Thanks for all the comments! Here's part two of the fight, and you'll be happy to know that it does not have a cliffhanger ending. Well, not really. ;)

Nick winked at him and looked pointedly over Sam's shoulder.

Sam faltered, suddenly anxious. Now that Nick's laughter was subsiding, he could hear something.

Someone was running toward them.

"Goodbye," Nick said.

Sam swore. He dropped his hold on Nick and spun around, just in time for the first zombie to slam into him.

He fell back onto the dirt, smacking his head off a root sticking out of the ground as the girl screamed in his ear. Her breath was hot against his neck, peppered with flecks of spit. His vision fizzled a bit at the impact. He pulled back reflexively, hands snaking around her throat even as she snapped her teeth.

"Tough luck," Nick said.

Sam grunted, straining his muscles to keep her off. His rifle was lying six feet away in a heap of leaves. Well shit. Nick cheated.

The bastard was gonna burn.

Sam kicked out, catching Little Miss Dead in the stomach and sending her tumbling aside. Thinking fast, he snatched up a fistful of dirt and threw it into her face. She howled and squeezed her eyes tight. Momentarily unhindered, Sam vaulted to his feet and turned in the direction of his gun—

Squelch

Sam flinched back.

Nick stood before him, shoulders back, arm still extended from the thrust. He released his weapon and boldly rested his fingers on Sam's shirt, giving him a little pat just below where the blood had started to flow. "I'm afraid it's not what we agreed upon, but…" he shrugged, retracting his arm.

Sam drew in a breath, staring at the switchblade lodged in his chest. A knife. Really? For god's sake, really? The bastard really thought a little toothpick was going to stop him?

"What?" Nick said, misinterpreting Sam's expression, "Giving up?—"

Sam spun, reacting to a noise behind him, and kicked out blindly. He connected with the dead girl; hit her right below the kneecaps. There was a snap and she toppled. Eyes narrowing, he turned back to Nick, stepped toward him menacingly.

"Ohhhh-kay," Nick said, "I plead insanity. Ha! Is it too late to plead insanity? Oh, and I want a lawyer, a great fat lawyer with thick glasses and a Donald Trump comb over. And perhaps a shot of tequila?"

Sam shut him up with a look. He shrugged his shoulders a bit, testing the wound. It was bleeding, but he could breathe fine and the world wasn't going dark, so things were still alright. "Do I look like a pincushion to you?"

"Well yeah," Nick said, creeping away, "You are a puddle of Swiss cheese, kiddo…shot and stabbed and scratched…go ahead and pull the knife out, it must hurt like a bitch."

Sam expression hardened. "Do I look like a stupid pincushion to you? Do you even know how many times I've been stabbed?"

"Hang on, damn it, hang on, I know this, saw it on Double Jeopardy," Nick said as he pulled out a second knife. The blade was long and curved, held with a shiny silver handle. "Twelve times? Am I right or am I right? Warm? Cold? Come on pretty boy, you have to give me something here. Hint it up," he said, and swung the blade forward.

Sam caught his arm and bent it back.

"Ah—"

Sam kept his grip, twisting the limb to the point of a break. The knife blade wavered, held tight in Nick's grasp. Sam twisted it further, but before the bone snapped he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

A man stepped out into view. He had half a face. The other side was missing, revealing a rotting jaw of teeth and a weathered cheek bone.

Sam watched the newest obstacle advance with distain. "We really gonna do this again?"

Nick shrugged, "You'll die eventually. Like Dean. I killed hiiiiiiim—shiiit shit shit okay, okay! Stop! You're gonna break it—"

"Call him off!" he growled, wrenching Nick's arm until the other man gasped.

Nick panted, tears springing up from the pain. He grinned, "His name's Walter."

"Call off Walter, then."

He's my Spartan warrior," Nick choked out, "Can ya guess why?"

Sam could guess. The dead man had to have been a professional body builder; he had muscles that looked like they had been carved out of marble. They gleamed. His veins bulged. "Call him off."

"No."

"I'm not asking again."

"No."

"I'll break your arm."

"Yeah? Well, Walter will fold you into origami."

The man had picked up speed in his approach. Now, mere yards away, he was a running terror, silent on his feet. Sam tossed Nick to the ground. He turned, dove for his gun.

Walter landed on top of him, pinning him down. He grunted, turned—

A bloody knife plunged right at his face.

