Summary: Sam is a successful lawyer stuck in a miserable life. Dean is a gutsy criminal with his sights set on the big leagues. Their paths cross at a bank robbery and- Wait, why isn't that woman afraid of the gun pointed at her head? Why is she getting back up after being shot four times? Crap! Who invited zombies to this story? Damn party crashers... A story about a group of survivor's quest to survive in a world torn, chewed, and spat back out again. Will they live through it? Probably not, but it's fun to watch them try.

Timeline: Alternate reality; Sam is 25 and Dean is 29

Rating: M

Warnings: Foul language, violence, sensitive themes, sexual content, and a lot of blood and gore. That's what makes it fun to write.

Author's Note: ZOMBIES! They creep the hell out of me while somehow simultaneously fascinating me. I'm sure most of you reading this would agree. I've wanted to write a zombie story for ages and here it finally is. This story will contain the good ol' fashioned zombie, not those crazies with anger issues from 29 Days Later, those vamp zombies from I Am Legend, or those Mr. Rogers-gone-evil ones from Supernatural itself. These are the real deal, baby. Slow walking, blood drooling, intestine-eating zombies, moans and groans and all. As for style, this story is a bit of an experiment. There will be multiple POVs, varying degrees of important characters, some familiar and some new (though Sam and Dean are the mains, of course), and... well, zombies. So give the style a bit of slack, would yah? But by all means, please take the plot seriously, because you don't f*ck around with zombies. Otherwise you end up dead and eaten and possibly resurrected again with never-ending food cravings. Then you'd be ruining that diet you're on every single day. Keep in mind this is AU, so don't be surprised when the characters act a little out of character. Or a lot. After all, no one's quite themselves when zombies are around.

Thanks to my roommate Rachel for the title. Finally someone I know in "real" life who reads fanfiction... Where have you been all my life?


MEATETARIANS

Chapter I

Mr. Winchester

"You've got to be fucking with me."

"Mr. Winchester, I don't think that sort of language is appropriate here-"

Sam slammed the palms of his hands on the counter, the smack resonating throughout the bank. "Are you telling me that that fucking bitch withdrew half of my fucking account this morning and that you just fucking let her?"

The bank teller seemed to shrink back in his chair, his mouth pursed into a tiny 'o' as he stared at the enraged customer. "Mr. Winchester, I-"

"Where the fuck is the manager? I want to speak with him." Sam took a step back from the counter and looked around the bank's large lobby, as if he expected to spot the manager already rushing over to greet him. Sam figured he'd be easy to spot: a fat, balding man dressed in a suit too tight for him, probably with bulging, watery eyes or tiny shrew-like ones that never stopped shifting. It could be called stereotypical, but being a lawyer had taught Sam that stereotypes were often true and that first impressions were almost always right. The first impression Sam had gotten from this lousy, hipster-like bank teller was that he was more interested in odd fashion than his job. Who the fuck wears glasses with no lenses?

"I want to speak with him now," Sam called out to no one in particular, ignoring the eyes of his fellow customers. They were all gaping at him, probably wondering why he wasn't in some anger management class.

He'd like to tell them why. He'd like to explain to them that his wife was a fucking bitch who never got off her damn lazy ass unless it was to go shop for a new rug they didn't need or to attend some stupid gossip-filled brunch with her incompetent friends. He'd love to tell them all about her conniving ways and how she consumed three quarters of his salary and all of his freedom while never returning anything back. How she smiled at him while she made snide remarks about his clothes and his work and his secretary. How she made the stupidest excuses as to why they couldn't have sex and then complained that she felt her husband was no longer attracted to her. How she sabotaged him in front of her friends and his coworkers, always smiling, always laughing, always putting on some fake display of innocence and kindness when really she was some evil bitch from hell who enjoyed nothing more but to torture him in a hundred different ways.

He wanted to scream this all out, but instead he turned back to the bank teller and inhaled a deep breath. "Please," he said in a much quieter and politer tone. "Call your manager."

