The Big Easy
John winchester drove silently along I-10, street lights flashing rhythmically overhead further lulling him into the road hypnosis he had maintained for the past eight hours. He glanced at the clock to see it had just clicked past 2 am. With a sigh he peered into the rearview mirror to see his two slumbering boys awkwardly wrapped around each other. It was time to pull off the highway and find a cheap motel to crash in for a few hours before he began looking into the strange occurrences happening in the Big Easy.
A flickering neon sign at the next exit beckoned him to pull off. Its exterior looked to have been very swanky back in the sixties when such hotels were the only places available for travelers. But now it looked drab and worn down. A dingy sign stated "Rooms $25.00 a Night, $10.00 an Hour, Color TV! Cash Only" It was exactly what he was hoping to find. He nudged the purring black Impala in front of the office and stepped out with a last glance at his boys.
With the motion of the car halted, the older of the two boys awoke groggily. He blinked his eyes dazedly against the incessant glare of fluorescent lights. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned, careful to not jar his younger brother curled in his lap. He could see the shape of his father speaking with the clerk behind the counter, handing over a wad of cash. He wondered how long they would be staying where ever they were this time, everything had changed after the fire in which their mom died. His eyes prickled and he hastily scrubbed his face. He needed to be strong to look after Sammy.
John stepped back out into the much too humid air for this time of night and inhaled the odd mixture of scent that made up New Orleans, decaying leaf matter and old beer from the bar around the corner but with an exotic hint of jasmine from the vines growing on the side of the hotel. He glanced toward the bar as he patted his depleted wallet and made a note to try hustling pool there before they left town. He noticed half lidded green eyes watching him from the back seat of the car and was silently glad Dean was awake so he wouldn't have to move him himself.
He opened the driver's door and slid behind the steering wheel. "Where are we, daddy?" Dean mumbled softly.
"New Orleans, way down south by the Gulf of Mexico, buddy." John turned the key to the engine and eased the car toward their room. "We'll be here for at least a few days. Can you grab your bags by yourself big man?"
Dean nodded solemnly and began to ease the sleeping boy off his lap to begin their now typical routine. John turned the car off and moved to open the trunk of the black car for the young boy, he slung his own bag over his shoulder then came around to scoop Sam off the back seat. Sam whined into his shoulder but did not wake further. Dean was already standing by the door with his bag and Sam's. He looked to be having some trouble, but the stubborn look on his face kept John from saying anything except nodding proudly. He opened the door and stepped into the drab room, Dean following behind him. He placed sam on the bed furthest from the door and watched the toddler curl further into himself, his thumb making its way into his mouth. Dean was already taking out the necessary items to help keep them safe from what went bump in the night. It saddened John to watch his young son work so efficiently at laying down lines of salt in front of the doors and windows, but a bubble of pride forced its way up. It wasn't fair to force such serious matters on a seven year old, but Dean took to it better than most adults that John had come across.
John finished his own routine and placed his weapons within easy reach. Dean was already tucking the covers around little Sam. John walked over to tuck his eldest in. Dean's eyes were already sliding shut when John bent down to place a kiss on each of their heads. "Good night my strong ones." Dean mumbled something that might have been a reply, but he was already mostly asleep. John fell into his own bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. He was in the middle of making plans for the next day's research when he fell asleep.
"Werewolves in the French Quarter?" read the news headline on that mornings Alternative Weekly. His boys were splitting a plate of pancakes and bacon, Sam ending up with more syrup on his face than in his mouth, that meant baths before they went to the local library. John continued to read the article. It sounded so far fetched that John nearly dismissed it. Typically, he followed leads that sounded more mundane but were of a supernatural origin. Having a local newspaper openly discuss a werewolf attack sounded pretty fishy. He read through the rest of the paper searching for anything else suspicious.
His boys were beginning to argue quietly over the last piece of bacon when the door to the diner opened with a jingle. "Mr. Hoodoo! What can I get you today? Your usual sandwich and coffee?" The waitress asked cheerfully across the room.
