Here's the next installment. Remember that I'm not a doctor (shocking, I know), so I apologize if I've messed up any medical terminology or anything. On to the zombies!

After seven long hours of waiting (ridden with moments in which Dean amused himself by using syringes as throwing darts, complained about the lack of hot female doctors, and annoyed Sam to no end by asking him repeatedly if it was time to leave yet) Sam announced that yes, damn it, it was time to leave the torturous closet from hell, and silently swore to himself that if something like this ever happened again he would knock Dean out with a sledgehammer before shutting him up in the closet.

The hallways were mostly clear; there were a few nurses ambling about, but they weren't expecting any trouble and were blind to the brothers' stealthy advances up to the third floor.

The door to Jason's room was open when they arrived, and Dean edged it closed as silently as he could behind them. The heart monitor beeped away, proving that the young man on the bed was still alive. Sam peered down at him, frowning at the thick wad of gauze wrapped around his throat. "It's going to be difficult to get a look at that bite," he said softly.

Dean glanced over Sam's shoulder. "Yeah," he agreed, "If we jostle him at all he's likely to relapse. And from the look of it he's not breathing on his own, so we can't remove the breathing tube. Procedure's gonna be a blast."

Sam checked the monitor. "Vitals are…"

"Shitty," Dean finished. "Even I know that's not what that beeping line's supposed to look like, and I'm nowhere near as geeky as you."

Sam ignored his brother's failure at medical terminology and moved to check the chart at the end of the bed.

"Don't bother," Dean said, "I've seen enough dying people to recognize the signs when I see them. He doesn't have long."

"No," Sam said, brow furrowing deeper.

Dean's gaze softened, "Sammy…he's a goner. He was doomed the moment that guy ripped his throat out. You weren't there, you couldn't have—"

"No," Sam repeated, shaking his head at Dean, "That's not what I meant," he paused, looking down at Jason, "He's not dying."

"He's not?" Dean said, raising an eyebrow.

"No, he's already dead," Sam finished, "The machines are breathing for him and keeping his heart pumping, and according to the chart there's no brain activity at all. The guy's a vegetable."

"Can't be. They would've told the family already."

Sam shrugged. "The high-ups are probably scared that if he dies now the family will sue them for accidently declaring him dead and wasting time they could have used to save him."

"Well, that's a battle we're not going to wait around to see," Dean said dismissively, "Let's take a look at his bite and split."

"Sounds good," Sam said, turning back to the bed. He froze.

Dean saw his brother's shoulders tense and stepped up beside him. "What—"

"Eyes," Sam hissed, "Look."

Jason's lids were slowly cracking open, his lashes twitching gently.

"Holy shit…" Dean muttered.

"That…should not be happening," Sam said. He swept up the chart and feverously looked it over again.

"Thought you said he was dead."

"He is," Sam said.

"No Sam," Dean whispered, glancing at the door, "I'm pretty sure he's not."

"Dean, I swear to you this guy is dead."

"Then what do you call that?" Dean asked, pointing to the corner of the monitor, "That's brain activity, right?"

Sam looked. The square that had previously been empty was now exploding with activity. "That's not supposed to look like that," he said, stepping to the other side of the bed to get a closer look.

"Okay, what should it look like?"

Too baffled by the present situation to try explaining medical practice to Dean, Sam decided on a different approach. He reached over, took the sensor clip off Jason's finger, and clasped it to his own. The beeping flat lined for a moment in the transition and then picked up on Sam's heartbeat.

Dean stepped over to Sam, watching the monitor. "Oh," he said, "That's a big difference."

"Yeah."

In unison, they looked over at Jason and found him staring straight back at them with wide eyes. His irises were colorless and glazed over, and as they stared his hands shakily tried to grab onto the breathing tube.

"Sir…don't do that," Sam said, grabbing one of Jason's arms and returning it to his side. A long muted snarl came from the man's lips, and he swatted at Sam.

Dean grabbed Sam's arm and yanked him back. "Don't."

Sam shrugged out of Dean's hold but stayed put beside his older brother, watching as the man gave up on the breathing tube and—

Sat up.

"O-kay," Dean said after a moment, "You're the walking encyclopedia, Sam. What's happening?"

Jason snarled at them through the breathing tube and jerkily climbed off the bed. The movement detached most of the wires and machines from his body, and he tugged his arm hard as he took a wobbly step, ripping the remaining IV's out of his skin.

"He's dead," Sam said, pulling his pistol out of his waistband and holding it uncertainly.

"He's walking," Dean responded, copying Sam's actions as Jason took another step closer.

"Yeah, well, he's walking and he's dead," Sam said, "That's all I got."

Dean laughed. "Come on, the only thing I've ever heard of that walks around in its body after its dead is a zombie."

"So it's a zombie, then," Sam said, keeping his gun trained on Jason.

"That can't be right," Dean began skeptically, but stopped when he heard a cracking, sucking noise. He glanced at Jason just in time to watch him tear the breathing tube out of his already destroyed throat and toss the bloody device onto the floor a few feet in front of them. He took in a deep, gasping, strained breath. His lips moved soundlessly, echoing the madness shining in his dead eyes.

"Damn," Sam muttered.

"Yeah, Sam," Dean said, clutching his gun tighter, "He's a zombie alright."

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