Supernatural fic: Unzip my heart (Ramalama Bang Bang) (PG-13, gen)
Apparently, my brain likes to escape from every day college/job monotony and the fact that I will be working tonight during the new Supernatural omg by writing zombie crack!fic.
Supernatural, gen, 1,877 words, PG-13, vaguely AU and set sometime during Season 1 (inspired by this, title from "Ramalama Bang Bang" by Roisin Murphy)
Sam didn't mean to touch the cursed artifact, not really. They were at the museum, taking care of the other cursed artifact that had brought a drought and a plague of locusts ("Grasshoppers…a witch cursed Texas with grasshoppers. You've gotta be kidding me."). They were in the Egyptian exhibit and Dean was eyeing the mummies and tombs with a gleam in his eye. Ever since Sam had got him to watch that thing on the history channel about Ramses II and Hatchetshup he'd gotten altogether a bit too fond of curses and scarab beetles. Sam didn't really get it, but then again, it was Dean so no surprise there.
Sam was looking at a life sized statue of Anubis when he'd tripped over a piece of upturned carpet or rope or whatever the hell it was and had fallen face first into the thing.
There had been a flash and he'd gotten this queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and then, nothing. Nothing but a slight ringing in the ears drowned out by the very loud ringing of the alarm.
After that, Sam didn't really notice much of anything. Dean was yelling at him to get the hell out of there, how could you trip over your own big ass feet and there was a blurry second there when Sam didn't know where he was, all the halls looked the same, and then they were out, over the fence with the sound of the guards on their heels.
They piled in to the Impala, Dean gunning it with the tires squeaking, and high tailed it out of there before they could get caught.
***
When they got back to the motel, Dean tossed a wooden Ankh necklace on to the bed that had suspicious Latin letters carved into it and said, "Think burning it'll work?"
Sam shrugged with a muttered, "Probably." He still felt a little queasy and the headache building behind his eyes wasn't helping any. He sat on the bed, toeing off his shoes and kicking them away before letting himself fall backwards, the sheets cool and welcoming.
He turned his head, watching as Dean grinned, grabbed his lighter, and took the necklace to the sink, holding it by the cord before setting it ablaze. He dropped it into the sink and, a few minutes later, there was nothing left but ashes washing down the drain.
"That was surprisingly easy," Dean said with a light-hearted smile. Sam just mmmed in agreement and shut his eyes, not wanting to bother with that whole sleeping clothes thing.
All in all, everything seemed pretty normal.
By one in the morning though, there was a rapping on the door and Sam looked outside to see zombies in the street, moaning and shuffling, and he knew he'd fucked up.
***
They didn't have enough ammunition to take all the zombies down. There were hundreds of them, just…standing out there, occasionally colliding with the door but mostly moaning that death groan-rattle that you always hear in movies and thinks sounds stupid, but in reality was creepy as fuck.
There was nothing to do but barricade the door and windows with a couple chairs and just wait it out, pray that some of them would move on and they'd be able to make it to the car at some point or, the optimistic option, the curse wore off.
***
"Hey Dean?" Sam asked, voice trailing a little on that last syllable because he knew this wasn't going to end well.
"What?" Dean replied, absentmindedly loading his shotgun.
"Is it just me, or are the zombies dancing?"
Dean looked up at Sam with confusion, eyebrows knit and unbelieving. Sam motioned out the window, still holding the curtain and Dean shifted off of the bed to stand beside him.
"Nope, not just you."
"That's what I thought."
They both stood there, staring, watching as the zombies dipped and twirled and pretty much just got their undead grove on. Body parts went flying through the dark moon-lit sky, white and green ooze spilling out their gaping wounds and all the while they just kept dancing and smiling.
"Know what the most disturbing part about all this is?" Dean finally said, nodding towards them.
"What?" Sam asked, warily and with a sigh. It'd been a long night.
"They're even scarier now."
He was right.
Sam let the curtain fall and Dean went back to the bed, eyes scanning the weapons laid out their before picking up a pistol. Sam leaned against the wall by the window, every now and again catching glimpses of twisting shapes in his peripheral vision.
"I can't believe you unleashed dancing zombies on us, Sammy," Dean said after a few moments had passed, smile catching his lips and Sam glared back at him.
"Shut up."
"Dancing. Zombies."
"Yeah, Dean. They're zombies that dance. Are you going to be getting to a point anytime soon?"
"Dude, it's like Thriller. That totally makes you Michael Jackson." Dean smirked and Sam glared harder, tempted to throw something at his brother's head.
"What? I'm just sayin', you unleashed them, that totally makes you their leader." Dean paused, faking contemplation. "If you start turning into a werewolf, I'm kicking your ass out there with them."
