Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.

Bobby sends the Winchesters to investigate strange sightings at the Evans City cemetery as a favor for an old friend. "Zombie? There's no such thing," thought Dean.

Set during an off-canon version of season 7 (i.e. 7.10 Death's Door has ended completely differently). An homage to 'Night of the Living Dead'. With thanks to the Ficwise writing group.

~#~

Zombie, Interrupted

Thy dead men shall live, together with my dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust: for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead.

Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee: hide thyself as it were for a little moment, until the indignation be overpast.

For, behold, the LORD cometh out of his place to punish the inhabitants of the earth for their iniquity: the earth also shall disclose her blood, and shall no more cover her slain.

- Isaiah 26:19-21 (KJV)

~#~

Chapter One

Dean was skating, the silver blades flicking through the ice so fast it felt like he was almost flying across the frozen river. By some strange means he knew he was dreaming, but he had no control over events, nor any desire to try to change them. He'd never skated in real life and found it was actually kind of awesome. There was a feeling of time passing and he became aware that there was someone up ahead, someone who had been there for a while without Dean being aware of him. Dean tried to catch up to the familiar-looking figure, but he soon discovered that, no matter how fast he skated, he just couldn't seem to reach him.

There was a sudden loud cracking sound followed by a horrified cry of alarm as the figure fell through the ice. Dean sped ahead at breakneck speed, but he could see that the person had been pulled under the ice and was actually being dragged towards him by the underwater current.

Dean threw himself down on the frozen lake so that he and the stranger were at the same point, banging on opposite sides of the ice, unable to break through to each other. The ice seemed to become transparent until it was more like glass and with a shock Dean realized that it was Castiel.

He pounded his fists harder and faster on the clear ice. "I'll save you," he yelled and then suddenly, somehow, their positions were reversed and it was Dean under the ice and whose lungs were burning through lack of oxygen.

Starting to panic, he was unable to stop himself from sinking deeper into the brackish water, the light around him fading so fast that the only thing he could see was the angel staring back at him with a horrified expression.

"Cas!"

Sam shook him awake. "Dude, you okay? You're just having a dream."

Dean scooted up in the passenger seat like a scalded cat. He felt disorientated and not being in his beloved Impala only added to his level of discomfort. "Yeah, I'm fine," he sighed, as he struggled to process their surroundings. "Where are we?"

"Just pulling up to the hospital now," Sam answered.

"You should have left him to it," drawled Lucifer in a bored tone as he inspected his nails from the comfort of his reclined position in the backseat of both the car and Sam's mind. "I reckon he was enjoying the reunion."

~#~

It was with some slight embarrassment that Bobby had asked to be discharged from hospital into the care of Sheriff Jodie Mills. Dean had expressed surprise at what he saw as a sudden change in Bobby and he'd queried what he complained was out of character behavior.

Sam tried his best to reassure his brother who he suspected felt slighted, but then he had always been the better observer of human behavior. He'd had to be, from an early age he'd needed to be well versed in the unspoken rules and language that passed for communication in the Winchester household.

Dean might only have eyes for his younger brother, sacrificing his childhood on an altar of weird eternal servitude, but Sammy had never felt such a compulsion. If anything, he'd always suspected that Dad had forced Dean to adopt a mothering role, then resented him for trying to replace his wife in raising Sam.

What this meant was that it was not a trivial matter that both Winchesters looked to Bobby as far more than a father figure. So, when he asked for a favor, there was no way in Hell (and they knew more than anyone what that really meant) that they were going to say no.

Bobby tried and failed to push himself up into a sitting position in his hospital bed. Without his usual baseball cap, he looked unusually small and vulnerable, although this false impression was blown away the minute he opened his mouth. He passed them the details of that rarity-of-rarities, a retired hunter, a man in his mid-seventies, by the name of Ben Jones, based in Pennsylvania.

