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: Hope you're all enjoying this one and the slow build. :D

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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Chapter 3

Dean glared death at her, trying to move and finding he was rooted in place. "Nice…trick." He gasped around the pressure in his throat. It was letting him breathe but seemed to be holding his voice hostage, preventing him from warning his brother who was still searching the upstairs unaware of the danger.

"I know your kind." Her voice was soft and made something unpleasant skitter along Dean's skin. "Hunter." She said like an epithet. "Chasing a mambo and you don't even bother to protect yourselves. Another of my tricks, Hunter. I can call blood from any. open. wound." She extended a hand to him, her finger almost brushing his cheek, and Dean hissed in pain, grabbing his right arm as pain suddenly sang from the bullet wounds.

"Bitch!" Dean gasped through the band around his throat and felt blood begin to run down his arm under his sleeve.

Her head tilted beneath the hood. "Oh, my. Is that…the beginning of an ulcer I feel?" She tightened her fingers into a fist.

Dean dropped to a knee with a low moan of agony as his stomach clenched and cramped. He coughed and spat blood onto the floor while he glared back up at her.

She chuckled as he suffered and then stilled as if listening. Her head tilted back and she raised her hand away from him and up toward the ceiling.

"N…no," Dean gasped, and fear choked him as he heard the unmistakable sound of Sam's knees slapping into the floor above them, hard. His right arm wouldn't obey him with pain pulsing from the wounds along with his blood. A strangled cry from upstairs pushed him to reach behind him with his left hand and draw his knife. "Hey…bitch!" Dean lunged and stabbed the knife forward, grinning around the blood in his mouth as he buried it in her stomach.

She screamed with rage. The sound drove into Dean's head and he closed his eyes reflexively. When he opened them again, she was gone. "What…shit." He shook his head as the pain in his stomach finally receded and sucked in a deep breath; the constriction in his throat had vanished with her presence. "Sammy." Dean spit more blood onto the floor and staggered to his feet, grabbing his gun as he rose.

Dean thumped into the frame of the arch into the living room and led with his gun into the hall. He saw no sign of the mambo and went for the stairs. He jogged up as quickly as he could, his own injury forgotten in his fear. "Sam?" He turned at the top, choosing the room over the living room. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the scene that greeted him as he got to the door. He crossed the room in three long strides and slid to his knees beside his brother's body. Sam lay motionless face down on the floor, and he could see the edges of a pool of blood beneath him. "No. Come on, Sammy." Dean grabbed him with his left arm and rolled him over, trying not to panic at the sight of Sam's chest soaked in his own blood. The leg of his jeans, where Dean knew the other wounds to be, was also saturated.

"Sammy, you answer me." Dean said it fiercely and lifted him, sliding a knee behind him to prop him up. "Sam!" He grinned, hearing a soft moan from his brother and heaved a breath in relief. "That's it, buddy. Wake up." He fumbled with nerveless fingers to tug Sam's shirts up. "Sorry." Dean muttered when he rubbed the fabric over the wounds and Sam jerked in response.

"Dean?" Sam's eyes shot open and he slapped a hand up into his arm, taking tight hold while his head swam.

"Gah! Easy." Dean slammed his eyes closed as Sam's hand clamped around his right bicep.

"Sorry. Sorry." Sam let go and groaned. "What…what happened?" The last thing he remembered was walking into the bedroom, and then the wounds on his chest and leg had suddenly throbbed. The pain had taken him to his knees while blood had started to flow from them like it was on tap. He didn't remember passing out.

"She was here." Dean told him and let himself relax slightly; finally clearing enough blood from Sam's chest to see that the bleeding had virtually stopped without the mambo's influence. "We need to do better research, dude. She cleaned the damn floor with us and she didn't even have to try that hard."

"Wha'…what stopped her?" Sam tried to sit up on his own and gasped as his head seemed to swim. He ended up sitting, hunched over his brother's arm and trying not to throw up.