"Y-yes, sir. I will. Straight away." The bank teller grabbed for the phone and began to push buttons, speaking in a hushed voice to someone on the other line. While he waited, Sam turned around and gave glares to those who were still gawking at him. An old lady with a ridiculous feathered hat looked away in a huff while a skinny man in wired glasses appeared almost scared when Sam met his eyes. People had always told Sam there was something intimidating about him. Not only did he stand a few inches above six feet, he was a pretty powerful man, physically, intellectually, financially, and socially. If only he wasn't married to that dumb bitch he would have-

One of the customers didn't look away when Sam pierced him with a glare. He was a man perhaps a few years older than Sam, dressed in a black tuxedo. He didn't appear to be seeking any of the employees' assistance. Instead, he was standing in the middle of the large, open space, arms crossed before his chest. He matched Sam's stare and gave a smirk, like he knew what Sam was thinking and was giving an acknowledgement, telling him he understood. But he eventually turned his head away when another man approached him, the guy dressed like he was from the 80's, mullet and all.

Sam frowned a little, thinking the two made a strange duo, but then his attention was pulled back to the bank teller as the hipster called his name. "Mr. Winchester, the manager will be coming down shortly to assist you. If you'd like to wait over there..."

"It would be my pleasure," Sam grumbled as he immediately turned away, not caring to look at the man any longer. He was afraid he would reach over the desk and rip those stupid glasses from his face, so instead he walked over to a set of uncomfortable looking chairs lined up against the marble wall. A middle aged woman dressed in jeans and a blouse was sitting down in one of the seats, her head slumped forward. Sam couldn't tell if she was sleeping or drunk. He decided not to take his chances and seated himself in the chair furthest away from her. Then he waited for the manager, going over all of the pleasant things he was going to say to him.

"Mr. Winchester?" The voice was female, sexy but professional. Sam looked up at the lovely brunette staring down at him, taking less time than he'd like to appreciate the business attire she wore over what was clearly an amazing body before meeting her large, brown eyes. She held a hand out and he shook it as he stood. "I'm Madison Heart," she introduced herself. "The manager of this bank. I believe you asked to speak with me?"

"Uh, yes. Yes I did." All images of the stereotypical banker Sam had previously imagined flew from his mind. This was not a fat man in a suit. This was a beautiful woman in high heels who seemed to carry herself with a no-shit policy. He was thrown a bit off by the whole misconception, and he had to mentally shake his head clear before he was able to continue speaking. "I have a question for you."

"And what, may I ask, is the question?"

Sam could tell the woman was a little pissed off by the way she spoke to him, politely but forced. It was obvious she thought he was just some rich jackass on a power trip who was wasting her time. Despite her appearance, he stopped himself from immediately liking her. He squared his shoulders and looked down at her before saying, "I wanted to know how your bank allowed my wife to withdraw half of my account this morning."

"Was it a joint account?"

"Yes, but-"

"Perhaps, Mr. Winchester, you should be asking your wife why she withdrew half of your account this morning."

Sam felt the familiar surge of anger rise within him. It took all the effort he contained just to keep his voice below yelling level. "There was a limit set on that account. She wasn't allowed to withdraw more than five thousand a day."

"I checked into it before I came down here, and our records show that your wife came in here last week to place a new limit."

"And you allowed it without my permission?" Sam was going to sue this place into the ground. "Even if it was a joint account, it's required that both parties agree if-"

"Our records also show that we had vocal confirmation on your part."

"I never gave such confirmation."

The woman opened up a folder she was carrying and glanced at little black words printed on a piece of paper. "12:31pm, last Monday morning." She closed the folder and raised an eyebrow. "You don't remember getting a call from this bank around that time?"

"I would remember if I-" Sam never finished his sentence because he was suddenly recollecting a conversation he had had on the phone around that time. The call had come while he and his secretary were in the midst of 'very important business' and he had barely listened to what the person on the other line had been speaking about. Now he recalled a few words that suggested it may have been from the bank.

Sam sighed, glancing away. "I may have received such a call at that time."

He knew the woman was probably smirking inside, but was simply too professional to allow it to reach the surface of her lips. However, her eyes shone with something akin to victory as she smiled politely and said, "Very well, Mr. Winchester. I hope this conversation has been conclusive for you."

"Yeah, thanks," Sam muttered as he went to turn away. He didn't feel embarrassment often, and it wasn't quite the same reaction he was experiencing now. It was more like unease; a deep urge to prove to this woman that he wasn't just some rich jackass on a power trip wasting her time. He wasn't quite sure why he felt such a need or what it meant, but he fought the feeling, pushing it down to the bottom of his stomach, along with all the other feelings he had shoved down there over the years; the regret and the rage and the resentment.

