AN: There is some dialogue in this chapter that is taken directly from the Pilot Episode. Also everything I know about voodoo I learned from a series of Wikipedia articles, so if it's REALLY wrong let me know and I'll fix it, but I did try.

Dean decided it was best to stay away from his dad for as long as possible. They talked on the phone once or twice a week, making sure the other one was alive, offering up hunts they'd found that the other one was close to, but they didn't see each other until the next fall. Dean liked being on his own, just him and his car and endless miles of highway. He didn't have to get a motel room. If he played his cards right he could find himself in a lady's bedroom most nights, and the Impala was good enough on the nights he struck out or was just too tired to try.

He was able to chase after cases that worked to his strength, his dad told him he was being lazy, but Dean liked vengeful spirit cases. He liked looking into the history of a town or a house and trying to put that puzzle together. He liked him a good monster kill every now and again, but he liked the chase the game that ghost stories set in front of him. John liked a different kind of case; he liked having blood on his hands. Dean didn't he didn't like feeling like he'd taken something from someone. The real monsters could have families, ghosts didn't. He wasn't taking a mom away from a little kid if helped a spirit cross over. He was if he shot a shape shifter.

His dad was out hunting after what he thought killed Mary; followed it back and forth across the country a couple time before he and Dean met up again. From what Dean could get out of him when his dad shared, he wasn't any closer to figuring out what it was, or how to kill it, than he was when it held Dean against that tree in Eugene and tried to kill him.

John decided that he and Dean should work on a demon case in Tennessee together in late September. Dean made the drive to the motel John was holed up in from Utah in a couple days. Along the way, Dean thought it might be nice to work with his dad again. He was almost excited about it. They'd had enough time apart to cool the waters; maybe his dad would be different.

Dean sat on his bed in the motel cleaning guns in preparation for the next day. John was writing in his journal at the little table while they talked.

"You're sure it's demons?" Dean asked. "It's not witches or a weird God or something?"

"I know how to do my job," John grunted.

And with that, Dean remembered why he'd left in the first place.

"Then why do you need me?" Dean sighed. "If you got this all under control why bother?"

"Two man job," John replied, not looking up from his book.

Not "It might be nice to see you," or "I missed having you around," it was about the job, nothing else. Nothing else ever seemed to matter.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," John said. "I figured you might want a job that's not a prissy nothing case like all the ones you've been working since you walked out. I didn't have to call you in. If you think it's too much for you, I'll get someone else."

"I can handle it," Dean replied softly.

"Good," John said. "Maybe this will get you to take on some worthwhile cases."

"I do take on worthwhile cases," Dean answered. "I'm saving people."

"Ghosts are rookie jobs," John shrugged. "I figured you'd be a better hunter after everything you've done."

Dean stared down at his gun, he said nothing as he polished and made sure it was spotless.

"I just hope you're not rusty," John continued. "I got an exorcism for you to memorize."

He tossed a piece of paper in Dean's direction.

"I can't memorize this," Dean said as he looked down at a page of Latin. That was Sam's thing. Dean could probably read it off the page if he had a while to practice, but he'd never be able to memorize it. Definitely not on the time table his dad was asking.

"Why not," John sighed. "And don't give me some I got a learning disability bullshit. You've been using that excuse since you were eight. I'm getting sick of it."

"It didn't go away because I'm not in school anymore," Dean explained. "This is in a different freakin' language. I couldn't memorize a fuckin' ten line poem when I was in high school, I'm not going to be able memorize this shit. It's a ridiculous request and you know it. Have you memorized that?" Dean shook the paper back at his dad.

"Don't change the subject," John shook his head. "This is about you not following orders. I need you to know that so that we can get rid of the demon that's cutting up people for fun. Unless you're looking to become a crouton on an intestine salad, I suggest you get working. I can't have you half assing a demon job. You're twenty six now, Dean. I really don't want to hear little kid excuse about why you can't do something simple."