"Stabbed her in the gut." Dean looked around the room and shook his head. "We're not gonna find whatever she used. She beat us to it. Come on. We gotta get outta here." Getting Sam on his feet proved harder than he'd thought, and they only made it to the hall before blood loss took its toll and Sam was on his knees retching onto the carpet.

"Ok, take it easy." Dean kept him from toppling forward and dropped a hand on the back of his brother's neck when Sam tapered off to coughing and gasping. "Ready to try again?"

Sam nodded and wobbled back to his feet. "Hate…blood loss." He groaned while Dean pulled his arm back across his shoulders, hiding his own wince of pain as his shoulder protested the abuse, and got them to the stairs. Sam's head wouldn't stop spinning, his stomach churning, and he had to make a conscious effort to keep his feet moving. "Pro'lly didn' kill her."

"Huh?" Dean asked, half-dragging Sam toward the side door once they made it to the bottom of the stairs. The slurring was starting to worry him with the amount of blood Sam had left on the floor upstairs, and his skin was cold and white.

"Stab wound." Sam shook his head, trying to clear it. "Too powerful. Prob'ly jus' pissed…pissed her off."

"Well, she pissed me off first." Dean growled and pushed open the side door, steadying Sam out beside him into the warm night air. "Tell me there's a way to keep the zombie queen from goin' Sith master on us again."

Sam snorted and nodded. "Yeah. I'll f-find it. Gotta be."

"Keep walking. That's it," Dean had to coach him when Sam simply stopped moving and squeezed his eyes closed. "Just get to the car. You can do that."

Sam nodded and started walking again, but he didn't have much left. He was heading toward unconsciousness. He could feel it, but he was determined to not make his brother carry him up to their room, or worse, dump him in an emergency room. "M'good. Jus' need…fluids. Juice?"

Dean snorted. "Yeah, juice will totally fix this." He rolled his eyes and leaned him up against the side of the Impala while he got the door open.

Sam folded down into the seat with an exhausted groan and dropped his head back while Dean pushed the door shut. He swallowed hard when Dean got behind the wheel and the car moved, making his stomach roll. "I mention…not a zombie fan?"

Dean smiled grimly and nodded. "Yeah, I'm gettin' there." He looked over at his brother's face and frowned. "No puking in the car, dude."

Sam waved a hand wearily and let it thump back to the seat. "I'm good." He focused on the sound of the engine rumbling under him as they drove and startled when it stopped, jerking his head up. "We here?"

"Yeah. Hang on." Dean was out and around the car before Sam even had the door open all the way. "Ok. Here we go." He took his arm and pulled him out, then kept Sam from crumpling dizzily to the ground.

"Can do it." Sam muttered and made himself straighten up, pulling the door shut behind him. He looked up the stairs and groaned.

Dean chuckled. "If I gotta carry you up, you're detailing my car for a month, sasquatch."

"Shuddup." Sam smirked and started up the stairs, grateful for Dean at his side to keep him moving and upright. He was panting by the time they reached the top, and as soon as Dean opened the room door, he bolted into the bathroom, stumbled to his knees beside the toilet, and threw up again, not that there was much of anything left in his stomach to throw up. He felt Dean's hand land on the back of his neck and leaned back into the comfort of it for a moment when the heaving eased. For as long as he could remember, that touch was always there to soothe him whenever he had been sick, except when distance, death, or anger and distrust had forced them apart. The fact that he had that comfort back again now made Sam's heart clench for a moment in gratitude that he had not lost it forever.

"Done?" Dean asked and got a short nod in response. "You get cleaned up on your own?" He meant it. If Sam needed him to prop him up in the shower to get the blood off, he would. He'd grouse about it and tease his little brother for days, but he'd do it if he had to so he smiled when Sam laughed weakly and shook his head.

"I can do it." To prove it, Sam got himself up and sitting on the side of the tub. He looked down at his shirt and jeans, both soaked with his blood and grimaced. "Gonna run out of clothes at this rate."

Dean chuckled and stood. "I'll toss your bag in. Clean up so I can."

Sam took a look at him and finally saw the blood that had soaked through the sleeve of his shirt. "Crap! You alright?" He stood too fast and swayed.