***
"Oh man, they're on the car. Sam, they're dancing on my car!" Dean exclaimed after hour two and twenty different dance routines.
"Dean, there's hundreds of them, you can't go running out there just to save your car."
Dean glared at him, sullen. "I could if I had a flamethrower. That's my car Sam. I just know they're scratching up her paint job."
"Your car's fine, Dean."
Dean looked out the window again, his eyes widening.
"Sam. They're tap dancing." He made a break for the door, but Sam stood in front of it, using his full height to loom over him.
Dean glared again, then went back to sit on the bed, watching the zombies figure out a new routine on the hood of the Impala. A man wearing cowboy boots joined those doing a jig and Dean looked like he'd just been told someone had shot his dog.
"I hate you so much right now."
***
Two hours later and the zombies had moved on to a little number that actually looked a hell of a lot like that dance in Thriller. It was fucked up.
"How long you think they're going to last?" Sam asked, slumping back from the window to sprawl next to Dean, back propped against the door. Dean shrugged, shoulder bumping against his lightly.
"I don't know, curse like this? 'Til daylight probably."
"Unless it's one of those one's where you gotta destroy the source before the curse breaks," Sam pointed out.
"Are you saying we're going to have to go back to that museum?" Dean asked, looking at Sam like he knew he really wasn't going to like the answer.
Sam titled his head, tapped his fingers against his gun and finally said, "Maybe."
***
When the sun finally started rising, they were still there. All three hundred twenty-two of them (Dean had started counting around five thirty just to bug Sam. It had worked.)
Sam watched as the sun's rays flickered outside, lighting up the streets and the zombies ghastly faces, their flesh practically dripping off their skin like melted wax, eyes white, pus-filled and unseeing. All their mouths were hanging open, slack jawed, and they flailed about still intent on pulling off whatever crazed dance steps they were doing this time.
"We're going to have to make a break for it," Sam said, letting the curtain fall back, obscuring the deathly visage outside.
"Yeah, kinda figured that one." Dean replied, flicking the safety off his .45 with a click.
***
"Okay, Sam. Next time you're not allowed to touch anything," Dean yelled, kicking the cowboy zombie savagely before turning to avoid another one making a grab for him.
"How the hell was I supposed to know this would happen?" Sam yelled back at him, elbowing one in the gut and getting sticky zombie goo on himself for the trouble. Great.
"Because shit like this always happens to us," Dean said, firing a shot at the group clustered on top of the car and catching one of them in the arm, knocking it off with a dull thud. Dean finally reached the car and jerked open the door while Sam shot at the remaining tap dancing offenders.
Dean threw open the passenger door and Sam slide inside, panting and flushed. The car rumbled to life and Dean threw her into first, slammed on the gas, and pulled out of there, ramming what felt like as many zombies as possible with an altogether too gleeful look, the car jolting and squeaking with every bump and making Sam hit his head on the roof.
Thankfully, they finally made it on to an empty side road that was desolate and zombie free.
"Yeah, well, it didn't exactly advertise the fact that it brought back the dead," Sam said, making a face at his elbow, the ooze having congealed into a yellowish-brown crust. They smelled like a funeral parlor.
"Zombies, Sam. And not even the good kind of zombies-"
"There are good kinds of zombies?" Sam asked, raking off the zombie crud from his skin and clothes.
"Yeah, the slow moving can-kill-them-with-a-shovel Shaun of the Dead kind."
"You watched Shaun of the Dead?"
"It was either that or Sleepless in Seattle."
***
As it turned out, getting to the museum had been the hard part.
It was abandoned, probably due to the townsfolk cowering in fear and thinking they'd been hit by the Nine Plagues of Egypt with a special undead invasion bonus.
"The whole statue? Seriously Dean?" Sam asked, voice rising sharply as he stared at the thing speculatively. It kinda looked like it was snarling at them, but that was probably just Sam's imagination. He hoped.
"Hey, it's not like we have a lot of time here Sam," Dean said, shrugging and pulling out a bottle of lighter fluid.
***
They were on the road and saying goodbye to Odessa forever by eight, all signs of any type of the undead completely vanished and reporters saying it had been an elaborate hoax perpetrated by some rowdy teenagers hoping to pull an early Halloween prank.
Dean turned the station, cutting off the news and putting it on 102.1 and Alice Cooper instead. Sam was too tired to even offer up a protest and instead just leaned his head against the window.
"I say next stop, we invest in a flamethrower," Dean said after awhile, a light grin tilting up the corners of his mouth.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, we can't get a flamethrower."
"Why not? Sure would have made getting rid of those bastards a lot easier."
"They're illegal, for one."
"We'll get a permit."
"They don't come with permits."
"We'll say we work for a big studio company, that it's a prop, whatever. We're getting a flamethrower."
"You just want one 'cause it looks cool."