He heard the sharp clicking of the manager's heels as she walked away and he took out his Blackberry, preparing to call Jessica and ask her what the fuck she was thinking when she withdrew $40 000 from his bank account this morning. Then he remembered signals were almost non-existent here, the bank being located partially underground. He cursed under his breath but couldn't stop himself from feeling lucky that his wife didn't have access to his other accounts, especially the two she didn't know about.

"Everyone, get down on the ground!" The shout came from across the room and Sam's head whipped around towards the direction it had come from. His attention was immediately drawn to a young woman dressed in a cowgirl outfit standing across the bank's main lobby. With long, blonde pigtails hanging beneath a cowboy hat, complete with leather boots, short jean shorts, and a plaid shirt, it was like she had mistaken today as Halloween. Except Sam was pretty sure it was only May, and that shotgun she held in her hands looked pretty damn real.

"You heard the girl!" The man who Sam had spotted before, the one dressed in a tuxedo, was now standing in front of the bank's main entrance. His mullet friend was doing something to the doors. Sam had seen way too many movies to immediately come to the conclusion that they were locking them in and that Sam was now a hostage. This was a bank robbery.

"Holy shit," he swore beneath his breath. This was just not his day.

"I said, on the fucking floor!" the cowgirl shouted as she came stomping across the expanse of reddish tiles, hoisting the barrel of the shotgun on her hip and pointing it in Sam's general direction. Glancing around, Sam realized that he was one of the few people in the room who had remained standing. He immediately dropped to his knees, putting his hands up for good measure.

"All right, all right," he said, trying to reassure the woman. "I'm down."

"Cowgirl!" Tuxedo called from a few feet away. "Be nice to the hostages." He held a Glock in his hand and Sam could see the grip of a second gun poking out of his belt, half hidden by his jacket flap. "Hey Mullet, get your ass over to the safe, would yah?"

Mullet nodded his head from where he was standing by the tellers. He held no gun but a laptop case was cradled under his arm. Sam watched as the man disappeared behind the desks but then quickly returned his attention to Cowgirl. She had gone off to harass another customer who was trying to escape the room, grabbing the woman by her ponytail and yanking her back.

Tuxedo stood in the middle of the room, watching everything with constant shifts of his eyes. Sam guessed he was the one in charge. He held an air about him that made that pretty clear. "Don't worry, folks," Tuxedo called out, his deep voice echoing in the large space. "No one will get hurt as long as no one tries to be a hero. Don't be stupid and you'll be fine." The sound of sobbing was the only answer, the noise coming from the young woman in the corner who had been badgered by Cowgirl.

"Hey, get on the floor," Tuxedo suddenly called, directing the order to someone behind Sam. Sam looked over his shoulder and saw the middle-aged woman he had avoided earlier. She had risen from the chair but she looked unsteady on her feet, her body swaying back and forth. Her head was drooping loosely between her shoulders, her short hair a mess and her arms hanging listlessly by her sides. She took a step forward, her foot dragging across the tiles.

"I said get down on the floor, lady," Tuxedo called again, this time raising his gun and pointing it at her. Although he was a fair distance away, the man's stance looked confident and Sam knew he wouldn't miss. There were a few screams that emanated from around the room, escaping the mouths of the hostages who had been rounded up in front of the tellers' desks. However, the woman did not seem to hear Tuxedo. She took another ungainly step forward, a strange moaning sound coming from her throat.

"Son of a bitch," Tuxedo grumbled, and then he was taking long strides towards the woman. Her shuffling stopped just as Tuxedo halted before her, one arm extended with the gun hovering only a few inches from her forehead. "I said get the fuck down," he growled, and Sam realized that the entire bank had gone deathly still. Even the crying had quieted down. Everyone was watching Tuxedo and the woman, breaths held as they awaited the outcome of the confrontation.

"She's just drunk," a voice spoke up suddenly. Sam immediately recognized it as belonging to the bank manager. He glanced to his side and saw the woman kneeling on the ground a few feet away. It was obvious she was trying to maintain a calm expression, but Sam could detect the underlying anxiety in her voice. "Please, she's just drunk. Don't shoot her."