"Geez, dude. I'm fine." Dean shook his head and took Sam's shoulder until he steadied. I didn't lose anywhere near as much blood as you. Much smaller holes. Go. Shower." He left Sam leaned against the wall and pulled the bathroom door closed behind him. Dean took a moment to hunch over. His stomach ached still, but it was heartburn rather than the pain the mambo had caused him. He looked at the extra burger still sitting on the table and decided soup sounded damn good. He snorted and stripped off his jacket and shirts. He cleaned his arm quickly as the shower turned on and pulled on a fresh shirt and jacket before cracking the bathroom door open. "Goin' to grab you your juice, genius." Dean called over the shower with a smirk.

Sam rolled his eyes and flipped his brother off over top of the curtain then went back to just leaning heavily against the wall under the hot spray once he heard the door shut. He blinked down at the bottom of the tub and grimaced as bloody water swirled into the drain. Blood loss was one of his least favorite things to deal with, and the headache was winning out now over the nausea. He let the spray take care of the blood, not having the energy to do more and stumbled out of the tub. He smiled when he saw his bag on top of the sink. Dean must have snuck it in when he left. He took a look at the gouges on his chest and thigh, happy that the mambo's power hadn't actually made them worse and bandaged them before tossing on his sweats and a shirt. It was three in the morning at least, and he went back out in the room and fell onto his bed, rolling into the pillow with exhaustion riding him.

Dean found him that way when he came back and went over quickly, giving his shoulder a shake. "Sammy?" It worried him that his brother wasn't up and researching like he normally would be. "Man, you must be feeling worse than you look. Dude, wake up for a minute."

"Mmf." Sam groaned and obstinately didn't roll over. He just wanted to sleep.

"Nope." Dean grabbed an arm and rolled him over. "Up, dammit. You lost way too much blood, Sam. We don't do something about it now, you're gonna be useless later."

Sam grumbled, but let his brother pull him over and up. "Fine." Dean was right and he knew it as his head swam, his stomach rolled, and he shivered.

"Here." Dean rolled his eyes and handed him a bottle of orange juice. "Start on that. And you're eating something too. Don't argue."

Sam gave him a mutinous look and opened the bottle, taking a swallow. The juice hit his stomach, and suddenly he felt like he was dying of thirst.

Dean looked over in time to watch Sam greedily drink down half the bottle. "Hey! Dammit." He went back and pulled the bottle from his mouth. "You tryin' to make yourself throw up again? You know better."

Sam was breathing heavily and nodded. "Right. Sorry, just…"

"Yeah, I get it." Dean let the bottle go and waited, making sure Sam was going to drink more slowly and didn't step away again until he did. He understood; lose enough blood and your blood sugar could crash far enough to make you confused and forget even the most basic things.

Sam made himself drink the rest of the juice more slowly, grateful as it began to clear the fog in his head he hadn't even realized was there. He emptied it and set it on the table then sat up properly, even as the need to sleep started to overcome him again. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean came back and handed him a styrofoam container. "Soup. Drink."

Sam looked up in surprise and took it. He'd been expecting something greasy. He smiled. "Nice."

"Yeah. Yeah." Dean rolled his eyes and took his own soup before kicking off his boots and getting comfy on his own bed. The juice alone had Sam's face looking less pale than it had when he'd come in the room. Soup and sleep would get him the rest of the way, Dean figured, and settled back to finish his own that was thankfully settling the lingering burning in his stomach.

"I'll figure it out." Sam said after several minutes and set aside his nearly empty soup cup before flopping back onto his bed. "Some way to keep her off us next time…tomorrow. I'll find something."

"I know you will, geek. Go to sleep." Dean shook his head fondly and flipped the light off as Sam managed to pull his blanket over himself and grunted sleepily. He finished his own and set aside and then just slid down, blanket be damned; he was tired and it still a warm, lousy night.

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"You sure about this?" Dean looked over the little brown house they had parked in front of with a brow raised. The sidewalk was lined with flowers, cheerful green shutters hung over open windows, and a child's bike lay in the front yard. "There's a Voodoo priestess…here?"

