Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Again, if I've screwed up the geography of New Orleans, I apologize. I did the best I could!

Chapter 3: Risk and Reckless Abandon

As Dean slipped through a window of the museum, the red light of the EXIT sign cast an eerie glow over him as he paused a few feet inside. Waiting for his eyes to adjust was absolute torture, but luckily, it only took about ten seconds for the shadowy details of the room to come into focus.

There was no sign of Sam, and Dean had to fight the urge to call out the younger boy's name. He knew better for one thing, and Sam would know better than to respond, for another.

Or at least he better.

Nothing gave away a position better than calling out someone's name or responding in kind, and their dad would tear them a new one for that kind of rookie mistake.

Moving down the dark hallway he'd entered into through the window, Dean paused as he reached a door that was cracked open. Adjusting his grip on his Glock, Dean silently nudged the door open with his foot and slowly eased toward the opening. Cautiously angling his body, he peered in only to see a dimly-lit staircase leading down into what Dean imagined could only be a hot, dusty basement.

Great. A voodoo basement. No, that's not creepy-as-hell at all.

A quick recon of the remaining doors along the hallway revealed mostly supply closets and one door leading to the exhibit area, and while Dean knew his brother had a fondness for museums, he figured it was unlikely that Sam would've headed that way when he had a purpose.

Sure, the kid's a geek, but he's not gonna play tourist when he's on a mission.

Which left the creepy basement.

Damn it, Sammy. There better not be fucking rats down there.

With a sigh, Dean returned to the basement door and after a moment decided to skip the flashlight and just feel his way down. He wanted a free hand, for one thing, which he wouldn't have if he was carrying a gun and a flashlight. And putting the gun away wasn't an option. There was also the fact that the flashlight would advertise his presence.

Sam, remind me to kick your ass later for walking into a voodoo basement with no intel and then making me follow you.

Granted, if Dean was being honest, he'd admit that he, not Sam, was usually the one walking into an unknown situation blind. Sam usually over-thought and over-planned everything. It worked when Dean didn't plan ahead. When Sam didn't plan ahead, it was just fucking annoying.

Maybe it was because Dean didn't really worry about himself. Sammy was still Priority Number One in Dean's book, though—always would be—and going into an unknown situation placed the risk to Sam just a little too high for Dean's peace of mind.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and immediately moved away from the single light at the bottom of the stairs. It was like every other creepy basement Dean had ever been in—a large dark space, piled with boxes and random shit that nobody wanted, and lit by only a single, dingy yellow light bulb. Yep, totally the same…except for the weird voodoo vibe he was getting.

Dean scanned his immediate surroundings, relief suddenly welling up at the unruly mop of brown hair visible over the top of a pile of boxes opposite the stairs. Sam wasn't facing him, instead focusing intently on something either in his hands or on his lap—Dean couldn't tell which—and the fifteen-year-old was, Dean knew, completely oblivious. Dean moved toward him on silent feet, dropping a heavy hand on Sam's shoulder as he suddenly crouched down beside him.

Sam jumped, caught completely unaware, and Dean shook his head ruefully as he allowed Sam to shrug off his hand.

"What the hell, Dean? You scared the shit outta me!"

"You weren't paying attention and it's my fault? I'd love to hear you explain that one," he retorted, slipping his pistol carefully into the back of his pants before aiming a smirk at his little brother.

"Shut-up," Sam grumbled angrily, his face flushing with embarrassment.

"What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?" Dean asked him, willing to let the moment go…at least for now. "Dad's pissed, dude."

"The answers are here, Dean—I know it! And I'm gonna prove it to Dad."

"Well you better find the proof fast, because he's on his way."

"What?"

"Did you honestly think he was gonna let you go off alone on your little crusade when there's a demon out here? C'mon, Sammy, you're not that stupid."

"I thought I'd have more time," Sam said plaintively, and Dean wasn't all too sure that Sam wasn't a step away from one of his emo girl moments.

"Yeah, well, you thought wrong, little brother. If you expect to live long enough to see sixteen, you'd better get your ass in gear. We need to get back to Jeb's."

"But, Dean, the demon's coming from here."

"Dad said there wasn't a voodoo connection, Sam—it doesn't make any sense. Why would it be coming from here?"

"I'm not real sure about that part yet," Sam muttered, and Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Let's go, Sam."

