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14 February 2007 @ 12:29 pm
And now for something unexpected...
Rated: PG-13
Sam/Dean kind of.
WC: 1228

Pure crack!fic, parody, whatever. To be taken as seriously as George W. Bush, which is not very.

There are zombies!

The zombie stopped suddenly and Sam skidded to a halt behind him. "Wait," the zombie said, holding up his hands. "I have a proposition for you."

"What?" Sam asked, confused, and lowered his machete a fraction of an inch.

"So you and your brother-" the zombie started.

"There's NOTHING weird about my relationship with my brother," Sam said defensively.

"You're very close," the zombie with a raised eyebrow. At his mutinous look, the zombie shrugged. "I'm just sayin', is all."

"Hey, we share a hotel room because it's cheaper."

"Whatever, fruit tree," he muttered, eyeing the machete. "So you're close - not in like, a GAY way or anything," the zombie added with a snort, "but you'd like to know what Dean's thinking, right?"

"How do you know Dean's name?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the zombie said with a calculating glint in his eye.

This was, Sam realised, a rather strange zombie. He raised the machete again, poised to lop off the zombie's head and the zombie frowned

"Okay, okay. No reason to get tetchy about it. Jeez."

"Tetchy?" Sam asked. "You're a zombie."

"And what? That automatically makes me bad?"

"You're a zombie. How many things have you killed?" Sam demanded.

"And you're a Winchester," the zombie pointed out reasonably. "How many things have you killed?"


"And then he hid my underwear and replaced them with red lace thongs," Sam said while sitting on the curb, his machete forgotten at his side.

"Older brothers," the zombie said and shook his head ruefully. "What a pain in the ass."

"So what's this deal?" Sam asked, and raised his arms to stretch tiredly. "I'm beat, I need to head back soon."

"Oh yeah, that. My sister reads palms."

Sam shook his head resolutely. "I don't believe in that stuff."

"Dude, you're sitting with a zombie talking about your Slightly Odd Relationship with your brother."

Sam didn't quite know what to say to that - the zombie did have a point. "Reads palms, huh?"

"Only on the weekends. The rest of the time, she's a couples counsellor. You'd be surprised how close the two jobs are."

"She any good?"

"She told me about you and Dean, didn't she?"


Sam didn't know what he was expecting, but this wasn't it.

"Hey, sis," the zombie said to his equally zombified sibling.

"Both of you-" Sam stuttered.

"He's very rude," the sister said, patting her hair self-consciously.

The zombie turned to Sam. "A car accident took our whole family out, then we were raised from the dead by a necromancer, and well, you know the rest. I think he had kind of a funny sense of humour."

"Yes," Sam said dryly. "Those wacky necromancers."

"Wash up," the sister told the zombie with a pointed glare at his dirty hands. "Mom and Dad will be home soon for dinner."

It was such a normal sibling thing to say and somewhere Sam felt a pang of jealously that even dead families were more normal than his. Family. Dean. He felt his chest catch.

"But first," she said to Sam, "you want to ask me something."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. Another far more pressing question had just occurred to him: "What do you eat for dinner?"

"The flesh of pure, snow-white virgins," she dead-panned.

Sam coughed.

"Any raw meat will do, even animal meat." She made a face. "I used to be a vegan."

"Is Dean going to be okay?" Sam blurted out. "He's been, and the car, and-"

She held up a hand. "Yeah. You need to...watch him."

"I'm trying," Sam said, frustrated. "He won't let me help him."

"You think your life is hard? Try being a zombie," she said and whipped out and emery board. "It's not all fun and games, my friend."

"I didn't think it was," Sam spluttered.

"Your brother,” she said thoughtfully, filing her nails to sharp little points. “You can't give him space. He'll just use it to brood."

"I know." He rubbed his head tiredly, feeling the beginnings of a headache named Dean Winchester. "I just don't know how to convince him I'm not gonna take off."

She eyed him speculatively, a small half-smirk playing over her lips. "I can think of a few ways."


She shrugged. "You're awfully close for brothers. I'm just saying is all."


"Where the hell have you been, Sam?" Dean asked, slamming his car door - which Dean never did - and stalking towards him.

"Talking," Sam said. "With a friend."

The zombie - Ben - smiled, or at least Sam thought he did. It was hard to be sure.

Dean's eyes fell on Sam's companion. "What the fuck," he said.

"I can explain," Sam said hurriedly.

"Someone had better," Dean said, eyeing the two of them fiercely. "I'm pissed off (code for: worried as hell) and I'm armed (code for: got a shitload of weapons, gonna kill somebody tonight)."

"Wow, “ the zombie said, “this is awkward.”


Sam gently patted Ben on the shoulder. "Sorry about this, but we'd better take off before Dean changes his mind."

Ben nodded good-naturedly. "Yeah, take care of yourself, Sam."

"You too, man."

Ben winked, kind of. His eyelid wasn't really in the best of shape. "And take care of Dean," he said with a leer. "I mean, if I was still alive..."

"Please don't," Sam begged.

"Those luscious lips, those wide eyes-"

"He's straight," Sam interrupted.

"And yet," the zombie said, "I am still ridiculously attracted to him."

"He has that effect people,” Sam muttered, resigned.

"Do you think you could give him my number?"

Sam groaned, "Kill me now."

Ben eyed him far too knowingly for Sam’s comfort. “Yeah, it never would have worked out anyway.”

“You being dead and all...”

“Nah,” Ben said, “he belongs to someone else.” He paused. “And yeah okay, the whole being dead thing might be a problem.”


“Jesus, Sam. What, we gonna set up a safe house for demons next? Read them bedtime stories and tuck ‘em in?” Dean glared over at Sam, but he wasn’t paying attention, which just pissed Dean right off.

“Do you think we should get separate rooms?” Sam asked thoughtfully. “I mean, it’s not like we use our own money or anything. What does it matter if we spend more?”

A quick glance over at Dean told Sam he’d made a mistake.

In slow, carefully-measured words, Dean asked, “Do you want separate rooms next time?”

And that was just it, wasn’t it? If Sam said yes, they’d have two rooms, no questions asked. Sam thought about it, thought about the long nights and the mornings, about Dan slapping his ass with a wet towel when he wasn’t paying attention, about the fucking red thongs. About the way Dean looked at him sometimes when he thought Sam wasn’t paying any attention.

“No, I like it like this,” he said decisively, trying to ignore the smirky way Ben said I told you so in his head.

Dean nodded and fidgeted for a few minutes. “Sam, that zombie, uh.”


“He was kind of, I got the feeling he was-”

“What, Dean?” Sam asked, exasperated. It wasn’t like him to stumble over words like this.

“Was it just me or was he staring at my ass?” Dean asked nervously.

The end.
Ohoho Dean.

professional bimboheadphonist on March 2nd, 2007 03:34 pm (UTC)
Thank you, doll.