Sam chuckled and shrugged. "She's a yoruba priestess according to the woman at the library. Good mojo, and someone we need to speak to." He started up the sidewalk in the summer sun and wished he didn't have to have a jacket to hide his gun. He glanced over and could see Dean was already sweating as well, enough to stick his short hair to his head.

"Friggin zombie queen couldn't have waited until winter to start ganking people?" Dean groused and wiped his sleeve over his forehead.

Sam smirked and went up onto the porch. He raised a hand to knock and stared as the door opened before he touched it. "Uh…hello." He said and knelt to be at eye level with the child who had opened it. Sam smiled. "We're here to speak with Mrs. Marley. Is she home?"

The little boy watched him with big, brown eyes and nodded. "Momma Ava said to come getcha. Come on."

Sam stood in surprise as the boy pushed the door open and looked over at Dean. "Remember. Be respectful." He'd discussed it with Dean in the car and pretty much begged his big brother not to antagonize the woman. Pissing off a Voodoo practitioner, good or bad, was just not a good idea.

"I can be respectful." Dean growled back and grabbed the door, stepping ahead of his brother into the house. "When I want to."

"That's what worries me." Sam muttered and followed him inside.

"She downstairs waitin' on ya." The boy pointed to an open door and went past into a friendly, yellow kitchen with no more interest in either of them.

"Huh. Down we go." Dean started down the stairs with Sam at his back and tried not to be nervous about walking into the cellar of a Voodoo priestess. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared. "Well, that's unexpected." The cellar was wide open and brightly lit with colorful silks hanging on the walls and comfortable chairs around a low table, one of which was occupied by an elderly black woman with white hair that hung artfully around her shoulders and face.

"Come in, boys. Sit. Sit." She waved a hand to the chairs and smiled warmly at them. She waved at the table and a tray with a pitcher and glasses. "Lemonade. You pour." She looked up at Dean and raised a brow. "You are the oldest." She smiled up at Sam. "You call me Momma Ava. Don't no one call me 'mrs.' Sit, child." She told Sam imperiously, her tone of voice reminding him more than a little of the psychic they had worked with in Lawrence, Missouri Mosley, despite the lilting Creole accent.

"Yes, ma'am." Sam smiled, amused, and sat in a chair beside her. "I'm Sam. This is Dean. I get the impression you were expecting us."

Momma Ava chuckled. "Jenny call me from the library. Say two pretty things askin' 'bout Voodoo, and she send 'em my way."

Dean snorted, amused at the librarian's description of them and sat. "Well, we…" He stopped when the woman raised a hand and imperiously pointed to the lemonade. "Uh…right." He rolled his eyes and picked up the pitcher, pouring it out into the glasses.

Sam smirked. "We need protection." His smile fell away and he met her eyes. "There's a Bokor mambo in your town, Momma Ava. She's killing people."

"Oh, I know, child." She nodded and she reached a hand to him, holding it in front of his chest. "I can feel it on you. Somethin' undead left its mark." She took the lemonade Dean handed to her and flicked her fingers at him. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I not hurtin' him."

Dean smoothed the glare from his face as she took her other hand away from his brother's chest and smiled instead. "Like you said, I'm older." He met her gaze steadily and saw the twitch of her lips that said his unspoken message was understood - don't screw with my brother.

"What'choo boys dealin' with here is Sekt Rouge." Momma Ava leaned back and sipped her lemonade with a sigh. "Most Voodoo be about order. Control. Bokor be nothin' but chaos; Sekt Rouge. This mambo, she hurt you."

Dean nodded. "She said she 'called our blood'." He watched Sam put a hand over his chest with the memory. "We need to make sure she can't do that again."

Momma Ava's face darkened. "You boys be lucky you still here. That's old Voodoo, very old, an' most Bokor can't handle it. Too powerful." She shook her head. "You see her?"

"She had her face covered." Dean set his lemonade down untouched, leery of drinking anything from a Voodoo practitioner, supposedly good or not. "Don't suppose you know who it might be?"

