Title: Little Bit of Mambo

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys

Author's Note: This particular plot bunny's been hiding in my notes for a while so we'll see where it takes us. Unlike normally, I don't have the whole story in my head already so this could get interesting. :P

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~

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She tried to blink her eyes but they refused to open. They felt as though they were stuck together. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten there. She couldn't remember anything…not even her name. Panic welled up inside her, and she felt her mouth fall open just a little. Oh, God, was she in an accident? Was she paralyzed? She couldn't feel any part of her body save her head, and terror whited out her thoughts for a moment. Smell brought her back from the brink and she wrinkled her nose; it was pungent and heavy, thick, and it made her hurt. But it was worse than that…there was something under that that smelled of rotting meat left too long in the sun. She opened her mouth again and this time the breath of a sound emerged.

"Help…me." Her voice was weak and barely more than a whisper, but she tried again. "Help." She wished she could remember her name, but every thought and memory seemed to scatter the moment she tried to catch hold of it. She tried to open her eyes again and finally blinked slowly, her eyes coming open a millimeter at a time. It was dimly lit, and she could hear a voice chanting softly somewhere behind her. "Help? Help me?" She blinked, and suddenly there were eyes in front of her. They were wide and black in the dimly flickering light. She felt hands curve gently to cradle her head, and the eyes drew closer until they were all she could see. "Help?"

"There is no help for you, child." It was a woman's voice, soft, low, and it made something skitter fearfully through her mind.

She felt the hands squeeze and then she was lifted, but…it felt wrong. Her head was tilted, her eyes flowed down from the frightening face and she suddenly knew why she couldn't move. She had no body. She was only a head. Terror erupted in her mind and she screamed as the dark woman laughed and the world suddenly went black.

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Sam tossed a shovelful of dirt up out of the grave and stopped to wipe his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. He looked up at his brother and rolled his eyes. "Anytime you wanna trade."

Dean smirked and shook his head. "Nope. You lost that bet fair and square, Sammy." He hefted the rock-salt loaded shotgun and shrugged. "Never make a bet with me when grave-digging's on the line."

Sam snorted, chuckled and bent back to dig. "You cheated. I know you did. I don't know, how but you did."

Dean grinned and turned his eyes back out into the cemetery. "I don't need to cheat. I'm just that good." He checked the EMF meter in his hand, happy to see it was silent. The body they were digging up…that Sam was digging up, and he chuckled at that…belonged to a very angry ghost with a habit of tossing people off a local rooftop. He looked down as Sam's shovel banged hollowly.

"Got it!" Sam called and hastily began clearing the lid of the coffin. This was usually the part where the ghost realized someone was disturbing his grave and showed up to cause trouble. As if on cue, the EMF in Dean's hand started to whine.

"Get a move on, Sam!" Dean shoved the meter in his pocket and took a firmer grip on the shotgun.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, crap." Dean groaned and spun as the voice shouted behind him and watched as a police officer appeared from around one of the mausoleums. He squinted when the man's flashlight blinded him and saw the officer draw his weapon. "Stay down, Sam." He said softly.

"Hold it right there! Drop the weapon!" The officer called and aimed at Dean's chest.

"It's not what you think." Dean started and grudgingly lowered the barrel of his shotgun but didn't drop it. He couldn't. The ghost was coming and they'd all be dead if he put it down. "Officer, you really need to go away now." The meter in Dean's pocket grew louder and he sighed. This was about to go real bad, real fast.

"I said drop it!" The officer took a step closer and kept his light in Dean's face. "I will shoot!"

"Dude, you don't understa…" Dean broke off as the ghost suddenly appeared between them. He watched the spectral form turn on the officer and lunge for him. "Shit!" Dean raised his shotgun as the cop cried out in surprise and fear. He jerked with a grunt when the officer's gun fired and pain burned through his right arm.

"Dean?" Sam gave up hiding. He jumped out of the grave in time to watch his brother spin and hit the ground. He looked over and watched the ghost ride the now screaming officer to the ground. "Shit!" Sam scrambled up out of the grave, took up his shotgun that he'd left on the edge and unloaded both barrels into the spirit. It dissipated with a scream. A brief glance at Dean rolling onto his back and grasping his arm allowed Sam to draw a breath again, and he stalked over to the cop and glared down at him. "You hurt?"

"What? No. What the fuck was that?" The officer shouted and felt around for his gun only to have it kicked away by the much taller, angry man standing over him.

"You aim that thing at my brother again…" Sam let the threat trail off and ran back to his brother. "Dean?" He knelt beside him as Dean rolled to sit up and Sam's eyes widened in fear at the sight of the blood dripping down the sleeve of his jacket. "How bad is it?"

