Author: hobnailedboots
Title: Drop Dead, Gorgeous.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: None (Gen)
Rating: T
Length: ~1500 words
Summary: Zombie Strippers. That's pretty much all you need to know.
Notes: Originally posted here. Also on A03 and my LJ. Set way back in s1, and somehow less cracky than I anticipated. Additional notes at end.
"So, how do you feel about zombies?"
"You know exactly how I feel about zombies, Sam. Same way you feel about clowns. Creepy, unnatural but, luckily for me, completely and utterly mythical."
"So what, you just ignored this page in dad's journal?" Sam slapped the book down in front of Dean, who'd definitely not been innocently staring at the Google homepage when he'd first walked in.
"What? 'Sartre, Nebraska, Military, Monitor' - that's just a random collection of words, Sam."
Sam bristled; he wasn't stupid, and if Dean thought he was, why bring him along for the ride in the first place? "I know that," he said, "but it ties in with this thing I found at Stanford."
"Yeah?" said Dean, closing the laptop and shifting in his chair.
"My buddy, Brad-" "Brad" "-my buddy, studying for his phd in biochemical engineering, Brad-" "Yeah, whatever, he's still called Brad" "-he was going to do his dissertation on this military project in South Nebraska, but some bigshots heard about it and shut it down. They hauled his ass in for questioning, wanted to know how he knew about it, what he knew about it, who'd paid him to research it, the whole deal."
Dean leaned forwards. "So you're saying the army is making zombies?"
"No. I'm saying that they were trying to do something, and Dad knew about it. Brad heard about it. And I think we got a case in the Sartre, so we'd better be careful."
Dean raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, which Sam supposed was the closest thing to praise he'd ever get from him. "Right, spill," Dean said. "Zombies? Seriously? Man, I will not enjoy this case."
"Stripper zombies," said Sam, and Dean's face lit up.
:i:
"Let me get this straight," said Dean, chowing down on whatever fried crap he'd brought up from the diner. "Army is running out of cannon fodder. Army decides that instead of, oh, I don't know, starting a recruitment drive or scaling down a commitment or whatever, they're going to reanimate the dead guys?"
"Yep," said Sam. It was kind of amusing that, even though according to Dean zombies were the worst ("well, next to witches, anyway"), it wasn't stopping him eating.
"One escapes and, y'know, he's dead, all the important bits are probably falling off, anyway-" "Dude, stop. That's just gross." "Well, I told you – Zombies. Fuckin' freaky. Anyway, he can't keep whatever's left in his pants, but 'cause he's all grey and pulseless nobody wants him, so he goes to a strip club."
"And then he spreads it," Sam said. "By biting but not devouring one of the girls there."
"Man, that is disgusting." Dean finally put down his food though, to be fair, there was hardly any left. "And the army won't do shit because they don't want to admit they were zombifying our glorious war dead?"
"I guess," said Sam. "I could be wrong. It could be something completely different. I mean, six deaths in the last month, all but one of whom were single, all of whom visited the Burke and Hare on a regular basis. Could just be a regular old serial killer. Pissed off sexual harrassment victim, or something."
"Sammy, you do your research better than any hunter I've ever met," Dean said, frowning. Sam hated the part of him that glowed to hear it. You're an adult. You don't need validation from your father, and you certainly don't need it from Dean. "It's connected to this military thing one way or another. Let's say you're right, though - what can we do? It's not supernatural; it's a freaking virus."
"I got in contact with Brad-"
"Isn't that kind of suspicious?"
"Nah, told him I was thinking about science instead of General Arts. Called him up on a pre-paid cell and asked him what he knew about this military thing, did he think it would pay well and so on. He bought it so easily – Brad's the sort of guy that's always really curious about everything, but who isn't a secret-keeper, if you know what I mean."
"So I'm guessing he was just an acquaintance, then?"