"I'm not going to shoot her," Tuxedo bit back, clearly offended by the allegation. "But she needs to get down on the ground like everyone else here, or I might have to-"

Another guttural groan spilt from the woman's mouth and she raised her head, reaching out for the gun. Distracted by the manager, Tuxedo didn't react until the woman clutched at his hand, seeming to want him instead of the weapon he held. He immediately tore his limb away, giving the woman a scowl. He opened his mouth to yell at her again, but then the expression on his face transformed into something more like a mix of shock and repulsion. Sam knew his own expression was a mirror image, because the woman's face was now clearly visible, and it was not a pretty sight.

Her eyes were the first thing that drew attention because they clearly indicated that something was wrong with her, and it was not something that would be cured by hangover medication. It was as if the natural colour had drained from her irises, leaving behind a bluish white film that gave them a cloudy appearance. Her mouth hung open like her jaw no longer worked and now hung uselessly by its hinges. The skin of her face was pulled tautly across her skull in some places but sagged in others. It was pale and had a greyish tinge, like the colour of ashes.

"Jesus Christ," Tuxedo said as he took a step back, his gun now forgotten in his hand. "You look like you had one hell of a night."

The woman moaned in response, her hands still reaching outwards as she shuffled forward, fingers twitching in the air as if they were searching for something to clutch. Sam felt something cold trickle through his chest as he watched the woman's clumsy movements and heard the inhuman sounds pushed past her lips. He could tell Tuxedo felt the same icy dread by the way he continued to walk backwards, keeping a safe distance from the woman. He raised the gun again, this time holding it with two hands.

"Get the fuck back," he ordered. There was something in his voice now that made the command sound harsher. Sam realized it was fear. "Get back or else I'll blow your head apart. I'm not fucking around." There were no screams of protest from the hostages this time.

The woman did not obey, her groaning only becoming louder as she continued to lurch forward. Tuxedo had already moved back a few feet, but he stumbled on his next step and the woman pitched forward, opening her mouth wider and crying out with a sound that reminded Sam of a crazed animal's plea of hunger. Her fingers were just brushing Tuxedo's hands when he pulled the trigger.

There was an ear-splitting bang and then the woman was falling backward. She hit the ground with the same sound a bag of meat makes when it strikes the surface of a butcher's cutting board. Several screams continued to echo around the room afterward, mixing with the buzzing in Sam's head. He realized he had covered his ears and slowly removed his hands as he stared at the woman on the floor. She lay still but her head had not been blown apart. At the last moment, Tuxedo had lowered his gun, the bullet tearing a hole through the woman's shoulder instead.

"What the fuck, Dean?" Cowgirl screamed from across the room. "What the fuck did you do?"

"Calm down," Tuxedo replied, not taking his eyes from the woman's motionless body. He still had the gun trained at her, both hands holding it steady like he expected her to spring up at any moment.

"I thought we agreed we weren't going to kill anyone," Cowgirl said as she treaded across the room to join her companion. Her cowgirl boots clicked against the tiles angrily with each step.

"You think I'm an idiot?" Tuxedo snapped. "I shot her in the shoulder. She won't die." He leaned close to Cowgirl as she came to stand next to him. "And I thought we agreed we weren't going to use each other's real names," he quietly growled.

"She looks pretty fucking dead to me." Cowgirl pointed down at the body, ignoring Tuxedo's comment. The woman still did not move, and Sam realized that she had not even uttered a cry when she had been shot.

"She's passed out," Tuxedo said, though he didn't sound convinced. He nudged the woman's leg with his foot. "She'll be fine."

As if on cue, the woman stirred, a long grunt emanating from her lips again and sending a shiver down Sam's spine. He watched in horrid fascination a she began to sit up, her eyelids slipping open once more to reveal her milky white irises.

"What's wrong with her?" Cowgirl asked, the anger in her voice suddenly gone and replaced with alarm. She followed Tuxedo's lead and took a step back.

"I don't know," her companion answered, a serious frown pulling his eyebrows together and tugging down the edges of his lips.