"Listen, this guy is a friend from way, way back. If there's anything you can do, then I'd appreciate it, y'understand?" grouched the elder hunter, feeling awkward to be back in his wheelchair-dependent days again.

"No problem, Bobby," Dean answered. Although not always without their own brand of petty antagonisms, hunters tended to have fewer, but much closer friendships than the rest of the populace. There was just something about knowing that what went bump in the night was real to appreciate a brother, or sister, in arms. Combined with the strict etiquette of give and take in the hunting world, with all they owed Bobby they were more than happy to take on his debt to someone who'd once done him a solid.

Sam had often declared that hunters would make an excellent, rich sociological sub-culture study. Contrarily, Dean found that concentrated, silent staring put such foolish ideas out of the minds of the "over-educated and under-wise". And Dean knew how to stare, he'd studied under angelic tutelage.

So it was without too much thought or complaint that the brothers agreed to investigates the strange sightings in and around the cemetery in Evans City.

From the straightforward description, Sam had suspected that this was more a ploy on Bobby's part to avoid Dean's overbearing mothering in place of something a little more carnal from the good Sheriff, and he may have made a sly mention of that while his brother was out of the room. If Lucifer had laughed in appreciation at the joke from where he was trying to change the TV channel using just the power of his mind, Sam wouldn't know, he'd been practicing ignoring the hallucination.

Choking on his jello, Bobby went to pains to point out that it would give them some time to avoid the Leviathans, and - as Dean returned in triumph from his battle with the vending machines - he promised to do his best to continue the research in their absence.

"Just promise me you'll both try to stay outta trouble for once, ya idjits." Bobby grumbled.

~#~

Sam and Dean made the journey across country and by splitting the driving managed to make the trip in just under a day and a half, and probably would have been much faster if they hadn't had to stop for a flat outside of Port Wayne, making Dean decry the lack of the Impala. It really was like losing a close friend.

When they arrived at Ben Jones' house they were surprised to find that it was in a nice part of town, not in keeping with the usual down-at-heel surroundings they normally associated with hunters.

They walked to the door, feeling slightly out of place and knocked. Within seconds an attractive black woman in her mid-twenties answered the door. "Yes?" she asked in suspicious tones, looking them up and down.

Dean gave his widest smile, and sucked in a breath...

"Listen, whatever you're selling, we're not buying," she answered, shooting him down in flames.

Sam laughed at Dean's distraught expression. "We're looking for Ben Jones. We were sent by Bobby Singer."

Without a flicker of expression she threw water into Sam's face. When Dean chuckled, she threw some in his face as well.

"Ooh, I'm melting, I'm melting!" Lucifer cackled in amusement, only to roll his eyes and sigh in exasperation at Sam's lack of attention.

"Hold this," she ordered handing them each a silver shotgun cartridge. She pulled a cell phone from her pocket and studied them for a moment through the in-built camera, before taking back the shells. "Okay, follow me," she instructed.

The brothers shrugged at each other, but followed her into the house, noting the well-kept line of salt and the devil's trap across the doorway.

They were led to an elderly man, with snow-white hair, sitting with an ornate silver-tipped cane by his side. He appeared to be thoroughly engrossed in his reading, surrounded by stacks of books, but looked up and noticed their wet clothing as they approached. "You'll have to forgive my granddaughter, Barbra; she tends to be very protective."

"She was very... thorough," answered Sam.

"Thank you, I taught her everything I know," he said, nodding to her, and she visibly relaxed.

"A lax hunter is a dead hunter, Grandpa," Barbra said in the tone of one reciting an oft repeated lesson and laughed, at last showing a hint of emotion.

Lucifer pulled a face and snorted in derision.

As he spoke with his granddaughter, Ben's face was lit up with a warm smile that only faded when he turned back to the brothers and settled down to business. Under the old man's scrutiny, Sam had the strange urge to stand a little taller and straighten the tie that he wasn't even wearing.