"Hey, I'm a good liar," said Sam. "Anyway, I called Brad, and he said he'd been keeping an eye on it with the help of a guy who's this super-hacker from another uni, Ash or something-"
"Ash, what is this, pokemon?"
"Are you going to shut up and listen, or are you going to keep bitching?"
"Jerk," Dean said, but he stopped talking.
"Basically, the virus only affects the medulla oblongata. So if we remove that, then they die naturally."
"And if we blow their brains out?"
"That should work too."
:i:
"You know, for a dead girl, she doesn't look bad," said Dean. "I'd say seven. Maybe eight, eight and a half."
Sam looked from the girl – who, okay, nice rack, nice ass, but no freaking circulation - back to Dean.
"She likes to eat living flesh, Dean. And check out the girl on the pole; she's got a grey tinge to her as well. They're-"
"They're forming a stripper zombie team? That's hilarious, I'm not going to lie."
"Dean, they are literal man-eaters. Someone's gotta stop them, and I doubt the army even know about this club."
Dean put down his drink. "So how do you suggest we do this, then? Since it's your case, and all."
If Sam heard the bitterness in the words he didn't show it. With Dean the way he was he was damned if he didn't enjoy a hunt, because that meant he was the Sam of old, the Sam who just wanted his own life, as far from his family as possible, but he was damned if he took the initiative and organised one himself, because that meant he was finally getting out from under Dean's wing.
"Well, we can't exactly take them out back and execute them," Sam said. "They have laws against that sort of thing. Bait them out? I mean, we are staying in a motel room after all. No one to miss us."
"Makes sense," said Dean. He turned back to the strippers and drained his glass. "So, how're we going to do this? Normally I'd volunteer myself, as I clearly have superior looks and charisma, but (a) zombies, and (b) there's more meat on your bones. I think they'd be more likely to go for you."
One of the zombie strippers winked at him and threw a tassel in his general direction.
"Get in there, Sammy," said Dean, and grinned.
:i:
In the end, they each took one back. Dean said he didn't want to miss out; Sam got the feeling Dean didn't think he could handle it himself.
For flesh-eating zombies, they were surprisingly charming. Sam didn't know what he had expected, but it definitely went along the lines of shambling, rotting, and moaning 'brrraiins, brraiins, tasty brraiins'. Apparently stereotyping was a bad idea no matter what.
And, well, Sam had grown up a hunter. He knew hunting was shades of gray, and that sometimes the things you killed had personalities.
"We don't kill things because of who they are, Sammy. We kill things because of what they are. A vampire is a vampire is a vampire, no matter what. Mother fucking Teresa could get bitten, and we'd have to decapitate her, because she'd kill no matter how much of a saint she was."
But Sam remembered a kitsune he'd once met, and he couldn't bring himself to regret leaving her alive. A darker and more powerful current in his mind reminded him of all the dreams he'd had, of all the things he thought he might have seen, but he pushed it away. He knew what he was, and he was fine. He was always fine.
Jane, the zombie he'd picked up, didn't give off any evil vibes. What's more, she was called Jane. He kept looking back at her expecting to see her in a cardigan instead of a miniskirt and bra.
As they walked back to the motel, Monica and Dean in front of them, Jane took the opportunity to tell Sam that she never normally did this, that she was only doing the job to pay for her pre-med.
"What do you do, Sam?" she asked, and Sam smiled grimly.
"I could tell you," he said, "but then I'd have to kill you."
"Dude, seriously?" Dean called back. "Seriously?"
Sam shrugged and laughed, but when they were tied up in the motel, screaming and crying, he let Dean do the honors.
Later, when they were finishing cleaning up, Dean held a cold one to his cheek and tossed another to Sam, who was putting the topsoil back. "What would you ever do without me, Sammy?" he said, raising the bottle in an imaginary toast.
"I don't know," said Sam. "I really don't."
End Notes:
The bit about the medulla oblongdata is paraphrased from the actual B Movie of which this is a mashup, Zombie Strippers.