"I'm back," Chris announced wryly, striding into Sam's room and tossing the Ouija board onto the bed, "How are you doing? Good? That's lovely. I'd like to point out that you owe me twenty bucks for this piece of shit. If it doesn't work, I'm upping the compensation to thirty."

"Hello to you, too," Sam said.

"So?" Chris continued, playing with his keys nervously, "Do we have to wait till midnight or something? Turn out all the lights and find some candles?"

Sam managed to not laugh. "Yeah that's right. Except we also need to find some sort of animal to sacrifice. You know, so the spirits will be pleased."

Chris coughed. "Er…" he said, paused. "What?"

"No man, we're good," Sam said, smiling, "We can do it now. Just shut the door so the help is less likely to barge in on us."

Chris stood there for a moment. "That's not funny," he said, "Just a few hours ago you told me to believe everything you said."

"Yeah, I did. And look how well you're doing with that so far," Sam said. He picked the box up and found that it had been helpfully child proofed by the production company, wrapped with layers of plastic and held in place by sticky film that glued down every seam. He put the box back on the bed. "Chris?"

"For the record, I'd like to say that I will not sacrifice a sheep in here for you," Chris said, folding his arms.

"Actually, I was just going to ask if you'd open the packaging," he said, holding up his bandaged hand.

Chris made a face. He swiped the box off the bed and began picking at one of the corners. "So, how's Dean?"

"Awake," Sam answered, watching him struggle, "I got him to wake up. There was a storm of activity in the hallway awhile back, so I figure the staff is pumping him full of meds and painkillers. The doctor came in ten minutes ago…said he was doing 'fine.'"

"That's vague," Chris grumbled, managing to pick a sliver of plastic off the edge.

"I was just glad she didn't rush in and give me a sedative. I'll check on him tonight…when the halls are mostly vacant."

"Right," he said, not really paying attention, "Look, do you have a knife or something? This is ridiculous."

"This is a hospital."

"Yeah. Like that'd stop you. Do you have a gun?" Chris ranted, and then stopped talking as the edge finally gave way. He peeled the wrapping off and tossed it to the floor. "Finally," he said, laying the plastic board on the bed. He sat across from Sam. "What now?"

"Put a couple fingers on the pointer," Sam said, demonstrating with his good hand.

Chris put two fingers on the piece, paused, and withdrew them. "This is dumb," he said, "This won't work."

"It should…" Sam said, "There's a good chance, since Brandon's in a coma—"

"Yeah? How do you know it'll work?"

"I did it with Dean. When he was in a coma."

That got him interested. "You did? How did he wake up?"

Well…my Dad made a deal with a demon and went to Hell. "Oh, you know…he just did, eventually."

Chris looked at him sternly, then put his fingers back on the pointer. "So I ask a question?"

"Yeah."

Chris thought for a moment. "Is anyone there?" he asked.

Sam made a noise in his throat. "Don't say 'anyone,'" he said, reproachfully, "You need to be more—"

"What?" Chris interrupted, "Did I do something wrong—oh hey it's moving. Shit. Holy shit. Are you doing that?"

Sam looked at him. "Really? Do I look like a teenager? Are we having a slumber party?"

"Shhhhh! Don't talk. It went to yes. Does that mean he's here?"

Sam breathed in, trying to stay patient. "I don't know. Why don't you ask?"

"Are you here—"

"Ask if Brandon is here."

"Are you Brandon?" Chris amended, glaring at Sam. He hissed "You didn't say I had to be that specific."

"It was implied."

"Shut up, Sam—oh. Oh. It went to no."

"So it's not Brandon," Sam said, "You need to politely—"

"Get the hell out of here, ghost," Chris said loudly, "I want to talk to my brother."

Sam groaned. "Chris…"

"What? I'm doing this. Just let me work, I'll get it."

"For future reference, try not to piss off any evil spirits that might be here."

"Oh shut it, you're being paranoid, this hospital's in the middle of nowhere; that many people can't have died here."

Sam opened his mouth to say something.

"Shhhhhhh!" Chris said, and leaned in toward the board. "Brandon, if you can hear me, you better damn well say so. Now."

They paused, waiting. Nothing happened.

"Just give it time," Sam said, "He's probably weak."

More seconds ticked by, and then it moved. To yes.

Chris leaned back, barely managing not to take his hands off the piece. "Oh god," he said slowly, "So that means he…"

"I think so."

"That's good, right?" Chris asked, looking bleak, "But, I mean…this is for use with ghosts. If he's a ghost…that's bad, isn't it?"

SNSNSN

Brandon was feeling distressed. He was in a hospital (which in itself wasn't too bad but was, in fact, fantastic because that meant no zombies were around). He was upset because his body was hooked up to a bunch of tubes and weird looking thingies, and—most importantly—that he wasn't in it.

"So what do we do?" Chris was asking Sam, looking like he wanted to jump up and pace frantically around the room, "What should I ask him?"

Sam sat there. Calmly. "What do you want to ask him?" he said, relaxed, as though they were discussing what to eat for dinner.

Brandon made a note to slug him for it later. No one should be that calm. It should be illegal to be that calm.

Of course, Chris was on the whole other end of the spectrum. "I don't know!" he shouted.