Momma Ava shrugged and sipped her drink. "Quite a few mambos in these parts, it bein' the south and all. I can't help you find her." She set her glass down and stood. "I can maybe fix up somethin' keep her from usin' her power on you."

Sam stood and towered over her mere five feet. "We'd appreciate it. Thank you."

"Boy, sit down before I break my neck tryin' to see ya." Momma Ava chuckled and stepped past him to a wall. She took hold of a handle and pushed and a panel some six feet wide slid easily and silently to the side to reveal a hidden room. "Now, don't be gettin' all excited. You not gonna find none o' that Bokor nonsense here."

Dean had risen with wide eyes and eased back down to the seat when Sam motioned at him to sit. "Sure looks like it to me."

Momma Ava chuckled and waved a hand at him. "That's 'cause you don' know what you're lookin' at, boy." The room had walls covered in red silks with various symbols carved from wood hung around it. A wide table sat at the back under the same red silk with bowls and boxes of all shapes and sizes lined along it.

Sam turned to he could watch her taking various things and muttering under her breath. He looked back at his brother. "There's nothing dark in there I can see." Sam said softly. "The stuff on the walls? Those are symbols of protection against Bokor. They hide her presence."

"Huh." Dean watched her as she worked. "My spidey senses are tinglin', dude. She knows more than she's telling us."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Probably. She may be willing to help protect us. That doesn't mean she trusts us." He shrugged. "It's in her best interests for us to find the mambo and get rid of her."

"So she's using us."

"Dude, we're using her." Sam retorted with a laugh. "You can hardly blame her." He smiled. "I kind of like her."

"Old don't mean deaf, boys." Momma Ava said suddenly and turned to smile at them over her shoulder. "You got the right of it, Sam. Havin' a mambo killin' folk ain't no good for any of us. She need to be stopped, and I figure you boys be the best shot o' that."

Dean had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Don't be." She came back into the sitting room with an understanding smile. "You boys be Hunters. Trustin' folk like me, well, could get you in a world o' hurt any other day. Today, though…" She held out her hands to each of them. "…today it be a good thing. These charms will keep the mambo's power away from you."

Sam took the small bag from her hand. It was black silk, about the size of his palm and on a thong. "We wear them?"

She nodded and reached into the neck of her shirt. She pulled a similar bag and showed them before putting it back. "It be the same I use. You be safe." She raised a finger. "Won' keep her zombies from tearin' pieces off you, but her powers not be touchin' you again, long as you wear them."

Dean took his and, at Sam's nod, slipped the thong over his head and tucked it inside his shirt. "Thanks, Momma Ava." He smiled and actually meant it. Sam was right. There was something likeable about her. He stood and Sam followed. Before they got to the door, however, Dean paused and turned back with a quizzical look on his face. "You know about Hunters." It was more of a statement than a question, but his curiosity was clear.

The old woman chuckled a bit. "Oh, certainly. Done up quite a few protection charms and spells for Hunters over the years. You all be doin' good for the world. Happy to help when I can." She glanced between the two brothers. "Gotta say, though, Jenny was right – none o' them other Hunters anywhere near as fine-lookin' as you two boys, though." Sam actually blushed, stammering out something or other before trailing off, and Dean just smirked as they turned to go.

She followed them to the door as they were leaving. "Now, you come back in a couple days, there be pie for ya." Momma Ava grinned at the surprise on Dean's face and the snort of laughter from his brother. "Sunday's bakin' day. You wanna come back. Trust me." She shooed them toward the stairs. "An' you be needin' any other help, you let me know."

"Thank you." Sam bent impulsively and dropped a light kiss on her cheek.

Momma Ava waved a hand at him. "Get ye outta here, boy." She laughed and gave him a gentle push in the back while he chuckled.

Outside, Dean elbowed his brother in the ribs. "Dude. She's old enough to be your grandma."

"Shut up!" Sam laughed and shook his head. "We want her to like us, Dean. She's powerful. I was showing respect. There's a reason she wants everyone to call her Momma Ava."