SNSNSN

"I'm telling you, Nick stabbed Sam through the hand and the zombies chowed down," Brandon said impatiently. "We have to go!"

"But it wasn't real," Chris protested, blocking his brother's way out of the basement, "That didn't happen. It didn't. You look like you're going to fall, so why don't you sit."

"There's no time!"

"Sam will be back—"

"He won't!" Brandon screamed, shoving Chris hard.

Chris fell back against the stairs, smacking his head off the banister. He winced at the impact, and he stayed down. "The hell, Brandon," he muttered. He breathed out, his fingers automatically probing his scalp for blood. There wasn't any, but it continued throbbing.

Brandon saw the look in his eyes and forced himself to calm down. Turning, he sank down on the step beside his brother. He averted his gaze. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. Are you…okay?"

"Me? Oh, I'm great. I love headaches."

Brandon laughed, humorless. He stood back up. "I have to go."

"Sit down," Chris snapped, grabbing a fistful of his brother's jeans and tugging him back down beside him. Brandon sat, but he looked ready to bolt out of there at any moment.

"You don't understand, Chris. You don't understand."

"So talk to me."

"It's not that simple. I mean…you don't know me half as well as you think you do; you don't know the things I do when you're not around, when you're at work in the hospital. I hunt things, Chris. I hunt ghosts and I hunt demons, and I have vivid visions of people dying and I rescue them. I have a variety of guns and ammunition stashed in a loose floorboard in my bedroom. I haven't used most of them, but it's comforting to me that I own them. Once, hell, last summer, I burned down an old house with a possessed man still inside. I didn't want to, but he made me promise I wouldn't let the demon use him anymore."

Chris shook his head, as though trying to shake the words back out of his ears. "No. This…this can't be you. I would have noticed."

"Guess I got lucky…" Brandon said, "You're the smartest guy I know, Chris. Really. But…as a doctor, you work long shifts, sporadic hours. It's easy to do what I do without you noticing something's up, even if I did bring some people of the most beat up victims to you for help. Your job is demanding."

"So the guy, the one with the metal spike through his chest, the one you 'found' while running…?"

"Shrapnel. The metal was shrapnel. It got lodged in his chest when the shed exploded."

"The shed…exploded?"

"Yeah. Ghost was ticked."

"And…and the burned girl, the one with—"

"I have to go find Sam, Chris," Brandon interrupted, "Nick's gonna kill him, and if that happens…Dean's probably going to kill me when he wakes up."

"But you look like shit."

"Really? Cause I feel…fantastic," Brandon said bitterly, using the rail to stand. "I need a gun."

"I'm not letting you out of here."

Brandon looked around the room until his gaze landed on his shotgun. He walked to it, aware that he was still shaking, and bent to retrieve it. A hot pain shot through his chest, and he dropped to a knee.

Chris was beside him in a second, his fingers tight around his shoulder. "Breathe."

"Right, yeah, breathing," Brandon said, feeling nauseous even as his fingers wrapped on the gun, "I'm on it. I'm fine. Just gimme a sec, and then I'll go."

Chris pursed his lips. "No."

"Chris—"

"I'll go," Chris said, brushing his comment aside, "I'll kill Nick."

That was exactly what Brandon didn't want. "No! No, don't you kill him, I don't want that hanging over you."

Chris snapped up the gun. "Look Rambo, you're…shot. You're zombifying as we speak. You're in no position to go."

"Zombifying?"

"Yeah."

"That can't be a word. I'm coming with you."

"Someone should watch Dean…make sure he's okay."

Brandon grabbed at his brother as Chris stood. "You're not going."

Chris flipped him a double thumbs up, already backing toward the stairs. "Oh, I'm going," he said, "So, find Sam, kill Nick…and some zombies. Other requests?"

Seeing that Chris wasn't backing down—and that he wasn't even up to standing, let alone following him—Brandon gave in. "Chris, please—let Sam kill Nick," he said.

Chris didn't acknowledge the comment. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Don't die."

"Pffft, I'm not dying," Chris said, heading up the stairs, "Finally paid off my college loans. I've got my soul back from the tuition bloodsuckers and everything." He smiled at him one last time and was gone.

Brandon slumped back on the floor. "Ten minutes!" he shouted as an afterthought, "Or I'm coming after you."

Chris didn't answer.

SNSNSN

Sam felt the knife slice through his palm with a burst of pressure. He didn't give himself time to register the wound before he kicked out, knocking Nick aside.