Dean snarled and pulled his right arm around for a look. "It's not bad. You wanna get that damn coffin open before Casper comes back for another round?"

"What about…" Sam waved an arm toward the officer who was only now climbing unsteadily to his feet.

"I got this. Go on." Dean let Sam pull him to his feet and gave him a shove to the open grave.

"Here." Sam handed him his shotgun and hopped back down. "Try not to get shot again."

"Shuddup." Dean went over to the cop and waited for the man to meet his eyes. "Didn't I tell you to leave?"

"But…digging up a g-grave and…" The officer scrubbed a hand over his face and looked up at Dean. "What did I just see?"

"Casper the pissed-off ghost. Go home. Have a drink or ten. Forget about it." Dean gave him a shove away. "Really. Go."

"Got it, Dean!" Sam called and climbed back out of the grave.

"You're, uh...you're bleeding." The officer finally seemed to see the blood on Dean's right arm and blanched. "I did that."

"Yeah. Lucky for me you're a shit shot." Dean rolled his eyes and groaned when the meter in his pocket whined again. "He's coming back, Sam!"

"On it!" Sam poured salt down into the grave and over the now exposed bones then dropped the can and squirted lighter fluid liberally.

Dean tossed him his lighter. "Hurry up."

"Dean!" Sam shouted and ducked when the ghost reappeared. A moment later, the shotgun sounded and rock salt flew over his head, banishing the spirit again. "Thanks." He spun the wheel on the Zippo and tossed it down into the open grave. Flames shot up, lighting the night.

Dean shook out his arm, grimacing at the burn in his bicep and lowered his shotgun finally. "We're gonna go now. You should probably not tell anyone what happened." He grinned at the cop. "They won't believe you." He shook his head as the cop just nodded mutely and turned back to his brother.

Sam shoved everything back in the duffel, scooped Dean's shotgun from the grass, and nodded. "Let's go before he decides we need to be arrested for saving his ass." He couldn't help the anger he felt. An officer should have better aim and control, as far as he was concerned, and the cop had shot his brother in a moment of panic. It chilled him to know that if Dean had turned the other way or the cop's arm had flinched, Dean would be lying dead on the ground now.

They jogged away and left the cop standing dumbfounded. Dean held his arm and scowled at his brother when he asked for the keys. "I can drive."

"You're bleeding. I'm driving." Sam raised a brow and held out his hand as they reached the Impala. "Gimme."

"You know, I expect to get tossed around on a salt and burn." Dean pulled out the keys and gave them to Sam with a last glare. "Getting shot by a cop is not in the deal, dammit."

Sam went to the trunk and put away the bag before climbing behind the wheel. He got them away from the cemetery as fast as he dared, worried the officer would eventually decide to try and find them. "We'll get your arm patched up and then leave town."

Dean sighed when they reached the motel and got out, anxious to see just how bad the cop had tagged him and hoping Sam would contain his mother-hen instinct. He pulled off his jacket and his flannel while Sam brought the first-aid kit over to the table and sat. "Dammit." He'd been hoping it was a graze, instead he had two holes.

"Through and through. Could have been worse." Sam nodded and grabbed the bottle of alcohol and a rag. "At least I don't have to dig a bullet out of you."

"Gimme that. Pack up the room." Dean took the stuff from him and set about cleaning the wounds himself.

Sam smirked and nodded. "Fine." Wounded Dean usually meant pissy Dean, so he left him to it and started packing up their things and taking them out to the car. He was tossing Dean's bag into the trunk when his phone rang and he flipped it open when he saw the display. "Hey, Garth."

"Sam! How are my two favorite idjits?" Garth's cheerful voice made Sam roll his eyes.

"Garth..." Sam groaned a soft laugh. "What do you need?"

"Got a job if you two are up for it." Garth shuffled some papers and smiled. "Sounds like a zombie thing. I'll email you the research if you want it."

Sam looked back into the open room and Dean winding a bandage around his arm. He sighed. "Sure. We're good. Where are we going?"

"Baton Rouge, well, near to it. You two…good?" Garth asked and waited to have his head bitten off for prying, but, dammit, he cared and the memory of having to step in between Sam and the loaded gun Dean had been pointing at his chest, finger twitching on the trigger, while under the influence of a cursed coin not so long ago was still fresh in his mind. Even without the curse, it was obvious that there had been tension between the two brothers, so it was good to hear Sam sounding so relaxed.