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. It wasn't an excuse. It was a page of Latin that he'd never seen before. He didn't even know how to pronounce half those words. He had less than a day to memorize it and be able to recite it backward and forward before the next night. He should have said no when his dad called. He should have kept flirting with that diner waitress. He would probably still be at her house right now if he hadn't said yes. That chick was gorgeous, and wouldn't give two shits about whether or not he could recite Latin exorcisms or not.

"It's not that I don't want to do, sir," Dean said softly. "It's that I literally can't. I'm sorry that you can't understand this, but I've been trying to explain it to you most of my life and you just don't listen. I can't just memorize random shit."

"You can turn a Walkman into an EMF and rebuild an engine but you can't memorize a piece of fucking paper," John hit his fist against the table. "Don't bullshit me, Dean. That's a whole hell of a lot easier than rebuilding a fucking engine."

"My brain doesn't work that way," Dean shrugged. "It just doesn't. I'm not Sam. He can memorize this and recite it for the next twenty years. I can't that's just how it is. If you want someone that can read Latin like a children's book, call him. But seeing as it will be a cold day in hell before that happens, accept that I can't do it."

"You didn't have to come out here if you don't want," John said, finally looking up. "If you wanted to stick with your little pansy salt and burns you could have just said so instead of drive across the country to give me lip."

Dean looked down at the bed spread and fiddled with the piece of paper next to him.

"Let's just get this hunt over with," Dean mumbled. "Then I got some big things planned after this."

"Got another serial killer ghost?" John rolled his eyes.

"I've been looking into this voodoo thing in New Orleans," Dean confessed. "Looks pretty big, actually, if you want to know."

"Think you'll need help with it?" John asked.

"No sir," Dean looked up and smirked sourly. "I know how to do my job. You have any plans after this?"

"I actually found something I thought would be your speed," John replied. "In Jericho California a bunch of men have gone missing, all at night, all on the same stretch of road, never seen from again."

"Sounds fun," Dean nodded.

"If you wanna switch," John said.

"Not after all the research I've put onto voodoo in New Orleans," Dean sighed. "I've been looking into this for a little over a month."

"You just let it go on for over a month while you pussy footed around?" John replied.

"No," Dean explained. "I don't want to walk in unprepared and get myself killed. I'm going to bed. Get nice and rested for this."

"You're not even going to try to memorize the exorcism?" John spat. "I thought I raised you better than that."

Dean let out a long slow breath as he put his guns away. Deep down he knew his dad meant well, that he cared. His dad just didn't know how to talk to him. It took a lot not to take it to heart sometimes.

Dean tucked the exorcism into his back pocket as he and his dad set out late the next morning. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. He always thought that he and his dad had a nice relationship, but it was a much better one when it was done over the phone. Dean could always hang up when his dad started to nitpick and yell. He couldn't do that when they were face to face.

"We're going to warehouse on the outskirts of town," John explained. "I got so spray paint in the tool box, I want you set up some devil traps, do your best to cover then up with rugs or whatever. We're going to try to trick 'em into stepping into it."

"You gotta picture to work from?" Dean asked.

"In my tool box," John answered. "You'll be able to handle that?"

"Yes sir," Dean nodded. "As long as I got a template to work from."

"Right then," John said punching the gas as they pulled out of the parking lot. "Let's do this."

Dean wasn't sure how John lured the demons to the warehouse. All he knew was that when he was done spray painting the devil's traps on the floor they were there; two women in their twenties and an older man all with too sure of themselves smiles and black eyes. If he was being honest with himself, Dean was petrified. He'd seen what demons were capable off, stitched the wounds his dad had come home with after a showdown with these creeps. He'd seen the bodies that they've ridden hard and left to die slowly. He hated jobs like this. Jobs when people would have to die to get a win. The people these demons were possessing weren't going to make it out of this building. He'd be responsible for that.

His dad, though, John was in his element. These things didn't scare him, didn't push him back him his heals even a little bit.

"Hunters," one of the women, a red head snickered. "And they think they got the jump on us."

"We do," John nodded looking back to Dean. "We knew you were coming."

The man held his hand up and Dean went flying. He hit the wall with such force he struggled to breathe. On his way through the air, he managed to kick over a table that he'd placed over one of the traps to hide it from the demons. A sickening laugh filled the air as Dean gasped for breath.