"Awww, c'mon, Dean!" Sam complained, his voice rising into that whine that Dean hated with a passion. "We're already here! There's no harm in lookin' around!"

"How about the harm to our asses when Dad gets a hold of us? Did you think about that?" Dean told him snarkily.

"What are you complaining about? You didn't do anything."

"Uh, yeah. I did."

"What'd you do?"

"I came chasing after your ass when I was supposed to go back to Jeb's and wait like Dad said."

"Well that was a stupid order," Sam pointed out with a thoughtful expression. "Dad should've known you'd disobey that one."

Yeah, he should've, Dean mused, smirking before turning back to the matter at hand.

"C'mon, Dean, please! If you help me, we can get outta here faster."

"Help you do what?"

"Find proof that this is where the demon's home-base is," Sam told him earnestly.

"Sammy," Dean began with a sigh, "Look, I get it—I do. I know you want to prove to Dad that you can do this…but coming in here unprepared and shit—it's just not a good idea. Not when we're dealing with a demon. Especially one as crazy fucked up as this one."

"Who says I'm unprepared?" Sam argued, his face settling into that stubborn tilt that Dean recognized as one hundred percent Winchester.

Shit. He's gonna dig in his heels. Damn.

"Sammy—"

A whisper of sound gave him pause, and Dean turned, his eyes scanning for the source of whatever had gotten his attention.

"What's wrong?" Sam whispered, moving closer as his eyes widened.

"Shh."

Dean slowly rose, pulling Sam to his feet behind him as he continued to search the darkness around them. The fact that he couldn't see anything only made his nerves taut with unease. Something wasn't right.

Another hint of sound, but this time Dean recognized it for what it was: a footstep above them. And it sure as hell wasn't their dad's. Whether it was a rent-a-cop or the demon, Dean couldn't say, but whatever it was wasn't good. Dad was gonna be pissed if they got caught either way.

"Sammy, when I say go, you run for the door, okay?"

"Not without you!" Sam whispered back, shaking his head frantically.

"I'll be right behind you," Dean told him, wishing not for the first time that Sam didn't have an inherent need to question orders. The footsteps were coming down the stairs now, and Dean got the feeling that whoever they belonged to was no longer concerned about being quiet.

Dean reached back with one hand, snagging the fabric of Sam's t-shirt and pulling him close, preparing to move as soon as the coast was clear. The footsteps cleared the stairs, pausing as the owner no doubt began to search for them. They were hidden from view at the moment, sheltered by the pile of boxes between them and the stairs, but as soon as they made a run for it, Dean knew they'd be out in the open like sitting ducks.

C'mon, asshole, keep moving.

Dean shifted soundlessly, pulling his brother along as he began to edge toward the end of the pile of boxes, maneuvering them so that they'd be in a better position to run when the time came. Dean waited, his fingers tightening in Sam's shirt even as he debated over whether or not to pull his gun. If he did and it turned out to be a cop, then he was totally gonna be busted for carrying an illegal firearm.

It may be New Orleans, but I'm pretty sure they haven't changed the law to allow nineteen-year-olds to carry concealed. Too bad.

Then again, if whoever walking around was a demon, then the gun might not be a bad idea. Not that the gun would do much more than piss it off, but still…something was better than nothing. He palmed the gun, his ears straining for the sound of the footsteps. Finally, they began to move in the opposite direction, and Dean risked peeking his head around the edge of the boxes.

There was nothing there.

Dammit, I know I heard the footsteps! Somebody was here, I know it!

Still, Dean waited, sweat trickling down his face, tension causing his muscles to practically vibrate.

"Dean? There's nothing there—what're we waiting for?" Sam mumbled impatiently after a long couple of minutes.

Fucking voodoo. 's messin' with my head.

"Okay, let's go. But keep your mouth shut and stay behind me. I gotta bad feelin'."

"Star Wars moment much?"

"Shut-up, Sam—I'm serious."

"Okay, okay," Sam grumbled, obviously only placating him, but at the moment, Dean didn't care so long as his brother did what he'd been told.

"Alright, let's do this."

He shifted his grip from Sam's shirt to his bicep, his fingers tightening for a moment before he began to pull Sam along behind him, moving quickly for the stairs.

"Going somewhere, boys?"

