Hey everyone! Thanks for all the input, suggestions, and encouragement. I appreciate all of it! Also, a few of you have noted that Dean should potentially be stalking around eating everyone by now due to his bite and how long he's had it. I agree that this could be true but after a lot of consideration of both older and newer movies I planned on making Dean's zombie progression a slow process, mainly because it would be boring if Dean was off in lala land for most of the fic while Sam ran around talking to himself and pouring his angst to the world. Also, I want them to be able to find a cure so this won't have to end up a death fic. Because I am going to cure Dean, right? Eh, you'll just have to wait and see. :P

Sam stood with his brother beside the creek. They were several miles from the Impala, and the pitch black woods were soundless except for the rustle of leaves overhead and water rushing over the rocks below. Sam shook his head. "This is stupid," he said, "I feel completely unprepared for this."

"That's cause we are completely unprepared," Dean said kneeling to shine his flashlight over the mud to look for prints.

"You're a bright ray of sunshine, you know that?"

"But I'm your bright ray of sunshine, princess," Dean said, smirking. "There are a few tracks of footprints here."

"Hunters or zombies?"

"Not a clue," Dean said, standing back up and into Sam's flashlight beam. "Can't tell."

Sam hesitated. Dean was shivering, no, shaking like a leaf. To Sam, who was perfectly comfortable in the 75 degree night air, this wasn't a good omen. "Dean…"

Sighing, Dean turned, anticipating the argument. "Sam?"

"Nothing," he said unconvincingly, not wanting to begin another pointless 'I'm fine' battle of wills. He pushed on with why they had actually come. The sooner they finished, the sooner he could figure out how to fix his brother. Because it damn well had to be possible. "So…what? We just pick a set of footprints and track them, hoping to find a zombie? That's a terrible idea."

"Not as terrible as my actual idea," Dean said, smiling grimly.

"I thought this was your actual idea."

"No. It would take forever to track down all these things individually."

Sam looked at him blankly. "I'm not following."

Dean slung his pack off his good shoulder and rifled through it a bit before pulling out a stereo.

"No," Sam said flatly. "Absolutely not."

Dean winced. "We don't have—"

"Dude, have you completely lost your mind? We have no idea how many of those things are out here, we don't want to call them to us!"

"Sam," Dean said calmly, putting the stereo down, "We don't—"

"Did you see this in a movie? I swear I'm banning you from watching tv from now on."

"We—"

"And you're injured! We should just take them all down one by one, it's safer—"

"Damn it Sam, we don't have time!" Dean shouted out in one breath.

Sam's mouth snapped shut.

Dean groaned and leaned against the trunk of an oak tree. "Sam," he said carefully, "I'm infected, okay? We both know what that means for me."

"Shut-up," Sam snapped, shaking his head, "Don't….just shut-up."

Dean exhailed slowly. "We don't…I don't have time to track them one by one. Face it, Sam, I'm a time bomb."

"You can't—" Sam's expression changed. He shoved his brother to the ground.

Caught off guard, Dean hit the dirt hard, one hand splashing into the shallow bed of the creek. His flashlight tumbled into the water and caught on a jagged rock. He looked up in time to see Sam go down under a man's flailing limbs. "Sam!" he shouted, and moved to get up.

A growl resounded close to his ear. He turned and found himself eye to eye with a young woman. Her hair was matted around her face, her teeth bared. Without thinking, Dean smashed his elbow across her temple and kicked out, trying to knock her away so he could climb to his feet. Undeterred, she reached for him, her mouth opening and shutting with wordless babble.

Dean grabbed a rock and slammed it into her face. It connected with her mouth with a crunch, and he pulled it back for a second strike, noting in dim light how her teeth were hanging from her gums like charms on a bracelet. She shrieked, fingernails raking his body. He brought the rock down on her again, knocking her to the side for a moment and giving himself enough time to pull out his pistol. She lunged for him again. He put the barrel of the gun to her forehead and pulled the trigger.

The BANG resounded through the trees. She fell limply into his lap, her colorless eyes unfocused. He looked up for his brother. Sam stood a few meters away, blood smeared on his coat and dripping from a knife in his hand. A body lay at his feet, motionless.

"You okay?" Dean said.

Sam nodded and sheathed the knife as he spurted to his brother and gave him a hand up. "It's his blood, not mine. We should move, that gunshot probably attracted more of them."