"You really had it planned out didn't ya?" the red headed woman laughed. "Thought you'd trick up into the little traps and everything would be rainbows afterward? Oh no, we're much smarter than you think."

"Let him go," John demanded.

"Or what?" The red head smirked. "What could you possibly do?"

John pulled a book of matches out of his pocket, lit one and dropped it on the floor of the dirty warehouse. Dean wasn't sure when his dad had done it, probably while he was spray painting, but around the three demons a fire started in that familiar shape.

"Dirty warehouses are full of gasoline and oil," John smiled. "If you're not playing attention you can step right into a grease trap. Now let Dean go."

The man dropped his hand and Dean slumped to the floor.

"Start reading," John demanded. "No matter what happens, do not stop."

Dean pulled the wrinkly piece of paper out of his pocket and started to stumble through the unfamiliar words.

"If you don't say it right, it don't work," the man laughed through a hacking cough.

Dean hoped his was joking, trying to make him stop. So he pressed, stumbling a few times, but pushing right through. He was doing his best. He just hoped his dad thought so.

John stalked around the demons are the fire started to die. "Finish it up Dean-o. We gotta get this done."

Dean nodded and kept on reading, finally reached the end and looking up to see three pillars of smoke heading toward the ceiling. He had succeed.

Dean got up off the ground and made his way to the bodies. The red head was cold, long dead. The other woman was still warm, but Dean couldn't find a pulse. The man's skin was a sickening grey that made Dean think he'd been dead longer than the red head. They'd won, but they still had a body count on their hands.

Dean shook his head as he walked back to his dad.

"They didn't make it," Dean confirmed.

"The possessed rarely do," John nodded clapping Dean on the back. "I knew you could do it if you tried."

Dean nodded and turned to walk out back to the truck. He didn't like leaving corpses; he couldn't understand why his dad could.

They spilt up the next morning. It seemed like it would be for the best. They were a good team, but always worked really well apart.

"Call me if you need help on the voodoo thing," John said as they packed up their respective vehicles. "And you should probably look into detailing the car. It's gonna rust if you don't."

"Yeah, okay sir," Dean nodded closing the trunk. "I'll do that right after I finish up this case. I don't really got prospects after so I'll have some down time."

"You did good with the exorcism," John said. "You did just fine. You keep practicing you'll get better at it. I probably should have had both you and Sammy learnin' Latin, but I never really figured…"

"Never counted on Sammy takin' off," Dean nodded. "Yeah, me either."

"You're plenty smart, Dean," John said. "That's not what I was gettin' at. You can do anything, Dean. You really can. You don't have to take little hunts because you don't think you're good enough. You can do it. You can take down things like that."

"That's not why I do what I do," Dean replied. "But thanks. I'll call ya when I wrap that up. You call me when you're finish up in Jericho?"

"Absolutely," John nodded. He clapped Dean hard on the shoulder before both men get into their respective vehicles.

Dean hated witches. He hated everything they stood for and what they did. It was gross, unsanitary. He was pretty sure some of it steamed from that witch he ended up dating Sam's senior year of high school, but seriously. From what Dean could gather from his internet search, the five people that have died were all enemies of a family that was known in the community for working her hand with voodoo. He wasn't really sure what he was going to do when he found this woman, but he through he was pretty good at persuading people to do things.

He hadn't been to New Orleans since becoming legal, and there was much more that Dean could enjoy that he could when he was nine. He knew he had a job to do, but the lights of the city called to him. He took a deep breath and found a motel with a vacancy. He unpacked his car, repeating over and over in his head that he could have fun when it was over. He didn't have anything else pressing when this hunt was over and Bourbon Street wasn't going anywhere. He pulled out his phone as he settled in for the night and called his dad like he always did when he got to a new city.

"Hey," Dean said to John's voice mail. "I'm in New Orleans, settling into a motel for a while, might stick around here after I get this job done, see the sights, right. Let me know when you get to Jericho. Talk to you later."

He hung up and flipped backward onto the bed. The best part of motels was free cable, and since some dude named Hector Aframian was paying he was gonna make the most of it.