The voice came from somewhere off to their left, dripping with a slow Southern drawl that wasn't nearly as comforting as Jeb's or the twins' accents. As a figure stepped out of the shadows at the other end of the room, Dean jerked Sam forward, putting the younger boy closer to the stairs even as he angled his body so that he was between Sam and the man now moving towards them.

"Don't you two know that New Orleans is dangerous these days?" the man asked casually, and Dean's mind raced as he tried to figure out whether or not he could get Sam out before the man reached them. Something about the dude's demeanor had Dean on edge, though he couldn't place his finger on the exact cause.

"Yeah, well, we could say the same about you," Sam said defiantly, apparently not picking up on the aura of 'obviously not right' coming off the man.

Don't push this one, Sam—don't bait him. Dude's 'off' somehow.

"Yes, well, I have business to attend to," the man told them with a careless shrug.

"What kind of business?" Sam asked, and Dean's grip tightened in warning.

"Shut-up, Sam," Dean whispered harshly.

"Oh, you know—the usual," he told them with a smile. "Death, destruction, mayhem," he finished, his eyes suddenly filling with an empty black void that had Dean's 'Oh Shit-Meter' flaring.

"Go, Sam!" Dean yelled, shoving Sam towards the stairs as he moved to keep the demon from reaching his little brother.

"Oh, now, don't be like that," the demon exclaimed with a chilling smile, darting forward to grab Dean by the arm. Dean had a moment to think "Oh fuck" before he was airborne, slamming headfirst into a stack of wooden crates that left him dazed, his ears ringing and his head pounding as a sudden warmth began to drip down his forehead.

"Dean!"

The sound of Sam yelling his name was enough to bring him to his senses, and he staggered to his feet, throwing himself back at the demon.

He managed to get his arms around the thing, pinning its arms to its sides, but he knew it wasn't gonna last.

"Sam, I can't hold him forever! GO!"

"'m not leaving without you!" Sam yelled back, sounding for all the world like the scared little boy who'd once depended on Dean for everything. And Dean realized with a sinking feeling that Sam wasn't going to leave.

Shit.

"Just stay down, then!" he yelled, hoping like hell that Sam actually listened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam drop back behind an as of yet undisturbed stack of crates, and with that, Dean turned his attention fully to somehow trying to handle a demon on his own.

Knew I should have learned that damn exorcism ritual! Fuck!

"You're a demon—what the fuck are you doin' in a voodoo museum?" Dean bit out, grunting as the demon wiggled free and elbowed him.

"Ever hear of a red herring, boy? Get the hunters to think these are voodoo killings and they don't even notice the demonic signs."

"Well that's where you fucked up—my dad figured that shit out yesterday. You're not very good at this whole 'badass demon' thing."

"You don't know what you're dealing with," the demon said viciously. "But allow me to show you," it went on, the dark glee in its voice making the hair on Dean's neck suddenly stand. The storm broke outside, a massive roll of thunder shaking the building as the demon obviously began to exert itself.

The demon broke Dean's hold then, hurling him once more across the room where he slammed into one of the support columns hard enough that he was pretty sure he heard something break. Of course, he couldn't be sure, though, since his entire body was throbbing from the impact.

"BOYS!"

The sound of his father's boots thundering down the stairs at breakneck speed had Dean slumping against the column in sheer relief, and he allowed himself a brief moment to enjoy the sensation before he straightened and threw himself back into the fight—at least if the demon's attention was on him, it wasn't on Sam.

Unfortunately, this time wasn't any more effective than the previous encounters, even with his dad helping to distract it, and Dean was pretty damn sure that another run at the demon wasn't gonna go any better. But Winchesters as a rule were stubborn as hell, and expected failure hadn't stopped them yet, so Dean really didn't even have to think before he was dragging himself to his feet once again to help his father.

"Dean, drop!" John yelled, and a lifetime of obeying without question had Dean hitting the floor a split second before his father pulled the trigger of his pistol. It only slowed the demon down, but the slew of holy water that John subsequently threw in its face had it backing up, screaming with rage as it fought to wipe the holy water from its eyes.

Spotting an opportunity, Dean rose to his hands and knees, automatically shifting his weight onto his left to lessen the pain shooting through his right shoulder as he moved in behind the demon. A moment later, the demon backed right into him, tripping over Dean and sprawling on its back.

