Hello again. Thanks for all the feedback! :D

So, funny story for you—it applies!—one of my recent side jobs is scaring guests at Phantom Fright Nights in Kennywood Park. Get this for irony, the hiring people put me in the Voodoo Bayou haunt…which is zombies, cannibals, and other stuff (sound familiar?)…and cast me as the voodoo priestess. Since I've been writing this story for a few months before getting the job, I think it's pretty funny that I was assigned that part. (I've been researching voodoo rituals and priests and zombies like no one's business for the story and now I have to act it out. Haha.) Soooo if you're down in Pittsburgh Friday or Saturday nights this month, stop in and say hi. :)

Back to the story. Enjoy!

As he drove a good twenty miles over the speed limit toward civilization and a hospital capable of miracles, Chris racked his brain for a plausible back story to why the hell he had a car full of half-dead guys with bite marks, bullet holes, and stab wounds.

"You see, there was this voodoo priest…" Annnnnd stop. Voodoo Priest? No. No no, no. That wasn't going to work.

"You see, there was this madman, right, and he had all these people caged up…" Wait. Can't mention other people, that would raise a million other questions about where they were and what happened to them. Damn it. No other people.

"He had Dean in a cage, and he was turning him into a zombie…" A zombie? Oh yeah, cause that won't raise any eyebrows or get him sent to the psycho ward. 'Oh no, help, the zombies are coming officer, and they tried to eat my friends.' Yeah, he was getting a straightjacket for sure.

"My brother, he's apparently psychic…something about visions…and he saw the vood—he saw the madman killing Sam, so I got there in time to stop him…" Probably shouldn't mention visions either. Or his brother's house fire. Or anything to do with him being psychic. Or anything to do with a cure for becoming a zombie—something already deemed unmentionable anyway—

Ah shit. There was blood all over the car too. And the windows were smashed.

How the hell was this going to work? How did anyone try to explain something like this?

SNSNSN

"I don't know who they are. I found them," Chris told the nurse as Sam, Dean, and Brandon were taken in through the hospital doors.

"Alright sir, that's alright," the nurse said, putting her arm out to stop him from going in after them, "They'll be taken care of. Just come with me."

"I don't know who they are," Chris said again, just for emphasis. "Never seen them before."

The nurse smiled sympathetically; she dragged him firmly over to a seat in the corner. "Sit down."

He sat.

SNSNSN

"I'm going to need you to fill this out."

Chris jolted up, broken from his thoughts. The nurse stood in front of him, a clipboard outstretched in her French manicured fingers. He glanced at the clock above her head. Ten minutes after twelve. He had been in there over two hours.

"How are they?" he asked nervously.

She smiled faintly, and in that smile he saw pity. "I'm afraid I can't say, not until families have been notified."

You've gotta be kidding me… "I brought them in," he protested.

"I know, sir, but you're not related. There's certain protocol."

"Can I at least know if they're alive?" he growled.

Her fake smile slid a bit further from her face. "We need to notify the families."

I'm his brother, damn it! I am the family! He gritted his teeth, swallowed the words back. "Why haven't you done that yet?" he said instead.

"None of them have identification," she said, still holding the clipboard toward him, "Hopefully you can help with that."

Chris didn't move.

"By answering some questions. On this form," she prodded, the clipboard practically poking into his chest.

Scowling, Chris snatched the form from her hands. "Fine," he said, "I'll fill your little form out. But I want to know soon."

"Of course, as soon as we know who they are," she said, watching him struggle to get the pen to write. "An officer is coming to speak with you shortly. About what happened."

"I found them," Chris said flatly, finally getting the crap pen to work. He looked at the first question. It asked for his name. Wonderful.

"It's just a formality," she said, "Then you're free to go."

That would be great if I wanted to go. "Oh," he said, "Good."

SNSNSN

Sam woke to the sound of fists slamming against the door to his room.

It wasn't the best way to wake up after running from zombies for the past week. In his hazy drug induced state, his hunter mindset fought to gain the upper-hand. After several attempts at opening his eyes he managed to squint through his lashes toward blurs of color. The pounding got louder, undercut by shouting.

Lots of shouting.

Finally, the door clicked open so silently that it would have been unnoticeable if Sam hadn't been listening for it. A dark blur poked out around the doorframe and paused. Sam tried to open his eyes wider and get a clearer look. It wasn't happening.

"Well hello," the doctor said, seeing his lids flutter. She walked on soft steps into the room and picked up his chart. "I apologize for all that. Just an older patient from the psychiatric ward…we're having a bit of trouble keeping him restrained. He's set to ship off to another facility later this week though. You've nothing to worry about."

Her words passed through Sam's ears and whistled out the other side of his head before he could quite get a grasp on what she was saying. It sounded like she was in a tunnel.

Where was his brother? Dean had to be here somewhere; she had to know where he was. He swallowed hard. "W-where…" his voice cracked. His eyes started to slide shut again, and her hand was on his arm in a moment.

"Hang on now. What's your name?"

Sam groaned and tried to wake himself up. His mind screamed for sleep; probably a side effect of the drugs they had leaking into his system. He didn't know who she was or what was happening, but he just wanted to know where his brother was—

"I just need to know your name, and you can rest. Just your name. Can you say it?"

It was too much. Sam's eyes drifted shut.

SNSNSN

"So you found them?" the officer said, glancing over the paperwork Chris had filled out.

Chris shrugged. "Yes?"

"While you were out for a walk."

"Yes. Out walking. That's what I am, a walker."