"Yes please, Miss Martha. That would be wonderful. Could I get it to go? I have another call by the University." A man's voice called back.
Murmurs filled the diner and John looked up expecting to see a uniformed police officer. Instead he was greeted with a tactically armoured man with a shaved head. He had a smirk on his face and what looked suspiciously like blood flecked across the webbing on his vest.
"For you, Mr. Hoodoo, I'll even pack up something for lunch." The waitress sauntered back to the kitchen. John noticed a shoulder patch with a shrunken head. His curiosity was piqued, It wasn't everyday someone fully kitted out walked into a diner and was greeted familiarly by the waitstaff.
His attention was pulled back to his children as Sam let out a shriek of anger. He noticed Dean munching satisfactorily on the last piece of bacon. Sam pushed his lip into a pout and began to snuffle. John watched with dread as Sam's snuffles began to become full on sobbing. He shot Dean a look, Dean shrugged as if to say "I didn't do it."
"Dean, what happened?" John stood to pick up the screaming toddler and bounce him off his hip, trying, but failing, to quiet the child.
Dean just pouted. "I won paper-scissors-rock and got the last piece of bacon." John noticed it was only half eaten at this point. "But if Sammy is going to be such a fuss he can just have it."
John sighed, children. "Sammy, do you want half of Dean's bacon?" The sobs stopped abruptly and the boy squirmed his way down to the ground where he snatched the piece of bacon quickly off the plate. John rolled his eyes and Dean pouted further. Sam knew exactly how to play them.
Sam was insolently chewing on his pilfered winnings, when John noticed "Mr. Hoodoo" staring at them with thinly veiled amusement. John flicked him a "What can I do, this 3 year old rules my life" look. He watched the man huff a laugh before moving to sit in a chair by the door.
As the waitress brought them their bill, he watch Mr. Hoodoo out of the corner of his eye. Martha the waitress swaggered back out to him with a to-go cup of coffee and a paper bag stuffed with goodies. She handed him his meal as he stood up. "You be safe out there, Mr. Hoodoo."
"Will do Miss Martha, I'll see you later then." He lowered his voice and John nearly missed that last bit. "Full moon tonight, lock up tight and stay safe." Martha's face seemed to pale and she nodded soberly. Mr. Hoodoo stepped out into the morning sunlight, the day already muggy.
John filed that exchange away and moved to handle the latest disagreement between the brothers, this time over whether the slide or the see-saw was more fun.
After a trying day researching, following up on leads, and taking care of his two young children, John Winchester was ready to grab a beer or several. The kids were both plopped down in front of the TV watching some cartoon with full attention. John scrubbed his face and checked the room to ensure all his safety measures were in place.
"Boys." He called to them, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. They turned away from the TV, though Sam's eyes kept wandering back for brief intervals. "I'm going to the bar around the corner, I'll be back in a few hours. Dean, you know the rules. Do not leave this room. Take Care of your brother. Go to bed by ten. Teeth brushed."
Dean looked seriously at his father and said solemnly, "Yes Sir." John ruffled both of their heads on the way out the door. They were turned back to the screen before the door shut.
He made sure the door was locked and his wards hidden inconspicuously before striding in the direction of country music and sour beer. The bar wasn't the smallest hole in the wall he had ever been in, it was just off the highway and held a remotely large crowd of locals. It was exactly the kind of place that John liked. Usually he was left alone to his thoughts, but if he felt like being social or playing some pool folk were usually amicable, and the drinks were cheap. He already knew tonights' crowd was not who he normally hustled and vowed to find a bar with a more pompous crowd the next night.
He sat at the bar, catching the attention of the barkeeper with a quick flick of his fingers. "Whatever you have on tap that cold and cheap." The barkeeper nodded and passed him the glass without question once it was filled. He hunched his shoulders, took a sip, and let his thoughts wander over what he had learned throughout the day.