"Forgive me if I don't rise and shake your hand, my arthritis is very bad today," he apologized with a rueful look, holding up hands badly twisted with age. "So, you're the Winchesters. I've heard a lot about you."

"Unfortunately, most of it's probably true," grumbled Dean under his breath.

"Well, Bobby Singer speaks very highly of you."

Dean bristled at the tone that seemed to say "But I don't see it myself."

"So tell us what the problem is," asked Sam, detecting Dean's irritation and cutting in before his brother could say something rude.

"I've lived here all my life, and there have always been strange tales about the cemetery. I've heard talk of odd lights and noises, but other than the occasional salt and burn, my own investigations have never turned up anything unusual.

"But recently there have been an increase in the number of reports of missing pets, and a rash of teenage disappearances. Well, you know young people these days, I'm sure, but then a few days ago two of the missing teenagers were found partially eaten. Of course, the official story is an animal attack."

"So what do you think this could be?" asked Sam.

"I really have no idea, but it all seems to be centered on the cemetery. EMF is off the scale, which leads me to believe it isn't ghouls or shifters, besides which it seems too sloppy. But I don't think it's spirits either – they wouldn't be centered on the burial site.

"Hmm, it's too urban for wendigo. Any blood loss? Could it be vampires?"

"Vampires?" The skepticism was clear in Ben's voice as he and Barbra shared a glance. Are these jokers for real?

"Yeah, they've had a bit a revival recently, and not the sparkly kind," shuddered Dean, the thought too close for comfort.

Barbra frowned. "Really? Maybe you can fill me in later." She gritted her teeth at Dean's leering grin at the double entendre and concentrated on Sam instead. "Perhaps it's best if you look for yourself with an open mind."

"Good idea, Barbra," interjected Ben, "it's all just wild conjecture at this point. In the meantime, please show these gentlemen to the guest room so they can get settled in."

"Of course, Grandfather," Barbra answered demurely, showing the brothers out.

Once out of the room her manner changed. "I'm coming with you," she insisted, her tone brooking no argument.

"Oh, and what'll Gramps have to say about that?" teased Dean.

"My grandfather can be quite old-fashioned, and he has some funny ideas about women. But I know when to pick my battles, so rather than argue I tend to just tune him out and do what I want."

"Easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission?" said Sam, surreptitiously pushing down on the wound in his hand as Lucifer seemed to find the statement particularly amusing.

Barbra smiled, sensing a kindred spirit. "Exactly."

Even Dean nodded in agreement; it was, after all, the exact same approach he used to take with his father.

There was something very liberating about the hunter community, Sam decided as he gave Barbra an appraising look, in that everyone was encouraged to learn how to defend themselves. He and Dean were not exactly poster boys for feminism, as evidenced by his blatant checking out, but it was difficult to ignore when both your mother and grandmother were renowned for their demon fighting exploits.

"Maybe I should take you to the county morgue first," Barbra mused, glancing at her watch and unaware she'd just broken Sam's mood. "I've a contact there now who'll let us in, and perhaps prowling the cemetery is best done under cover of night,"

"That sounds like a plan," answered Sam.

"Sounds like the girl likes a stiff, you should get on famously," quipped Lucifer before flashing out of existence, as Sam forced his thumb firmly into his wound with a wince.

"First, let me re-bandage your hand," Barbra said suddenly shy, gently taking Sam's injured hand in her own as she inspected the open wound on his hand. "You don't want to get it infected," she added as she led him off in the direction of the kitchen.

Dean raised an eyebrow. Maybe I'm losing my touch, or maybe she just really likes sasquatches. Chuckling to himself, he made himself scarce so his brother could get some long-overdue female attention, even if it was just to get himself patched up.

~#~

"Hi Barbra," the scruffy, razor-thin morgue attendant called in greeting in an over-friendly tone.

"Hello George, these are the friends of mine from out-of-town that I was telling you about, Sam and Dean Winchester. This is George Santana."