"Yeah, Garth. We're good. Honest." Sam laughed and shook his head. "Send me the information. We're getting on the road now anyway. Thanks, Garth." He flipped his phone closed and went back in the room. "Garth just called. He's got a job for us down south."

Dean tucked the end of the bandage in and raised a brow. "What kind of job?"

"He thinks it's a zombie thing." Sam told him and smiled when he groaned. "Know how much you love those."

"Well, it does give me an excuse to set things on fire, so it's not all bad." Dean chuckled and packed up the first aid kit. He gave the room a quick once-over to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything and nodded. "Let's boogie."

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Sam glanced over at his brother asleep in the passenger seat and smiled. He'd had to argue to stay behind the wheel, but, serious or not, Dean still had a bullet hole in his arm and he didn't need to be behind the wheel with blood loss. He'd finally won the argument with Dean logic, pointing out that he wouldn't want to risk crashing his baby because he was too stubborn to take a break. Sam chuckled. He reached a hand over and laid it carefully along the side of Dean's neck, frowning when he felt his slightly over-warm skin.

"Stop feelin' me up." Dean growled.

Sam jerked his hand back. "Uh…just checking. Thought you were sleeping."

Dean snorted and pushed up in the seat. "Not likely." He shifted his right arm with a grimace. "Friggin' hurts."

"Should have taken the pain killers, dumbass." Sam smirked. He'd lost that argument.

"Shuddup." Dean checked his watch and stretched. "Dude, we need food." His stomach grumbled and he grinned, pointing at it. "See?"

Sam laughed and saw a sign for a rest stop ahead. It was close to dawn and he was starting to feel it. "Grab a motel?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm drivin' after we eat." He glared at Sam. "Don't gimme that crap about the car again either. Not fallin' for it this time."

Sam chuckled and nodded. "Fine." He pulled off the highway and into the first diner he spotted, figuring Dean could use the greasy food to make him feel better, whatever he said about how he was feeling. He saw the free Wifi sticker in the window and smiled, parked, and grabbed his laptop from the back before following Dean inside.

Dean smiled happily at the long grill behind the counter with burgers cooking away in greasy little puddles, fries bubbling in oil and a gorgeous waitress who flashed two dimples under blue eyes and blonde hair as she smiled at him. "Hello, darlin'." Dean drawled and swore he could actually hear his brother's eyes take a roll behind him. It made him grin.

"You boys are sure out late. Pick a seat." She smiled up at him warmly, suddenly not minding the graveyard shift anymore with two tall drinks of handsome in front of her. "I'm Mandy. What can I getcha?"

"Oh, so many things." Dean smiled as he sat. "But we'll settle for coffee right now."

"Comin' up." Mandy swayed off behind the counter whistling a happy tune.

"Five in the morning and you've already got the waitress drooling," Sam chuckled and opened his laptop. "You are a hopeless dog."

"A little flirting never hurt anybody, Sam." Dean said with a grin that faltered as his brother looked up at him and raised a brow meaningfully. "That wasn't flirting. That was monkey-sex and how was I supposed to know she was a friggin' Amazon?"

Sam swallowed the laugh and raised his hands, dropping the subject and pulled up his email instead as the waitress came back and dropped off their coffees. "Thanks." Sam smiled up at her and had to admit she was very pretty.

"Boys know what you wanna eat?" Mandy smiled and held up her order pad with the pen poised.

"I'll take the biggest, greasiest burger on the menu and fries." Dean grinned and patted his stomach.

Sam snorted. "Make sure you put bacon on it." He opened his mouth to say he didn't want anything, saw the knowing look on Dean's face and rolled his eyes. "Uh…you have pancakes?"

"You got it, sugar." Mandy jotted down their orders and gave a happy, heated glance to Dean before she left again.

"Yowza." Dean watched her butt appreciatively and then shook himself. "So, what's Garth have to say?"

Sam shook his head and looked back to his screen. "Whoa. He really did the legwork on this one. We've got police reports, autopsy files. Yikes. These bodies have been…chopped up."

"Chopped?" Dean looked over to the grill and swallowed, determined to enjoy his burger no matter what.

"Yeah, and not all the pieces have been found." Sam scrolled through the files and his brows rose. "Ok; I think he's right on the zombie call." He read Garth's notes and nodded. "This isn't gonna be pretty. He thinks it's a Bokor Mambo."

Dean's brows shot up. "Huh. Dad tangled with one of those guys once."

"Girls." Sam corrected.

"What?"

"A mambo is a priestess of Bokor so…girl." Sam shrugged.

"Whatever. We were kids, but, man, I remember the look on his face when he got back." Dean shook himself. "Did not give him happy dreams."