The cop clicked his teeth together. He flipped idly through the paperwork Chris had filled out, then peered back at him. "Listen kid. Are you sure that's what happened?"

Chris tried not to grin helplessly. "Yup. That's it."

"Nothing else you want to add?"

"No."

The man exhaled and put the forms back into a manila folder. "Fine. Can I see some identification?"

"I would be glad to give you some identification, officer," Chris said brightly, trying to stop his legs from twitching under the table, "But unfortunately since I was out for a run when I found them, I don't have my license on me."

The cop's lips twitched. "You run in jeans?"

"It stretches the fabric out," Chris said.

"You smell like smoke."

"I had a campfire last night with…uh…with my Boy Scout troop. I'm a Troop Leader, god bless those little rascals," Chris said desperately, "We were singing campfire songs, like that one where the ants are all marching somewhere and…and…other campfire songs, like…um…that one that's like 'party rock is in the house tonight, everybody just have a good time.'"

"I see," the officer deadpanned.

"Yeah. We were shuffling all over the woods. Then we roasted some marshmallows and went to bed. I was planning on showering after I got back from my run, but, well, finding those guys put an end to that."

"Right," the man said, making another note on the form. He paused. "One more thing. You wrote that your name is Chris."

"Yeah, that's right."

With seemingly infinite patience, the cop raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a last name?"

"Of course I do," Chris laughed, a bit too loudly, "Why wouldn't I have a last name? That would be silly."

"What is it?"

"Oh. Well, it's Chris…Martin. Chris Martin. That's me."

"Okay. And what do you do for a living, Mr. Martin?"

"I…write music. About scientists…and waterfalls."

SNSNSN

When Sam woke again, it was black outside. A few florescent lights shone through from the hallway past the glass strip in his door. Shadows draped across the floor.

'Annnnd it's time for another episode of 'waking up confused in hospitals,' starring the one and only Sam Winchester!' he thought bitterly. Great. Just…just great. Pulling the oxygen away from his face, he picked his brain for details. Dimly he remembered something about loud noises, and a woman asking for his name…

Everything pinged back in a flash; the zombies, killing Nick, and…

Dean.

Where was his brother? Senses heightened by worry, Sam looked around in the dark. He was alone. There was a second bed, but of course it was unoccupied. He could count on one hand the times he actually knew where Dean was at a time like this.

Sam gingerly tugged an IV from his arm. Two shadows slanted past his room, coupled with voices out in the hall. As they dimmed, he pulled the clip off his finger, wincing as the long flatline drone sounded. Trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the dull throbbing in his chest—they must have put him on some awesome drugs—Sam used his good hand to unplug the machine. Surrounded by silence once more, he slung his legs over the side of the cot and stood.

A nurse took that moment to stroll into the space. She stopped dead at the sight of Sam wobbling on jelly legs. "Oh," she said quickly, marching to him in a second, "Sir, no. You need to sit back down—"

"Where's my brother?" Sam demanded, frustrated by how little it had taken for her to push him back down onto the bed.

"Your brother?" the nurse said, pressing her hands down on his shoulders so he couldn't get up again, "Your brother is here?"

"Yeah," Sam said, mind racing to catch up. She didn't seem to know anything, so that meant Chris hadn't told them squat. Good. "He was with me when, when…" No, if Chris hadn't told her what happened, he wasn't going to either. Sam let himself trail off, then fixed her with his best helpless gaze, "I don't remember. What happened? I can't…I can't…"

"That's alright," the nurse said soothingly, pressing a call button on the wall, "It's going to be fine. What's your name?"

"Sam."

"Last name?"

Who do I want to be today? "Romero," he said in a rush, then grabbed her wrist as she started writing it down, "Where's Dean? Is he okay?"

"His name's Dean?"

Tell me she's just being obnoxious and isn't stalling for time. "Yeah, yeah, Dean—is he alright?"

"Well Sam, two men were brought in with you yesterday. Do you remember that? Two men."

Oh for the love of god… "Yes, I think so."

"What was the other man's name?"

"Look, I just want to know how my brother is doing, okay? Can you just tell me that?"

"I'm not sure which man is your brother. Can you help me work it out? I mean…what injuries did he have?"

Sam squeezed his mouth shut. Can't kill her. Can't kill her. "I just told you I don't remember what happened! How would I know what injuries he has?"

"Okay. Okay, that's okay," she said, pressing the call button again. She looked out the door, anxiously waiting for help to arrive. "Look, I'm just an intern. I summoned your doctor, she should be here shortly—"

"Can you at least tell me if they're alive?" Sam asked, trying to simplify his questions, "Both of them?"

"Um…"

Sam's heart dropped. "Um?" he demanded, voice rising, "'Um?' What do you mean 'um?'"

"Oh, no, they're alive," the girl said quickly, amending her mistake. "They're alive. Now just lie back down, you're in pretty bad shape—"

"Can I see them?"

"Not right now, you shouldn't even be up," she said, trying to push him back into a lying position. It wasn't working. "Your doctor is—"

"I don't care who's coming, I want to know from you," Sam said, agitated. He accidently clenched his bad hand and winced as pain shot through his arm. "How are they?"

"Well…" she said, playing nervously with the ring on her left hand, "Last I checked, about…ten minutes ago, the first is doing alright. He hasn't woken up yet, but his injuries are stable. We won't know for sure until he wakes, though."

"And the second?" Sam said, already dreading the answer.

Her lips formed a tight smile, sympathetic. "The second…he's in a coma."

Please review! Thanks for reading.