby says seven people have gone missing in this hole in the wall little town. Sunbury?"

"Why's he think it's our sort of job?" Sam reached under his seat, pulling out a stack of maps and dug out Ohio's.

"Locked rooms, buckets of blood and no bodies." Dean raised his brows and Sam nodded.

"Ok. I'd say that qualifies." Sam made some measurements on the map as they drove beneath the 'Welcome to Ohio' arch. "Should take us about three hours to get there." And he rattled directions off to Dean.


Maria Schuper banged through her front door, slammed it shut and leaned back with a groan. She dropped her purse on the wood floor and plucked a name badge from her shirt, tossing it down the hall with relish. Some days waiting tables was, hands down, the worst job ever. She ran an exasperated hand through her black curls. "God I hate stupid people!" She locked the door and stepped out of her heels on the way to kitchen. "I need a drink."

Maria grabbed the vodka bottle out of the cupboard, a glass from the sink and poured herself a healthy shot. She knocked it back, moaning in pleasure. She poured a second and then wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"What…is that smell?" She groaned and swallowed the second drink before beginning a search for whatever had gone rotten while she was at work. To her, it smelled a bit like rotting fruit; sickly sweet and as she bent to look under her table the smell intensified, making her gag.

A rustling sound behind her froze her in place. Panic ran round and round her head. Burglar, mugger, rapist oh god who had gotten into her house! The sound came again and she gasped in terror. The stench was making her eyes water now. Maria jerked to her feet and whirled to see who had snuck up on her and screamed.