Normally when he rifled through a the local papers and history, he found articles that posed as mundane murders or deaths. But in this town, he found the usual amount of crime but most of it was of a non-suspicious nature. Interestingly though were the amount of articles on the supernatural. Though they were posed as hoax stories through dubious papers, they always had a ring of truth to them that caught his attention. If he went just by these articles alone without checking sources, he would think New Orleans was a hotbed of supernatural activity.
Something else that caught his attention was Hoodoo squad. He would hear it murmured by locals reverently, usually in conjunction with supernatural talk. But New Orleans was known for its superstitious nature, so he wasn't sure if they were really openly talking about the supernatural or their beliefs.
John startled when the bar keeper plunked another glass down in front of him and he looked up gratefully. An idea briefly crossed his mind and he jumped on it. "So, I'm just passing through, but I keep hearing something about a Hoodoo squad. Is that a New Orleans thing? A sports team?" He played the ignorant tourist card and hoped he could get some info out of the guy.
The bartender looked at him with an unrecognizable expression that seemed to be judging the honesty to the question. After a brief moment he answered. "A it's just a local group that keeps the streets safe for regular folks. Kinda like a neighborhood watch. Don't you mind them."
"Ah, thanks." John went back to his drink and the barkeeper wandered off to tend to other customers. Taking another long swig, John turned the answer over in his mind. Keeping the streets safe could be a number of things. It could be a well known gang or even what a police group called themselves. But the guy he'd seen in the diner that morning didn't seem to be a neighborhood watch sort, more like a mercenary. He shrugged and decided to figure it out the next day.
Behind him, the idle chatter of the bar slowed to a halt. He could hear someone groaning in pain and turned curiously to see what was happening. Among a circle of people, John could make out one middle aged man hunched forward and clutching at his abdomen. The people around him gasped and someone began scrabbling toward the exit. The groaning began changing to a growl and the man contorted inhumanly. At that moment, it clicked in John's mind and he swiftly glanced out the front window to see a full moon rising over the horizon.
"Ah, shit." He said as he began to stand and pull out his knife plated in silver. It was definitely not what he prefered for taking down a werewolf, but it was what he had and he wasn't going to let the beast rip its way through the unaware crowd of civilians. John looked again to check the progress of the transformation. It had begun to sprout hair along its arms and its limbs were elongating unnaturally, definitely slower than others he had dealt with over the past few years. He decided it must be its first transformation, poor bastard.
Most of the crowd was beginning to realize what was happening and were exiting the building in various stages of panic. The bartender was surprisingly already on the phone with a grim look on his face and a sawed off shot gun clutched in his grip. The werewolf threw its head back and gave a gurgling scream that transformed into a howl at the end signaling the transformation was complete. That also when the screaming and blood shed began. The remaining crowd that were not becoming werewolf chew toys bolted for the door in full animalistic panic. John dropped into a fighter's stance and moved swiftly into the blood bath. The werewolf was gnawing its way through some poor woman's arm, her eyes were glazed over in death. With the attention of the wolf on its victim, John stepped behind it and made to plunge his dagger into is back.
A rapport of a run rang out and the werewolf shifted enough that the knife slid into the meat of its should rather between its ribs into its heart. John didn't have time to curse, the thing wheeled around in rage and lunged toward his neck with jaws open, bloody teeth promising a untimely end. But John was not deterred, he had clutched the knife tightly while the beast moved and it came sliding out, leaving a jagged wound. He thrust the knife upward and braced his back leg to drive the knife into the oncoming face of death. The wolf did not have time to move out of the way of the dagger and the knife slid into one fury filled eye. John allowed the momentum of the attack to pivot his body away from the jaws and out of harm's way.