The gun was too far away, and Walter was still on top of him. The Spartan wasn't moving; he seemed to be waiting for orders. Desperate, Sam tried to half drag himself to the weapon, knowing that if he only could get a hold of it he might have a chance. It was like giving a boulder a piggyback ride. Certainly it didn't help that his hand still had a knife embedded in it, either.

There was more growling now. Perfect. Another zombie grabbed his ankle—

"Kill him!" Nick screamed, "Killhimkillhimkillhim!"

Walter's fingers twisted into the back of his shirt and dug into his skin, trying to push him down into the dirt as he opened his mouth-

BANG

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, assuming the shot had been for him. His lashes brushed against dirt and he breathed in the scent of pine and wet leaves, waiting. But…why would Nick shoot him now—when he was about to be eaten—

Nick roared with anger.

That was encouraging. Walter dropped lifelessly onto his body, pinning him to the ground, which was equally as encouraging, albeit a tad suffocating. Sam tried to tilt his head to the side, simultaneously kicking out at the zombie still scratching at his ankle.

A second shot rang out, and the movement stilled.

"You!" Nick said, crunching leaves underneath his feet as he stepped forward, "You can't be here."

"Don't move! Don't. Move. I swear I'll pull this trigger right now," Chris said, his voice betraying him with a slight waver.

Sam gritted his teeth. Damn. He couldn't let Chris shoot Nick…it was one thing to kill some zombies. Zombies were already dead. Nick was alive and breathing, and the first kill was always the worst when it came to haunting you with guilt. He pushed harder against the Spartan's massive bulk, managing to shift the body enough to allow him to twist half his torso out from underneath. His wounded hand was an annoying hindrance; he couldn't do anything with it without twisting the knife blade, and it was slowing him down. His eyes fell on a gaping hole in the back of Walter's head. Blood dripped steadily, mixing with mud and pine needles. Sam breathed in sharply—he had an idea. He worked faster to get free, careful to stay quiet.

Chris hadn't even lowered his gun since firing the first shot. His finger clutched the trigger like it was all that was holding him to the spot. "You killed all those people."

"Yeah. It was fun."

"You tried to kill Brandon."

"Still might succeed in that, too," Nick said, smiling, "Is it working?"

"Is what working?"

"Convincing yourself it's okay to shoot a helpless old man. I don't even have a gun. Dear me I must be getting senile in my advancing years; I'm not to blame for my actions."

Chris scowled. "You don't even look fifty."

"Think of my children."

"You don't have children."

"How would you know that? I do, actually; I have a girl, her name's Molly. She lives in San Francisco, married now, three kids."

"Shut-up!"

"Please…don't shoot me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to go this far, I didn't mean for so many people to die. I want to see my grandchildren again," he said. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he stepped toward Chris.

"Hey! Stop it, I didn't say you could move."

Nick ignored him, another tear following the first. "I'm so sorry."

Chris felt his back press against a tree. Trapped, he raised his gun so that the barrel rested on Nick's forehead. Nick had another knife; he could see it glistening in his good hand. "Put that down."

"Don't shoot me, I'm begging you."

A third shot pierced the air.

Chris flinched back at the sharp noise, nearly dropping his gun.

Nick fell to his knees.

Chris stared, horrified, "I—I didn't—"

"I did," Sam said darkly, kneeling on the ground a few yards away with the shotgun.

Nick screamed through clenched teeth, clutching the ruins of his hand. The knife lay beside him in the dirt, useless now.

"You okay?" Sam asked, striding to Chris.

Chris nodded. "Yeah, I'm…yeah."

"You fucking bastard!" Nick screeched, "You piece of shit!"

Sam frowned. He nudged him with his boot, sending him falling onto his back where he breathed in loud gasps. "You're fine."

"My…hand!"

"That's the least of your worries."

Nick laughed, in disbelief, "What? You're not…killing me? After all that talk—"

"I've already killed you," Sam said.

Chris looked at him strangely.

"Nah," Nick ground out, "This isn't hell."

"You're infected."

Silence. Nick looked almost…fearful. "What?"

Sam towered over him, impassive. "I laced that shot with Walter's blood," he said, "You're infected, Nick."

Nick glanced at the ruin of his hand, at the blood still dripping. "No."

Sam slammed the butt of his gun into Nick's skull, knocking him out.

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