Everyone in the room watched as the woman struggled to her feet, uttering strange noises the entire time. A few instances she seemed to almost topple over like a drunkard, but everyone knew that alcohol was not what was causing her unsteadiness. She didn't even seem to notice that there was a gaping hole in her shoulder, or that a puddle of her blood lay on the tiles by her feet. She immediately began to drag her legs forward again, now reaching out with just her uninjured arm, fingers spreading towards Tuxedo and Cowgirl. The duo had widened the distance between themselves and the woman, their attention fully on her. Sam had the briefest thought that now would be a good time to try to escape, but he could not tear his eyes away from the unusual sight playing out before him.

There were two more loud bangs and new holes appeared in the woman's chest, but this time the force of the bullets was not enough to knock her back. She stumbled for a moment but then righted herself and continued onwards. Sam watched with wide, unblinking eyes as another bullet tore through her abdomen, blood and guts spurting from her back, but she hardly seemed to care. The colour red was seeping from her open mouth and the hostages were screaming in horror now, their fear directed towards the unnatural display before them instead of the guns the bank robbers held.

"What the fuck!" Cowgirl suddenly screamed, her voice shrill with panic. Then she was raising her shotgun and sending a volley of bullets into the woman's face. Half her head was torn open as she stood still for a moment, her body swaying as what was left of her head leaned back, her neck arching unnaturally. Then she dropped to the ground, landing on her knees first before toppling to the side where she remained in a horrid heap on the ground.

Silence. No screams, just silence. Only Cowgirl's heavy breathing could be heard as the shotgun she held remained at eyelevel, her face not tilted downward to look at the body but staring forward at the empty air where her bullets had torn apart a human skull. The silence only lasted for a moment, however, and then everything turned into chaos. Two women made a break for the front doors, screaming as they tried not to trip in their high heels. The hipster bank teller had managed to make it back to his desk and was trying to call someone on the phone. Others were frozen where they kneeled on the ground, perhaps not completely over the shock they felt after witnessing the violent death of another human being. Sam supposed he was one of them, but it was not so much the sight of death that had him frozen to the spot - he had looked upon hundreds of pictures of crime scenes over his short career and had even defended those responsible for such carnage – it was more the fact that the woman lying on the ground was not human. Without a doubt, he knew this, and he was rarely wrong.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his stupor and he jumped as he turned his head. The bank manager was crouching next to him, her face a picture of intelligent determination. "You take the man and I'll take the girl," she stated, and it took a moment for Sam to understand what she was talking about. Then he realized she was plotting to take control of this messy situation, and apparently she wanted his help.

"Wait, what are you-" But she was already moving forward, swiftly making her way to the pair of bank robbers standing by the body. Cowgirl was still motionless but Tuxedo had turned his attention to the two women at the front entrance. They were banging on the thick glass, pulling at the door handles and screaming to gain the attention of passer-bys. As he began to rush over to the women, he didn't see Madison approaching his partner. Cowgirl seemed too distracted to notice as well, but even if Madison managed to take the gun from her, things could turn messy quickly. Sam knew he couldn't stop the gun-ho manager, so he did the only thing he could think of. He began to make his way to Tuxedo, hoping to disarm the man before he could pull his gun on Madison.

"Goddammit," Tuxedo swore as he tried to pull one of the women away from the door. She cried out hysterically and tried to slash him with her manicured nails. Sam was just behind him when he heard Cowgirl shout in surprise. Tuxedo seemed to hear it too, because he immediately swirled around and was met with Sam's fist. His head snapped back but he managed to stay on his feet, recovering surprisingly quickly and ducking his head out of the way before Sam could clip him with a second punch.

He was obviously skilled at fighting, because he managed to slip away from his disadvantageous spot against the door and was soon pointing the Glock between Sam's eyes. Staring down that barrel was one of the most terrifying moments of Sam's life, and he found he couldn't take his eyes away from the dark pit, not even to meet Tuxedo's stare and to plead for his life. He cursed Madison and her stupid plan and his decision to help her.

"Drop the gun," a familiar voice instructed, and Sam caught sight of Madison in his peripheral vision, shotgun in hand and trained on Tuxedo.

"Ash!" Cowgirl called from where she sat on the bank floor, having been shoved there by Madison. "Ash, where the fuck are you, you good for nothing MIT dropout?"

"Shut up or else I'll shoot your boyfriend," Madison ordered.

Cowgirl scowled. "He's not my boyfriend," she said angrily, but she didn't say another word.