George had scowled at the brothers when he noted the casual way Barbra had placed her hand on Sam's arm without seeming to be aware of what she was doing, but he was somewhat mollified by Dean's exuberance over how cool his surname was.

"Here's the report," he said, making a point of leaning past Sam and handing it to Dean.

"So could we see the bodies?" asked Sam, trying not to let his amusement show.

"I'm sorry, I really can't do that. It's too risky, I could lose my job," George complained, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

"Hey, Four Symbols! Nice tats, man," Dean said in surprise, noticing the tattooed designs on the underside of George's forearm.

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm a big fan," George answered, a little embarrassed.

Dean nodded his approval. "Cool name and a Zeppelin fan to boot, you're my kinda guy," he chuckled, unwitting of the impact he was having.

George gave a shy smile, ducking his head in pleasure at the attention. "I guess I could show you the body if you promise to be quick."

He led them through a muddled, nondescript office into a scrupulously clean examining room and pulled open a metal drawer to display a sheet-covered body.

"This is one of the bodies recovered; the other's already been released to family without an autopsy."

"Isn't that kinda unusual?" asked Sam.

"Politics. She's the mayor's daughter," George sniffed, not happy to have to be answering Sam's questions.

"Notice the bite marks, the pattern is definitely human, it doesn't look like an animal by any stretch of the imagination, despite what the police say," added George, his manner so much more confident when in his element.

"Yeah, cause they can't believe a human would tear some poor schmuck apart," offered Dean, thinking back to the time they were held captive by the cannibalistic Bender family.

The brothers prodded and poked, but there was nothing more than the mundane, if controversial, details George had already included in his report.

"So, erm, Dean," said George, clearing his throat. "Here's my card, in case you need anything else. I've, er, written my cell number on the back."

"Thanks, man, you've been a big help," grinned Dean, giving George a friendly slap on the back, oblivious to the amused look shared by Sam and Barbra.

As George sighed, while watching Barbra and Dean leave, he failed to notice the faint stirring of the body behind him.

~#~

Barbra's cell phone rang and she gave a small huff of annoyance when she saw the name of the caller. Despite this she still answered it, walking a couple of paces away and had an intense conversation pitched too low for the brothers to catch.

"Oh, oh. Busted," commented Dean to Sam.

"Huh?"

"I recognize that look from when Dad use to catch you in the library instead of training like a good little soldier." Except that most of the time it would be me taking the flak until I got better at covering for you, Dean thought, but didn't add.

As if on cue, Barbra came over. "Duty calls," she sighed, before giving herself a mental shake and directing them to the cemetery.

"I'll meet you back at the house. Dinner's at seven sharp. Don't be late," she growled at Dean. She gave Sam a brief smile like a sudden ray of sunlight before stalking off. The brothers took a moment to watch her leave, then shared a quick grin before getting down to work.

~#~

Evans City cemetery turned out to be surprisingly large.

"How big is this town exactly?" grumbled Sam, tripping over yet another headstone in the near-dark.

"Oh stop your moaning, Samantha. It's not like we've got anything better to do," Dean shot back, his voice thick with sarcasm. He'd made a joke about Sam always tripping over his big feet earlier, but hadn't liked the come-back.

"So what do we do now?"

"Split up?" Dean shrugged.

"Are you kidding? Don't you watch horror films?" Sam asked in mock seriousness.

Dean pulled a face; it's not as if Sam did, and his own preference was for action-only flicks, as his brother knew full well. "At least it'll get this over and done with. Anyway, so far it's just some old dude and his stuck-up granddaughter."

"Ha, you're just pissed that she doesn't dig you."

"She seems to have filled out your dance card already bro, she's obviously unstable."

"What? D'you really think so?"

Dean smiled at Sam's earnest tone. "Yes, really. About her liking you, not the insane part."

And for her sake she better not break your heart, he thought.

(;,;)