He didn't hear from his dad before taking off the next day to head down to the store the old woman Dean suspected to be behind the weird murders, but that wasn't too unusual. John didn't feel like he had to check in with his son the way the Dean felt like he needed to tell his dad he was okay. Dean wouldn't have been able to sleep at night if he didn't know where Sam was when he first left, he figured part of him wanted John to feel the same way.

The woman he was looking for ran a tourist trap voodoo shop. She wore a big smile and answered every question Dean asked about her religion and the culture. He'd gotten there right when the doors opened so he was the only one in the store. He had this woman's full attention.

"We do not seek violence, young man," she told Dean. "It's very sad that people have made my culture all about revenge and hatred. Our magic is about luck and preventing the bad things."

"It's too bad about those murders around here then," Dean said, locking eyes with this seemly kind old woman.

"Yes, yes," she nodded. "I knew them, very good people. It's a shame."

"And people are chalkin' it up to voodoo dolls and curses," Dean pressed. "Some even say they had it comin'."

"I don't know what you're getting at young man, but I don't think I like where it's going," the woman said, trying to make herself big, scare Dean away. "That isn't how we work."

"It's not," Dean asked seriously. "Because those deaths are awfully suspicious and they all got something about you written all over them. "

"I think I might want you to leave."

"And if I don't," Dean smirked. "You gonna put a nice spell on me too?"

"I don't like the way you're talking."

"I know things, ma'am," Dean continued. "A little bit about a lot of things, I don't know how you're doing it, ma'am, but I can find out. I want us both to walk way whole, unharmed. I'm just asking you to stop it."

"You know nothin'," The woman declared.

"I know you're pulling the strings," Dean replied. "I know you're behind it. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anybody. I don't want to see anybody else get hurt. The last time I came across someone with powers and skills like yours they did a lot of damage. I'm just here to warn you, ma'am. I don't want to have to come back."

"Empty threats about something you know nothing about," the woman said, walking toward Dean and ushering him toward the door.

"I believe when you say that you're peaceful, that this religion is peaceful," Dean said as she pushed at him. "I don't want anyone else that I work with coming across what's going on down here and shooting first. If you've ever met someone in my line of work, another hunter, you know that most of them don't ask questions. You seem like a real nice lady that just got in a bit of tight spot, ma'am. I can only make promises for myself, but I can make a few calls and there will be a couple guys down here that aren't quite so nice. I don't want to hurt you, I really don't. But you keep twisting my arm, it don't matter what you can do to me, I got friends who know where I am."

"If…" she whispered. "I'm not saying I know what you're talking about but… if the curse ends…"

"If you end the curse you won't see me or anyone I know again," Dean promised. "No more deaths. You say you can play with luck? Just give them bad luck. No more blood needs to be spilt here. Just let it go, revenge is nice, ma'am, but there's a line when gettin' it, believe me on that one."

"Get outta here," the old woman whispered. "Get outta my store. I don't want to see you back here again."

"As long as you hold your end up, ma'am," Dean smiled as he turned the door knob. "You won't, and I honestly hope you don't see my face again."

Dean stepped out into the sun of early October New Orleans. He was going to have fun here the next couple of weeks. He'd keep an eye on that woman for a while, keeping his promise if anything fishy happened. He just hoped he wouldn't have to find his way back to that little voodoo souvenir stand.

The next three weeks were a blur of drunken hook ups and all together awesomeness as far as Dean was concerned. He'd gotten close to a girl that went to Tulane and seemed to take quite a shining to the boy from the wrong side of the tracks thing. It was a fun week with her, but the longer it went without hearing anything from his dad, the more worried he became. He called every few days, kept getting his voice mail. Until he woke up one morning, a tall thin brunette pressed against his chest to a voice mail of his own.

"Dean…" he dad's voice came through the line with a lot of static. "Something big is starting to happen… I need to try to figure out what's going on… It may… be careful, Dean. We're all in danger."

"The fuck," Dean though as he played the message again. His dad has really just said he was in danger in a creepy cryptic message, awesome.

"Hey," Dean tapped the girl on the shoulder. "Hey sweetheart, I gotta get up."