Tuxedo laughed, though his voice held nervousness. "You shoot me, I shoot him." He gestured towards Sam, who had somehow torn his eyes away from the barrel of the gun to watch the unfolding events. He didn't turn his head, however, afraid that the slightest movement might trigger the gun Tuxedo held.

"You won't do that," Madison stated confidently.

"How do you know?"

"Because you agreed you weren't going to kill anyone. Now put the gun down, Dean."

Tuxedo grimaced at the sound of his real name. "Damn it, Jo. I told you not to slip up. Now we're fucking screwed."

"This whole thing was your stupid idea in the first place!" Cowgirl, or Jo, called out, crossing her arms on her chest. She looked like an angry child who hadn't received any good candy on Halloween, dressed up and pouting on the floor.

Dean sighed and lowered his arm, slowly bending down and placing the Glock on the ground. Sam let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and then sucked in some more, suddenly grateful for the ability to breathe and live.

"Well isn't this perfect," Dean grumbled as he stepped back from the gun with his hands on his head. Madison kept the shotgun trained on him as she swiped the weapon from the floor. She handed the device to Sam and he hesitated before he took it. It was heavier than it looked.

"Stand there," Madison ordered the bank robber, who had backed up a few steps and now stood by one of the bank's large potted plants. "Cowgirl, or Jo, or whatever you want to be called, go get your mullet friend. Tell him he tries anything, or any of you try to escape, this one is going to get a bullet in his crotch." Dean's eyes widened slightly as he gulped, but he didn't say anything in protest. "You gentlemen in the blue and green shirts, please go with her," Madison added. "Make sure she doesn't pull any tricks."

Jo got up and grudgingly made her way behind the tellers' desks, seeking out her other companion as the two men followed her. "We didn't mean to kill anyone," Dean said when she left, his voice low. "That woman... She wasn't..." He couldn't seem to end his sentence, and Sam couldn't blame him. What was there to say? The woman hadn't been human.

"Tell that to the police when they arrest you," Madison said. Then she turned her attention to the others in the building, calling out, "Everyone, the situation is now under control. Please remain calm as we open the doors. The police will probably want to question you so it would be best if you stick around for a bit. I know you're all very frightened and I apologize for this horrible event." She glared at Dean but then directed her next question to the hipster bank teller who was still standing behind his desk, the phone pressed to his ear. "Kurt, did you manage to get in contact with the authorities?"

He looked up at her, his face pale. "All the lines are busy."

"What do you mean, 'all the lines are busy'?" Sam asked. "That's impossible."

The man shrugged unsurely. "No one's answering. I've been trying for quite some time now."

Sam stomped over to Kurt and took the receiver, shoving him out of the way. He listened to the automated voice on the other line, which continued to repeat the words, "All of our operators are busy at the moment. If this is an emergency, please continue to stay on the line until one of our operators become available to help you. Thank you for your patience."

"Of course this is a fucking emergency," Sam spat at the receiver before flinging it back at the teller who fumbled to catch it. "What else would we call 911 for?"

"Well I'll be. I leave you two alone for a few minutes and you end up causing a mess." Mullet appeared from one of the back rooms, Jo beside him and the two men sent to watch them taking up the rear. He still held the laptop, carried beneath his arm as he surveyed the room, his eyes hovering over the carcass splayed on the floor. "What happened there?"

"She was coming at us!" Jo defended. "What was I supposed to do, just let her eat us?"

"Eat you?" a large man dressed in a business suit scoffed. "Is that what you're going to tell the judge when they sentence you to life for manslaughter?"

Jo glowered at him. "You saw what she was like," she yelled. "She kept coming at us even after she was shot. She wasn't human!"

No one seemed to have a response to that. She had just voiced what everyone else had obviously been thinking. The businessman cleared his throat before turning to Madison. "Are you going to unlock those doors yet?"

"That's what we have Mullet here for," Madison said, lifting her chin in the man's direction. "You try to run away and Mr. Winchester over there will shoot you in the back, understand?"

Sam suddenly remembered he held a Glock in his hand. He looked at it before turning his gaze to Madison, but she was already ordering Dean to walk further back into the room, away from the entrance.