Dean wobbled on his feet for a moment before finding equilibrium. "Yeah," he said, stooping to fish his flashlight out of the stream, "Guns."

Sam grunted and unzipped the gun-bag. He pulled out a shotgun and tossed it to Dean, pulling out a second for himself along with some additional shells. "See any?"

"No," Dean said shortly, scanning between the trees.

Sam heard a twig snap and jerked his gun up. Nothing. "They could be anywhere," he said apprehensively, his back against Dean's.

"Yeah, but at least they aren't invisible like ghosts," he said, "Should be simple to spot and kill."

"Unless we run out of ammo."

"You're a real buzz kill, bro."

Eyes glinted through the leaves. Sam shone his flashlight in them. Colorless, wild. He fired. The man dropped like a stone, a bullet through the brain.

"How many people died recently, again?" Sam asked, trying to figure out how many zombies might be coming.

Silence.

"Dean?" Sam said. He heard a snarl behind him and turned in time to see an old woman lunging toward his brother from the side, her nightgown flapping around her legs. He fired and caught her in the shoulder, whipping her around. She screamed, spittle flying. He fired again and she dropped. "Dean!" Sam said quickly, rounding on his brother. Dean's eyes were unfocused, his fingers clenched tightly around his gun. Sam grabbed his arm, hoping for a reaction. His skin was clammy and hot to the touch, quivering.

He didn't respond.

Leaves crackled. Sam whirled, fired over Dean's shoulder. The man collapsed, his shattered glasses landing a few feet from his body. "Dean," Sam said frantically, shaking his brother with one hand. "You in there?"

A snarl. Sam saw a woman lunge for him out of the corner of his eye. He turned and fired, catching her in the chest. She fell backward, breaths streaming from her lips in difficult gasps. One arm lifted, reaching for Dean's leg.

Just as Sam aimed and pulled the trigger a hand grabbed his shirt and pulled. His shot went wild and hit her arm instead, slicing through tissue and muscle and shattering the bone.

Sam heard her howl and he went down, pulled by something his couldn't see. His shotgun fell from his hands and landed a few meters away, out of reach. "Dean!" he yelled, pushing up against the body that was trying to get a chunk out of his neck. His brother still stood motionless, his gun nestled against his shoulder as though ready to fire.

Sam switched his focus off Dean and pushed up with one hand, trying to get out his knife and keep the man from biting him at the same time. He felt something grab his leg and he kicked out, knocking the woman he had already shot twice away momentarily. Her arm dangled by a thread from the elbow down.

Slobber dribbled onto his face from the man above him. Sam grunted, trying to keep him from closing the distance between them. The pointer finger of his right hand touched the hilt of his knife. Fingers latched onto his leg again as the woman climbed her way up to him. He kicked hard, knocking her off again and managing to offset the man above him enough to grab the knife.

Gripping the hilt, Sam brought the blade down into the man's skull. He fell against his neck, dead. Sam pushed out, knocking his body into the other woman. She stumbled back, reaching for him with the stump of an arm, growling, her blond hair illuminated in the moonlight. He stood and walked over to his shotgun. Aimed.

Her colorless eyes locked on his, and Sam faltered. She breathed out again, blood bubbling from between her gaping lips as she tried to get to him. To kill him. "I'm so sorry," he said, and fired. She fell back into the running water of the creek and didn't move.

Sam took a breath and looked around, scanning the area. Nothing. He stood there for a moment more, waiting, and then hurried over to his brother. His brother who still hadn't moved. "Dean," he said urgently, slapping him lightly on the cheek. "Come on, man, give me something here."

When his brother didn't respond he wrapped his hands around Dean's shotgun and tugged. He gritted his teeth when Dean's hold on the weapon didn't lessen and, pulling harder, he managed to wrench the shotgun away from his brother. Dean didn't lower his hands so Sam pushed them down to his sides.

A twig snapped. Sam whirled, his gun up.

A squirrel crouched a few feet away under a pine tree, nibbling on an acorn. Sam resisted the urge to shoot the thing out of frustration and turned back to his brother. "Dean, please," he said, shaking his shoulders hard. He looked into his eyes, dismayed to see his brother's green eyes distant and glazed over.

Dean wasn't home.

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