"Huh," the girl blinked and looked up at him, smiling. "Oh, yeah, okay. I'll be right here."

Dean got up, grabbing his jeans from the floor and pulling them on as he walked to the bathroom with his phone. He played the message over and over. There was something else on that recording. He was going to have to run it through a gold wave.

"Are you coming back to bed?" the girl asked when Dean made his way back out to the main room.

"Ahh… no," Dean shook his head. Something bad was happening. He had to figure out what. "I… umm… I ahh… gotta go. Something came up with my dad. I gotta go to California. If you wanna take a shower or whatever I gotta pack up and stuff, so you can stay until I leave."

"Alright," the girl said confused.

Dean left the room and went through the trunk of the car to find a tape recorder and his other instruments. He walked back in to the room to the sound of the shower running. He wished he could remember this girl's name. He put his phone on speaker and recorded it to the handheld recorder, listening to it again to try to here through the static.

"Are you sure you have to take off?" The girl said as she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. "I mean, check out isn't until noon. We can still have a couple hours of fun."

"I'm sorry babe," Dean replied. "Family emergency."

She looked disappointed as she gathered her clothes and got dressed. She picked up his phone and programed her number into it.

"If you're back around, give me a call," she smiled. "I'd really enjoy another round."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "I will."

He watched her ass as she walked out of the room, knowing he'd never call her again.

He kept playing with the voice recording until he could strip away the static and slowed it down. Underneath his father's voice was a woman asking someone to take her home.

After Dean checked out of the motel he headed to the library and looked up the case his dad was working on, ten dead men on a strip of road in Jericho in the last twenty years. He printed off the missing persons flyers and as much information as he could before heading back to the car.

Something bad was brewing just on the other side of whatever the hell was going on with dad. Something real bad. They were all in danger, all of them. When he was four he was given a job to do. He'd been shit at it the last few years, but he'd be damned if he was going to fail at it now. Dean had to do what he did best. Protect the one person he knew how to protect. It was just going to take a little bit, probably a lot, actually, of convincing. He took a deep breath as he sat behind the wheel and though aloud.

"I can try to figure this out myself or I can go get Sammy," he said. "I'll tell him Dad's gone. He'll through a bitch fit and tell me to go away. Or I can do this myself, possibly get myself killed by whatever took dad and Sam will never know."

He nodded to himself as he cranked the engine. "Better to have him kick me out than never even get a chance."

He pointed the car toward California and didn't look back.

He sat across from Sam's apartment after the day and half drive. It looked like Sam was on his way to a Halloween party, the pretty blonde girl he and John had seen through the window the year before dressed as a nurse on his arm as they walked down the street. He'd just have to wait until they got home to stop him. No sense in ruining a night out. It gave Dean a chance to chill, take a little bit of a nap before this journey. When he woke up, he watched the lights in Sam's apartment slowly turn off as Sam and the girl made their way to bed. Time to move.

He climbed up the back stairwell, and found an open window.

"Amateur, Sammy," Dean thought. "Gotta lock out your place or anyone could get in."

He walked over to the kitchen. His big plan was to hope there was beer in the fridge and sit and wait for Sam to wake up for his middle of the night water. But on his way to the kitchen a hand grabbed him, and sent the arm flying backward. He swung with his right arm but his opponent ducked, grabbed his arm and spun him around. Dean blocked a kick as the pair went backward into the kitchen. Dean sends an elbow to the face of his little brother, Sam took a second kick but that too is blocked. Dean got a hold of his brother and dropped him to the ground pinning him one hand on his arm above his head, the other on his throat.

With a huge grin on his face he looks down at his confused little brother.

"Whoa, Easy Tiger."

An 2: This is the end. I hope you have enjoyed this. I don't know how to thank those of you who have written reviews and words of encouragement throughout my writing process. I never would have had the courage to keep posting this without all of you. Thank you for making writing this story a wonderful experience for me. If any of you have something that you want me to add to this verse, a scene you wish was in this or whatever, let me know and I will be glad to write it. I have a couple little story ideas lined up.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for reading this. I don't think I can put it into words how much it means to me.