10.

He did wake up. In a room with Sam in it. That snore was one he'd have known anywhere and it was definitely his brother – still alive. Was it too much to hope that, now the thing was dead, Sam might live for sure?

Didn't care so much about himself. He felt like shit.

BANG

The door burst open and a lot of footsteps crowded into the room. Dean heard/felt Sam wake up, definitely heard him say weakly, "Eh? What's going on?"

A poke in the arm with a stick was what was going on and Dean knew it was that prick House, followed by all his minions, no doubt. Probably Chase included, so at least there was one of 'em on the Winchester side.

"You. Mr. Dean Winchester. Link Wray. Vince Neil? All three of you have been rampaging all over my hospital, barging in on patients, giving nurses heart attacks, and poaching members of my team."

Chase was right. The guy was good.

Dean lay there, keeping his eyes closed. What the hell could House do to him? Blind him? Oh, too late. Make him sicker? Any sicker and he'd be dead. So go for it, Dr. House.

"Feel free, Mr. Winchester the elder, to go on pretending you're asleep. I'll just talk at you for a while. Eventually you'll realize you'd much rather answer me and let me help you and your brother and the barely animated Mr. Konstantinou survive this very nasty illness." Dean wasn't gonna respond unless the guy said something useful.

House continued his little speech. "You, Mr. Winchester the younger: yes, we know you're very, very ill. If there is any chance you would like to live, and, by the way, cure your brother, who is now also dying, you should take this opportunity to communicate whatever information you have. If you have no such information, you may keep your mouth shut. Feel free to continue dying."

"And you" – the squeak was House turning a semi-circle on his gym shoes – "Dr. Chase, you've been a vewy wascally widdle wabbit. You've gone and got yourself a completely private patient who also happens to be a criminal in several states. You see the position you are in. You can speak up now or get the hell out of my hospital because you will be fired and probably put away for years if you don't."

"House–" started Chase.

Dean groaned. If the pain hadn't flared up, he would've groaned anyway.

"Tell him, Chase," he said. "Just tell him."

"Thank you, Mr. Winchester."

"Hey, I'm not telling him that because I like you. I just think you're a nosy bastard who's probably really good at his job."

Dean could almost hear House grinning. Dammit, the guy was such a smartass, he was actually beginning to like him.

"Now, speak up," House said. "All the other children want to hear the story."

Chase told them what he knew.

"So," said House. "Dr. Foreman, you were involved as well."

"Just a little, at the end–"

Hah! Dean liked hearing that guy squirm a little. He was almost as arrogant as House.

"Like 'a little bit pregnant,' Dr. Foreman?" House asked.

"Uh–"

"Never mind. You get points for successfully hiding it from me. I see, on the other hand, that Dr. Cameron is completely in the dark here. A sign of an upright, upstanding character, perhaps, but not particularly useful in this branch of medicine. Where we get our information any way we can."

Tap_thunk, tap_ thunk, tap_thunk

House's footsteps, walking around the room. Lecturing like the pompous prat he was.

Suddenly, Dean felt House's cane poke him again. "Goddammit!" he bellowed. "Cut that shit out!" Ignoring the fire that went through his shoulder, Dean grabbed the damn cane and pulled hard. A loud thud and a yelp followed.

Dr. Cameron said, "Dr. House! Are you all right?"

"Yes, thank you, Dr. Cameron. Don't just stand there, help me up."

Dean let the cane drop. It clattered to the floor. Satisfyingly. He heard Sam, sick as he was, sniggering. And a couple of the minions were coughing suspiciously.

"I think I'll take a seat," House said.

"This is a lot of fun, and I apologize for butting in, but if somebody could order up some painkillers, I'd appreciate it," Dean said. He was beginning to burn.

"Very quickly, then. Dean. I think we'll stick with 'Dean' from now on. It's just so much easier to think of you as one person. Sam was injured by the first busaw, and you by the one that chased (heh, heh)" – that was actually kind of funny, Dean thought – "after you here to Princeton. And the fact of the venom was unknown, correct?"

"Yes," Dean said through clenched teeth. "Meds? Over here? Now?"

"Soon, Dean, as soon as I know everything I need to know to help you. Where was I? Oh, yes. Unknown, and Sam's symptoms didn't appear for a couple of days, while yours were almost immediate, as were Mrs. Chernoff's and Mr. Konstantinou's?"

"Yes!" Dean managed to get out. He would've said "yes" to anything now.

"All right, then. While you, Dean, and Dr. Chase have been running around playing 'Musical Patient Rooms' and 'Last One to the Fifth-Floor Storage Room is a Rotten Egg,' I've been working on blood analysis and other miracles of modern science. I believe what we have here is a bacterial infection – not a terribly contagious one, thankfully – that is transferable from busaw to human. When the busaw fed on someone, the physical responses were somewhat different from when it attacked someone; the differences were in part the busaw's hormonal chemistry interacting with the venom in its claws, both receiving blood from the creature's digestive system."

"That's fantastic, House! I'm dyin' here!"

"I'm almost finished, Dean. I did, by the way, so enjoy your last little trick with my cane. The physical symptoms are those of a non-designated mitochondrial disease. An autoimmune thing. This sent me in the wrong direction at first. However, when I realized that a busaw was involved–"

Chase interrupted, Australian accent thick as marmite. "How didja know that? How couldja possibly have known that?"

"I was unable to figure it out until our new Filipino nurse disappeared, 'coincidentally' at the same time as the Winchesters arrived and the attacks began. That led me to research Filipino sources, especially those in Tagalog only; journals in English would be completely unlikely to discuss anything remotely 'supernatural,'" House said, his enjoyment audible.

"In Tagalog?" whispered Sam.

"Yeah," Dean croaked. "Guy's good, isn't he?"

"We might even get out of here alive," Sam murmured.

"That'd be fabulous, Sam, but RIGHT NOW I WANT SOME FUCKING PAIN MEDS!" Dean shouted.

"Certainly," House said. "In a moment. Where was I? Oh, yes. And my idea was confirmed when none of the patients recovered when the creature died, as they would have had the symptoms been solely what you call 'supernatural.' The 'supernatural' is, of course, just what is natural but about which little is known."

"Sonofabitch," Dean breathed. "House! Finish up your damn … disquisition … "

House continued as if he hadn't heard. "I have here, in my pocket, the antidote. Made from a distillation and treatment of the necessary elements in Sam's bloodstream."

Silence.

"Would one of you please call a nurse for Mr. Winchester?" House requested magnanimously.

11.

Three days later

"Dr. Cuddy, why are you following me around?" asked House. "I've just cured three patients of an illness not previously known to exist. That should be enough for you for one week."

"House, I don't even know if any of these patients but Mr. Konstantinou actually existed. He's the only one whose chart I can even find," she said indignantly. "Can't you do anything like anyone else? It would make my job infinitely easier."

House stopped walking and turned to look at his boss. To her surprise, he was smiling – and it was a pleasant smile, like one might wear who was, at least for the moment, genuinely happy.

He said, "I'm sure it would, Dr. Cuddy, but where would be the fun in that?"

The End