"Damn straight," Dean said with a nod, smiling, and Sam couldn't help but grin back with a small shake of his head.
Supernatural, gen, 1,877 words, PG-13, vaguely AU and set sometime during Season 1 (inspired by this, title from "Ramalama Bang Bang" by Roisin Murphy)
Sam didn't mean to touch the cursed artifact, not really. They were at the museum, taking care of the other cursed artifact that had brought a drought and a plague of locusts ("Grasshoppers…a witch cursed Texas with grasshoppers. You've gotta be kidding me."). They were in the Egyptian exhibit and Dean was eyeing the mummies and tombs with a gleam in his eye. Ever since Sam had got him to watch that thing on the history channel about Ramses II and Hatchetshup he'd gotten altogether a bit too fond of curses and scarab beetles. Sam didn't really get it, but then again, it was Dean so no surprise there.
Sam was looking at a life sized statue of Anubis when he'd tripped over a piece of upturned carpet or rope or whatever the hell it was and had fallen face first into the thing.
There had been a flash and he'd gotten this queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and then, nothing. Nothing but a slight ringing in the ears drowned out by the very loud ringing of the alarm.
After that, Sam didn't really notice much of anything. Dean was yelling at him to get the hell out of there, how could you trip over your own big ass feet and there was a blurry second there when Sam didn't know where he was, all the halls looked the same, and then they were out, over the fence with the sound of the guards on their heels.
They piled in to the Impala, Dean gunning it with the tires squeaking, and high tailed it out of there before they could get caught.
***
When they got back to the motel, Dean tossed a wooden Ankh necklace on to the bed that had suspicious Latin letters carved into it and said, "Think burning it'll work?"
Sam shrugged with a muttered, "Probably." He still felt a little queasy and the headache building behind his eyes wasn't helping any. He sat on the bed, toeing off his shoes and kicking them away before letting himself fall backwards, the sheets cool and welcoming.
He turned his head, watching as Dean grinned, grabbed his lighter, and took the necklace to the sink, holding it by the cord before setting it ablaze. He dropped it into the sink and, a few minutes later, there was nothing left but ashes washing down the drain.
"That was surprisingly easy," Dean said with a light-hearted smile. Sam just mmmed in agreement and shut his eyes, not wanting to bother with that whole sleeping clothes thing.
All in all, everything seemed pretty normal.
By one in the morning though, there was a rapping on the door and Sam looked outside to see zombies in the street, moaning and shuffling, and he knew he'd fucked up.
***
They didn't have enough ammunition to take all the zombies down. There were hundreds of them, just…standing out there, occasionally colliding with the door but mostly moaning that death groan-rattle that you always hear in movies and thinks sounds stupid, but in reality was creepy as fuck.
There was nothing to do but barricade the door and windows with a couple chairs and just wait it out, pray that some of them would move on and they'd be able to make it to the car at some point or, the optimistic option, the curse wore off.
***
"Hey Dean?" Sam asked, voice trailing a little on that last syllable because he knew this wasn't going to end well.
"What?" Dean replied, absentmindedly loading his shotgun.
"Is it just me, or are the zombies dancing?"
Dean looked up at Sam with confusion, eyebrows knit and unbelieving. Sam motioned out the window, still holding the curtain and Dean shifted off of the bed to stand beside him.
"Nope, not just you."
"That's what I thought."
They both stood there, staring, watching as the zombies dipped and twirled and pretty much just got their undead grove on. Body parts went flying through the dark moon-lit sky, white and green ooze spilling out their gaping wounds and all the while they just kept dancing and smiling.
"Know what the most disturbing part about all this is?" Dean finally said, nodding towards them.
"What?" Sam asked, warily and with a sigh. It'd been a long night.
"They're even scarier now."
He was right.
Sam let the curtain fall and Dean went back to the bed, eyes scanning the weapons laid out their before picking up a pistol. Sam leaned against the wall by the window, every now and again catching glimpses of twisting shapes in his peripheral vision.
"I can't believe you unleashed dancing zombies on us, Sammy," Dean said after a few moments had passed, smile catching his lips and Sam glared back at him.
"Shut up."
"Dancing. Zombies."
"Yeah, Dean. They're zombies that dance. Are you going to be getting to a point anytime soon?"
"Dude, it's like Thriller. That totally makes you Michael Jackson." Dean smirked and Sam glared harder, tempted to throw something at his brother's head.
"What? I'm just sayin', you unleashed them, that totally makes you their leader." Dean paused, faking contemplation. "If you start turning into a werewolf, I'm kicking your ass out there with them."
***
"Oh man, they're on the car. Sam, they're dancing on my car!" Dean exclaimed after hour two and twenty different dance routines.
"Dean, there's hundreds of them, you can't go running out there just to save your car."