Sam nodded. "Not surprised. They raise and control zombies and, from what little I've read, they're…messy about it."

"Define 'messy'," Dean asked, not really sure he wanted the answer.

Sam leaned back and closed the laptop. "They stitch together more powerful zombies from…pieces…of people they kill."

"Ok. Eww." Dean groaned.

"Yeah; and it gets worse." Sam scowled and shook his head. "A mambo will trap the souls of the victims inside the rotting zombie sometimes."

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it when Mandy came back with a tray and set their food down. He looked at his burger, oozing grease off the side of the bun and swallowed hard. "Thanks, Mandy." He looked up and gave her a wide smile before she walked away.

Sam chuckled and started pouring syrup over his pancakes. "Bet you wish you hadn't ordered that now, huh?"

"Shuddup." Dean took a breath and picked up his burger, noting the several pieces of bacon sticking out the sides and smiled. "No amount of ick can ruin this for me." He took a bite and moaned appreciatively. "Oh, yeah, baby."

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Dean drove into late morning with Sam curled against the passenger door sleeping and picked the first motel he found when they reached Kilton Forge, the town outside Baton Rouge where the zombies were apparently running wild. He slipped out of the car, got a room, and got back behind the wheel without Sam ever stirring. He shook his head and pulled around the back of the motel. It had two floors, and he got them a room upstairs on the end.

"Rise and shine, Rumplebitch." Dean gave his shoulder a shake and smirked when Sam jerked awake on a gasp, pushing upright in the seat. "We're here."

"What?" Sam looked around and rubbed a hand over his face. "Right. Ok."

Dean snorted and got out. He was exhausted, really, and knew he was running a slight fever from the damn gunshot. "Move your ass. Some of us drove all night."

"Did that to yourself." Sam pointed out but went to the trunk and grabbed the bags, waving Dean off. He wasn't interested in sleep anymore. He'd been taking a sleeping tour through Hell memories when Dean had woken him and he wasn't interested in going back to it. The Devil wasn't riding shotgun with him anymore, but the memories were still there. He wasn't sure he could even explain to Dean, if he asked, what had changed since Cas. He still had close to two hundred years of the Cage in his head, but Cas had…softened the edges somehow, given him a sort of anchor. He could feel it in the back of his mind sometimes, and, though Cas had put it there, it had Dean's voice. "Stone number one." Sam murmured, and then shook his head at himself as he closed the trunk and hefted the bags.

Dean trudged up the stairs wearily and opened the door, flicked on the light, and went first to the air conditioner under the window. He smiled happily when it hummed to life and started blowing cold air. It was close enough to summer that far south that the temperature had already hit the low nineties. He stripped off his flannel, wincing as the motion jarred his wounded arm and rolled into the bed near the door with a groan. "Finally."

Sam found him that way when he came in and smirked, closing the door. "Don't go to sleep yet. I want to check that wound."

"S'fine," Dean said and rolled away from Sam, ready to be asleep.

Sam ignored him and dropped the bags on the other bed, pulling out the first-aid kit and a fresh roll of bandage. He went around and sat behind his brother and picked out the end of the wrap. "Stop whining," Sam told him when Dean tried to yank his arm away. "You're still hot."

Dean snorted. "I'm always hot."

"You know what I mean." Sam rolled his eyes and lifted his brother's arm. He heard the slight intake of breath that said he was in pain. "Sorry." He was as careful as he could be, seeing as Dean was actually letting him tend to him without much of an argument and chuckled softly when he realized Dean had fallen asleep. "Makes my job easier," he said softly. He carefully cleaned both wounds and re-wrapped his arm before laying it back. He stood, careful not to jostle bed and then went about making the room safe.

The routine gave him something to focus on other than the nightmare that still lingered at the edges of his mind. He knew if he went back to sleep now, it would simply come for him again. Sam shivered and turned his mind to scrawling protective symbols in marker around the door. He finished and went to the window, easing between the heavy drapes and the glass so the light didn't hit his brother and added more symbols on the sill. Sam absently wondered just how many motel rooms they had protectively defaced over the years.

Sam finished, doubled-checked his symbols and the salt lines and then just stood, unsure what to do with himself the rest of the day. He sighed and picked up his bag, taking it into the bathroom. He came back out dressed in his suit and wrote a hasty note for Dean, leaving it on the table between the beds. Dean would no doubt kick his ass for taking off on his own, but they needed to make a pass at the local police and see if anything new had come in since Garth did his research. He eased out of the room, snicking the door closed silently and locking it.

"Yup," Sam said to himself as he jogged down the stairs, "So getting my ass kicked later."

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To Be Continued…