The wolf tumbled forward and thrashed to a heap. The knife to the eye was a mortal wound on a normal person, but John knew that it had only knocked the creature out for a few moments. He wrenched the knife free again and began the gruesome task of sawing the head away from the torso, it took more time and effort than John was expecting and by the time the last sinew snapped against his blade, he could hear sirens outside the bar. The wolf's head rolled away from the body and John nudged it further to ensure it did not somehow reattach itself. With a sigh he realized his knife was fully dull and would need to be resharpened in the morning.
John wandered back to his original spot, noting that the bar was completely empty at this point, and finished his beer. Unexpectedly, law enforcement still had not entered the building as John left a few bills on the counter to cover the cost. Instead in he was surprised to find Mr. Hoodoo and a second person slowly inching their way into the carnage. He watched them moved with trained precision toward the corpses and assess the damage. They looked up toward him and he waved. They relaxed slightly and moved toward him, guns still held ready for an attack.
Mr. Hoodoo was the first to speak up. "What happened here? Did you see anything strange?"
John cleared his throat. "Some guy started acting weird and began attacking the other patrons. I stepped in to help and ended up defending myself." The partner walked back toward the destruction and John noticed the same shrunken head patch on his shoulder.
Mr. Hoodoo nodded, "Did this guy just happen to transform into a big bad wolf?" he asked almost jokingly.
"Yeah, I thought it was pretty strange. He killed a bunch of people."
Mr. Hoodoo began to look over John in an intense way. "He didn't bite you did he?"
John began to believe that these guys knew that the dead man actually was a real true werewolf. "No, I surprised him while he was chowing down on a victim, then when he was knocked out, I took his head off."
Mr. Hoodoo nodded along with his explanation. "I'm taking it this isn't your first loups garous kill."
"No Sir, this definitely wasn't my first rodeo. I'm just glad it was a first transformation and not an older one, otherwise it would have had the advantage."
Mr. Hoodoo stuck his hand out toward John, "Chad Gardenier from Monster Hunters International Hoodoo Squad."
John hesitated for a second, but if these guys were comfortable speaking about werewolves, they must know the truth to the world, and they had made no move to arrest him. He decided to risk it and returned the handshake. "John Winchester."
"Well Mr. Winchester. It looks like we'll be filling out some paperwork for you and get a check sent to you for your hard work." Chad holstered his weapon and began to take notes on a pad.
John blinked dumbfounded. "Wait, what?"
"Yeah, we're with a contract company that hires out to kill monsters and paid a bounty by the government for each confirmed kill." Chad wandered over the the bodies to begin tallying up the death total.
"So, you're telling me that all this time the government could have been paying me to kill monsters?" John said incredulously.
"Yep, it's called PUFF, or the Perpetual Unearthly Forces Fund. I'll file it for you and you should receive a check." Said Chad candidly.
"How much are we talking about here?" John asked uncertainly.
Chad hummed for a moment. "For one singular loups garous… That would be roughly $50,000."
John stood open mouthed, blinking dumbly. Finally he stuttered out, "Fifty thousand…..dollars. You're shitting me."
Chad looked smugly back, "Nope, and it varies depending on the age, type of monster, and how many. The biggest take MHI had was a couple hundred billion and that was last year here in the Big Easy. It was big, but definitely not easy." He ended, a weary look passing over his face. He perked up as he fished for a card in his pocket. "Anyways, you seem pretty competent. Here is our card. Monster Hunters International or MHI. If you're interested, we're always looking to recruit new people. Just call that number and let them know who recommended you."
John looked down at the card and a happy face smile back up at him. "I'm definitely going to consider it. That would mean never having to hustle pool ever again." He grinned and Chad grinned back.
"Well Mr. Winchester, hopefully I'll be seeing you around. You and your boys stay safe out there." Chad put his hand out and John shook it.
"Same to you Mr. Gardenier."
Ive been playing around with this idea for a while and decided to run with it aince Ive hit a point where I cant find new fics to read that are satisfying. Let me know what you think, I might tweak it here and there as I work through Sinners again.