Dean pounced, and his father was right behind him, the two of them fighting to subdue the demon, though how exactly his father planned to hold the demon was anyone's guess. It would've been a struggle on a good day, but with his arm suddenly not wanting to work right, it made it all the harder to hold the damn demon still.

"Dad! Here, Dad!" Sam yelled excitedly, and Dean looked up to see Sam motioning them toward him.

"We're kinda busy, Sam!" John yelled back, grunting with exertion as the demon fought their hold. A stray hit nailed Dean in the shoulder, sending intense agony through him that had him holding back a yell. Pissed off, Dean balled up his left hand and landed a vicious punch of his own at the demon's face, reveling at the feel of the impact. After getting slammed a few times, it was pretty damn gratifying, to be honest.

"Easy!" his father barked. "There's a person in there!"

Oh—right. Whoops.

At that moment, the demon broke free, slinging both of them aside, and Dean bit back a cry of pain as he hit the floor, taking the impact on his right side. He vaguely registered his father landing a few feet away as the demon ran towards the stairs.

"No!" Sam cried, darting out from behind the crates, moving in to intercept the fleeing demon.

"Sam, don't!" Dean screamed, flinging himself to his feet, but he knew he wouldn't get there in time. And there was no way in hell Sam was going to stop now. The fifteen-year-old slammed into the demon at full speed, putting every bit of his weight into a tackle that would have done any football coach proud. Caught by surprise, the demon was forced backward for several feet before he regained his footing and knocked Sam loose. Sam cried out as he hit the floor hard, and Dean experienced a moment of heart-stopping fear before the younger boy rolled out of the demon's way.

"Dean!" Sam hollered from the floor, cutting his eyes towards the crates he'd been hiding behind. Dean nodded, even as he moved in, his father a second ahead of him.

"Dad, the crates," Dean bit out, ignoring his pain as he lunged for the demon's knees, wrapping his arms around them and letting his dad take care of knocking the demon off balance from there. The demon clawed at him, landing a few good hits, before John managed to grasp his arms and hold them down. But Dean could see well enough that they weren't going to be able to hang on for long.

"Dad, please!" Sam called out, hovering around them anxiously, wanting to grab hold and help but not seeing an opening. "You gotta trust me!"

John looked over at Sam before glancing back once more at Dean, silently asking Dean what he thought. Dean looked back at him solemnly, and for a moment, nothing else existed except that brief moment of communication, and then Dean nodded. With a silent murmur, John counted to three. And then he let go.

Dean scrambled back as the demon tore away from them, and John moved forward, slamming into the demon's midsection and propelling it back until it smashed into the crates that Sam had desperately been trying to tell them about. As the crates shattered into broken shards of wood, Dean saw why Sam had been willing to stay back for as long as he had.

There, on the floor, as plain as day, was a simple devil's trap. And the demon was inside.

Dean slumped in relief, weariness and pain beating at him as he let himself drop back onto the floor with a heavy sigh. He rolled his head towards his younger brother, who was anxiously standing beside the trap while their father examined it and the demon inside it.

"You okay, Sammy?"

"My wrist kinda hurts," Sam said, cradling the limb in question against his chest. "But 'm okay. What about you?"

Everything hurts like a bitch.

"'m fine."

"I call bullshit," Sam said, eyeballing him critically.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Boys, enough. We've got a situation here that needs to be dealt with."

"Let me go and I won't gut you," the demon snarled. "You think this will hold me?"

"Hey, dumbass," Dean retorted, "maybe you failed to notice, but it already is."

Sam snorted, obviously delighted that his trap was holding, but obviously, their father wasn't nearly as amused. Ignoring Dean's jibe, John turned to face his younger son, a dark scowl on his face.

"Samuel, how did you know how to do this?"

"Well…it was in one of Braden's sketchpads."

"And how did you know it would work?"

"Um…well…I figured Bray wouldn't have drawn it if it didn't work."

"What? He's nine-years-old!" John yelled in disbelief. "How the hell would he know if it worked or not?"

"The same way he knows all of that other weird shit!" Sam retorted, and Dean winced.

Yeah, that's not gonna go over well.

"Don't you take that tone with me!"

"What are you so mad about? It worked—the demon's stuck!"

Is it just a little bit fucked up that we've got a family bitch-fest going in front of a demon in a trap? I mean, have they forgotten that the damn thing needs to be exorcised already?