Dean glared at him, sullen. "I could if I had a flamethrower. That's my car Sam. I just know they're scratching up her paint job."
"Your car's fine, Dean."
Dean looked out the window again, his eyes widening.
"Sam. They're tap dancing." He made a break for the door, but Sam stood in front of it, using his full height to loom over him.
Dean glared again, then went back to sit on the bed, watching the zombies figure out a new routine on the hood of the Impala. A man wearing cowboy boots joined those doing a jig and Dean looked like he'd just been told someone had shot his dog.
"I hate you so much right now."
***
Two hours later and the zombies had moved on to a little number that actually looked a hell of a lot like that dance in Thriller. It was fucked up.
"How long you think they're going to last?" Sam asked, slumping back from the window to sprawl next to Dean, back propped against the door. Dean shrugged, shoulder bumping against his lightly.
"I don't know, curse like this? 'Til daylight probably."
"Unless it's one of those one's where you gotta destroy the source before the curse breaks," Sam pointed out.
"Are you saying we're going to have to go back to that museum?" Dean asked, looking at Sam like he knew he really wasn't going to like the answer.
Sam titled his head, tapped his fingers against his gun and finally said, "Maybe."
***
When the sun finally started rising, they were still there. All three hundred twenty-two of them (Dean had started counting around five thirty just to bug Sam. It had worked.)
Sam watched as the sun's rays flickered outside, lighting up the streets and the zombies ghastly faces, their flesh practically dripping off their skin like melted wax, eyes white, pus-filled and unseeing. All their mouths were hanging open, slack jawed, and they flailed about still intent on pulling off whatever crazed dance steps they were doing this time.
"We're going to have to make a break for it," Sam said, letting the curtain fall back, obscuring the deathly visage outside.
"Yeah, kinda figured that one." Dean replied, flicking the safety off his .45 with a click.
***
"Okay, Sam. Next time you're not allowed to touch anything," Dean yelled, kicking the cowboy zombie savagely before turning to avoid another one making a grab for him.
"How the hell was I supposed to know this would happen?" Sam yelled back at him, elbowing one in the gut and getting sticky zombie goo on himself for the trouble. Great.
"Because shit like this always happens to us," Dean said, firing a shot at the group clustered on top of the car and catching one of them in the arm, knocking it off with a dull thud. Dean finally reached the car and jerked open the door while Sam shot at the remaining tap dancing offenders.
Dean threw open the passenger door and Sam slide inside, panting and flushed. The car rumbled to life and Dean threw her into first, slammed on the gas, and pulled out of there, ramming what felt like as many zombies as possible with an altogether too gleeful look, the car jolting and squeaking with every bump and making Sam hit his head on the roof.
Thankfully, they finally made it on to an empty side road that was desolate and zombie free.
"Yeah, well, it didn't exactly advertise the fact that it brought back the dead," Sam said, making a face at his elbow, the ooze having congealed into a yellowish-brown crust. They smelled like a funeral parlor.
"Zombies, Sam. And not even the good kind of zombies-"
"There are good kinds of zombies?" Sam asked, raking off the zombie crud from his skin and clothes.
"Yeah, the slow moving can-kill-them-with-a-shovel Shaun of the Dead kind."
"You watched Shaun of the Dead?"
"It was either that or Sleepless in Seattle."
***
As it turned out, getting to the museum had been the hard part.
It was abandoned, probably due to the townsfolk cowering in fear and thinking they'd been hit by the Nine Plagues of Egypt with a special undead invasion bonus.
"The whole statue? Seriously Dean?" Sam asked, voice rising sharply as he stared at the thing speculatively. It kinda looked like it was snarling at them, but that was probably just Sam's imagination. He hoped.
"Hey, it's not like we have a lot of time here Sam," Dean said, shrugging and pulling out a bottle of lighter fluid.
***
They were on the road and saying goodbye to Odessa forever by eight, all signs of any type of the undead completely vanished and reporters saying it had been an elaborate hoax perpetrated by some rowdy teenagers hoping to pull an early Halloween prank.
Dean turned the station, cutting off the news and putting it on 102.1 and Alice Cooper instead. Sam was too tired to even offer up a protest and instead just leaned his head against the window.
"I say next stop, we invest in a flamethrower," Dean said after awhile, a light grin tilting up the corners of his mouth.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, we can't get a flamethrower."
"Why not? Sure would have made getting rid of those bastards a lot easier."
"They're illegal, for one."
"We'll get a permit."
"They don't come with permits."
"We'll say we work for a big studio company, that it's a prop, whatever. We're getting a flamethrower."
"You just want one 'cause it looks cool."
"Damn straight," Dean said with a nod, smiling, and Sam couldn't help but grin back with a small shake of his head.