Brandon moved closer so that he could've reached out and touched either of them. "You're kidding," he said, in disbelief as he watched his brother think, "You're going to ask me something? Me? I don't know what's going on."

"Should I ask him what's going on?" Chris suggested.

"Oh, come on!" Brandon shouted at him.

Sam shrugged. "No…he probably doesn't know."

"Thank you," Brandon told him (even though he knew they couldn't hear him). He chewed on his lip and tried to recall things he knew about Ouija boards.

He didn't know much.

His only experience stemmed from a two month fling with a girl back in high school. Her mother worked in childcare, her father was a preacher, and she wore black nail varnish and heavy makeup and held Wiccan gatherings in the woods behind her house. Her name was Christabelle, but she made her followers call her Queen Maleficent the Bloodthirsty. She ruled over her less-popular friends from school and had them participate in all kinds of rituals and spells she found online.

Their romance was doomed from the start, but her French kisses were divine, and she wore skirts that didn't cover much of anything. In the end Brandon figured a couple poorly executed spells (they could never find any of the proper ingredients to use) and frequent attempts to contact the spirit world (which mostly consisted of someone moving the pointer on the Ouija board so that it told them that they were all going to die) was worth it.

It was interesting to learn that Ouija boards actually could work. He briefly wondered if Queen Maleficent the Bloodthirsty had ever actually managed to contact a ghost.

He didn't really care.

Chris was still arguing with Sam about what to ask him. Brandon reached for the pointer and moved it. Damn, the thing felt like it weighed a ton. There was no way he was making a sentence, so he settled for a single word instead.

Chris stopped talking the second the piece moved. His eyes remained glued to the board as it spelled out a word. "Dead," he said finally. His face whitened and he took his hands off the pointer. "Dead? What do you mean you're dead?"

"No, he's asking us," Sam said quickly, and then said, "No Brandon, you're not dead. You're in a coma."

Oh. A coma. Well, if that was all. That made absolutely no sense. What, was that really supposed to clear up all his questions? 'You're walking around outside of your body but you're not dead.' Oh, how comforting.

"Look it's not that bad," Sam continued, as though reading his mind, "Dean was in a coma once and the whole out of body thing happened to him too. This is normal."

Chris snarled. "This is NOT normal!"

"Normal for this kind of…situation," Sam amended. Chris still hadn't put his hands back on the pointer so Sam asked the important question, "Are you feeling alright?"

Brandon reached forward and moved the piece to yes.

Sam nodded, calculating. "And you're not fading slowly or anything?"

Brandon slid the piece to no.

"Good," Sam said, "That's a good sign. Just remember, if you feel even slightly weird, you tell us. Chris is going to carry the board with him, and when he's not in the hospital I'll have it with me. We have more of the antidote to give you if you need it, but we don't want to just inject you with it now and have you overdose."

Brandon nodded and then realized no one could see him. He grabbed the piece and dragged it—slowly—to yes. When he released it, he felt exhausted.

Chris noticed. "Why did it move slowly that time?" he said, looking worried.

"He's probably tired," Sam said, "He's not used to moving things in the material world, since he's…"

"A ghost."

Sam nodded.

Chris tried to cover up the despair on his face. It half worked. "Okay Brandon, I want you to rest up," he said lightly, "No more talking to us for now. We're not that interesting."

Brandon reached to move the piece.

"Don't," Chris said warningly, as though he could see him.

Brandon smiled slightly and lowered his hand.

Chris picked up the board and slid it into a paper bag.

"Going to go hide somewhere?" Sam asked, "Or are you off to sign some autographs, Mr. Martin?"

"Hiding," he said, "I gotta avoid the fan clubs. I spotted a closet that looks old and unused." He stood up and walked to the door.

Brandon followed him.

"Keep in touch," Sam said as they were leaving.

Chris looked out. A few nurses were around, but they weren't paying attention to him. He shut the door to Sam's room and walked confidently down the hall.

Brandon stayed close behind him. He wasn't sure what they meant about fan clubs, and he made a note to ask later. When he wasn't invisible.

The closet was at the end of a dark corridor. Chris opened the door and looked inside, using his flashlight for light. He cringed. "Yep," he said, "That's a cockroach."

Brandon burst out laughing.

"Shut up," Chris muttered softly, guessing how his brother would react, "It's funny for you, they can't get you," he opened the door wider and slid inside. Brandon moved in behind him, and the door clicked shut.

He looked around. Paint was peeling off the walls and the shelves were covered with cobwebs. "Not exactly the penthouse suite," Brandon said out loud.

"This sucks," Chris echoed. He slid down a wall and sat with his arms on his knees. After a moment he pulled out the Ouija board and sat it face up, with the pointer in the center. "This is just in case, I don't want you using it again yet," he said. Paused. "That is, if you followed me at all. Otherwise I'm just talking to myself."

"Of course I followed you," Brandon said.

"You probably followed me," Chris added, "Yeah. I think you would follow me."

"I did."

"Just…rest up. I'll stay right here," Chris said, "Not going anywhere."

Brandon leaned against one of the shelves and shut his eyes. "Okay."

Chris stayed silent for a few minutes, eyes open in the dark. He sighed. "I really hate this," he said.

PLEASE REVIEW! Some Dean coming up…and zombies, more Ouija boards, and…arson? haha