Mullet didn't seem to be bothered by the threat, strolling casually up to the doors and beginning to work on the locks he had secured on the handles. Sam wondered what he was supposed to do with the Glock, finally settling on pointing it at the ground a few feet from Mullet, not quite feeling the courage to direct it at the man's back. As he held the weapon, a thought suddenly occurred to him. Hadn't Dean been carrying two guns? There was the one Sam was holding now, but he could have sworn he had seen another tucked into his- "Shit!" he cursed as he turned around. "Check him for another-"

But it was too late. At that moment, while Madison's attention was focused on Mullet, Dean reached into his tuxedo and pulled out a second Glock, identical to the one Sam held. Sam had never quite experienced instinct like he did then. Without thinking, he immediately aimed his gun and pulled the trigger. Dean's right leg buckled and the gun he held clattered to the floor. He moved to reach for it but Madison was already kicking it away before he could grasp it.

"Son of a-" Dean clutched at his wound. "What the hell did you shoot me for?"

"You were going to kill her," Sam stated, his voice a little breathless. His body was still reeling from the feeling of shooting a gun. His arms tingled from the rebound, his head swimming as his ears rang from the loudness of the gunfire. His heart was jack hammering in his chest, because he had never known he could aim that well.

"I was just trying to make the odds more even," Dean defended through gritted teeth, his tone a mixture of irritation laced with pain. "You think we want to go to jail?"

"I knew you'd get shot," Jo ridiculed, not even trying to help her fallen companion. "You always get shot. This time I'm not going to be the one to deal with it. You can get the paramedics to help you."

"I always knew you cared about me, Jo," Dean replied in sarcasm, his lips twisted into a fake smile distorted by pain.

"Um, I hate to interrupt, but I just wanted to confirm that you still want me to open these doors." Mullet had stopped working on the locks and now was glancing around the room.

"Of course we do, you freak," the businessman barked. "Open the goddamn doors and let us out of here!"

"Are you sure?" Mullet asked again, raising his eyebrows. "I think it might be better if we stay in here."

"Are you fucking high?" the businessman bellowed, taking a threatening step forward. He was a big man, taller than Sam and made even more intimidating with a shaved head. "I said, open the fucking doors!"

"Sir, please calm down," Madison said. She had picked up the second Glock and already had it slipped into the waistline of her pressed pants. Sam wondered for the briefest moment why she didn't hand it to another of the hostages. He had the oddest thought that maybe it was because he was the only one here she trusted, and the idea made him feel a little pleased. But then he was pushing away such thoughts and focusing on the more important events taking place.

"Please open the doors." Madison was addressing Mullet, who looked at her now like she was mad.

"I think it's safer in here," Mullet proclaimed. "I don't think you want to go out there right now."

"All right, I've had enough of this," the bald businessman said as he made his way to the doors, pushing Mullet aside with a quick shove of his shoulder. He pulled at the handle and the door swung open. The man smirked as he looked back at everyone else. "The bastard already opened it," he said. "Tell the police they can contact Richard Bearings at Bearings Inc. downtown. Those lazy asses can't even come to the phone, then I'm not going to stick around here to answer their questions." He stepped out of the building and into the bank's entrance, which consisted of a short brick tunnel sheltering a staircase that led up to the street. Sam watched as he walked a few steps but then stopped. Someone had appeared at the entrance of the tunnel. Sam couldn't quite discern the individual's features, except to discern that it was a male, but the way he moved reminded him of the woman whose brain matter was now splattered across the bank's lobby floor. The person listed forward, seeming to gain initiative as he caught sight of Richard Bearings and the people in the bank behind him.

"Lock the doors," Dean commanded. Sam turned his head and saw that even though the bank robber had a bullet wound in his leg his face was composed and serious. "Ash, call that asshole back in here and lock the doors again."

Mullet, whose real name seemed to be Ash, obeyed immediately, and no one objected. It was as if everyone knew that what Dean had said was what had to be done. Perhaps they had all realized it when they had first witnessed that woman sustain several bullet wounds and continue to walk, the look on her face one of hunger instead of pain. Perhaps they all felt it somewhere deep in their bones, in the chill down their spines and the hair standing up on the back of their necks, that something was wrong. That they were safer inside of this bank, locked up with a trio of dangerous criminals, than outside in the city's dark streets. Perhaps they all understood, like some sort of primitive animal's sense, that the world as they knew it was about to change catastrophically. And that it wasn't going to be a fun ride.


To Be Continued.