"Whatever, man. You can do the sucking up." Dean chuckled and got back in the car. "Although…pie."

Sam chuckled and pulled his door shut. "You are such a pie slut."

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Dean stood with Sam down the street from a small army of police cars and other official vehicles. They had planned on checking the home of another victim only to find the local police had gotten there first. "This can't be good."

Sam nodded. "Something happened or why would they all be here three days after the guy died? Zombie?"

"Maybe." Dean bit his lip and considered. "You should go ask. They already know you."

Sam nodded and went back to the car, fishing his FBI badge from the glove box. "What are you gonna do while I'm making nice with the locals again?"

Dean smirked. "Sneak in the back of the house, of course." He pulled his jacket straight and grinned at his brother. "They all seem to be outside. You keep them busy and maybe I can find something before the zombie queen shows up."

"Don't get caught." Sam shook his head and started down the street.

"Hey, you're not the only one with a badge." Dean rolled his eyes and ducked into the yard of the house beside them. He'd just go in the back while no one was looking.

Sam straightened his shoulders as he neared the police lines and flipped out his badge before ducking under the tape and past the officer standing there. He saw the sergeant he'd spoken to the day before and made for him. "Sergeant Baker." Sam called loud enough to draw the attention of everyone near the house and hopefully give Dean the break he needed to slip in the back. "What's happened? I heard something on the scanner."

"Damndest thing." The sergeant shook his head. "Looks like someone broke back into the victim's house and left, well, pieces of him. Ex-wife found it a few hours ago when she came to clean the place up." He gestured to the back of a nearby ambulance and a woman on a gurney with an oxygen mask over her face. "She didn't take it well."

"Pieces of him?" Sam asked and raised a brow.

"Yeah, uh, right arm and left foot, according to the coroner. You just missed him." The sergeant waved generally down the road. "Agent, what the hell's goin' on in my town?"

Sam shook his head sadly. "Sergeant, I wish I knew. Did anyone see anything?" He kept up the conversation and drew as many of the officers and techs in as he could, asking question after question and keeping all eyes on him as long as he could. Finally, he'd run out of legitimate things to ask as two officers made their way up to the house and he hoped Dean had gotten the hell out already. Sam went quickly back down the street and sighed with relief when Dean came out from behind a hedge to join him. "Find anything?"

Dean grinned and tossed a look over his shoulder, making sure no one was paying attention. They weren't. "Got this." He held up small bag tied with twine. "Found it in the kitchen. Looks like a gris-gris bag to me."

Sam nodded and took it, holding it up for a better look and then glanced over. "Why are you still grinning?"

"Found this too." Dean pulled a small gun from his inside pocket and held it almost reverently. "Dude. It's a Walter PPK." He caressed a hand along the barrel in a way that made Sam roll his eyes.

"Dean. It's a gun." Sam shook his head. "You want some alone time?"

"Sammy, this is not just a gun. This is James friggin' Bond's gun."

Sam couldn't stop the snort of laughter as they reached the car. "You thinking of trading the Impala in for an Astin Martin?"

Dean looked over, horrified and tucked the gun back in his pocket. "Shut your mouth! Bond may have great taste in firearms and women, Sammy, but his taste in cars sucks. That little Italian piece of trash." He looked fondly at the Impala.

"It's just a car." Sam groaned, as he always did, more for Dean's reaction than anything else.

"It's a slut. Those things have no sense of moral fortitude. Not like my baby." Dean went around to the driver's side of the sleek black Impala and caressed a hand across the hood. "Don't listen to him, baby. He doesn't mean it."

Sam gave in and laughed. "Dude, you have issues." He grinned but gave the car a fond look as he folded himself into the passenger seat. It had been the only thing he'd had to hold on to while Dean was in Purgatory; his only piece of his brother and home, and he wouldn't trade her in for anything any more than Dean would.

Dean chuckled, enjoying the old argument, even though he knew exactly how Sam really felt, and pulled away from the crime scene, heading down the street and back to their hotel without ever seeing the dark cloaked figure in the trees; watching.

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To Be Continued…