"You put us all at risk on a chance that a fucking doodle in a nine-year-old's sketchpad would hold back a demon!" John was yelling. "Not only that, but I told you to stay at Jeb's!"

"I bet if it was Dean that did it, you wouldn't be mad!"

"Dean's in enough fucking trouble of his own—he doesn't need to borrow any. This one's on you, Samuel! You knew what my orders were, and you disobeyed. You could've gotten yourself killed!"

"Well, I didn't! So what are you so mad about?"

Damn, little brother's got balls of steel, Dean thought, watching his brother look their father square in the eye, bristling with righteous indignation. Not too bright, but still, you gotta admire that kinda nerve.

"Dean, take your brother and get back to Jeb's," John said tightly, turning his back on Sam to look at Dean. "When you get there, stay put. And you make damn sure your brother does, too, understand?"

"Yessir," Dean murmured, painstakingly climbing to his feet, wincing at the pain that shot through him.

I better not have dislocated this fucking shoulder again. Shit.

"But, Dad, I wanna stay here and watch you exorcise it! It's my trap that caught it—I deserve to stay and see what happens," Sam protested.

"Right now, I don't give a rat's ass what you think you deserve—you're going with your brother, and I'm not gonna fucking argue it with you," John told him in that biting tone that told both boys well enough that their dad wasn't screwing around anymore.

With an angry sigh, Sam pounded up the stairs, not waiting for Dean as he stormed off.

Thanks for that, Dad. Now I gotta deal with his emo bitching all the way back to Jeb's, Dean thought, following his brother slowly up the stairs as his father turned back to the demon, no doubt preparing to grill it for information before he sent it back to hell.

Of course it was raining when they emerged back onto the street, and Dean sighed, already anticipating the annoyance of an eight block trip back to Jeb's in the pouring rain. Beside him, Sam hunched his shoulders and put his head down, ignoring Dean as he started to go west.

"Other way, Sam."

"What? Why?"

"That way will put us on Bourbon Street—too many people are out on Bourbon Street."

"So?" Sam said contentiously, and Dean had to fight the urge to smack his smartass of a brother in the back of the head.

"Dude, I'm beat to hell—yeah, it's Bourbon Street, but people will still notice the blood I've got all over me," he said, gesturing irritably at the gash on his forehead that had contributed to the blood all over his shirt. "We can't afford that kind of attention, Sam. So go the other way and keep going until we hit Decatur. All that shit's closed, so there won't be that many people out. We can head north from there."

"But that'll take us twice as long!" Sam argued, obviously in one of those moods.

"I'm not Dad, Sam, and I'm not gonna fuckin' argue with you. Do what I tell you—you can bitch at me later."

Not waiting for Sam to do what he was told, Dean took the lead, sticking to the shadows as he headed east toward Decatur Street. Reaching up, he gingerly probed at his shoulder, trying to tell if the stupid thing was dislocated.

Doesn't feel like it's dislocated, but damn if it doesn't hurt like a sonovabitch. Must be something else…

Sam let out an angry huff, breaking into Dean's train of thought, and Dean let his hand drop from his shoulder as he turned to look at his little brother, who was looking less angry and more miserable with every step.

He's gonna make me say something. Damn.

One block, five storefronts, and two painfully silent minutes later, Dean couldn't let it go any longer.

"Sorry Dad wouldn't let you stay," Dean said quietly.

"Yeah, well, it's not like it's anything new," Sam grumbled, jostling him slightly as he hopped over a gaping crack in the sidewalk.

"Ow! Shit, Sammy!" Dean barked as pain shot through him at the inadvertent jarring.

"What?"

"I think I broke my damn collarbone. 's the only reason I can think of for why my arm's numb and my shoulder fuckin' hurts."

"You sure you didn't dislocate your shoulder again?"

"Pretty sure. Doesn't feel outta place like it did when I dislocated it."

"Oh." He fell silent for a bit, and Dean was feeling pretty grateful that his normally chatty younger brother wasn't going to pursue conversation any further. Of course, then Sam had to go and ruin it. "You know, you've got pretty shitty luck, Dean."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Just means you get hurt a lot. You should be more careful," Sam said with a rueful shake of his head.

"Sure, Sam—thanks for the advice," Dean told him snarkily. "Next time I go up against a demon to save your ass, I'll be sure to tell it to throw me real gentle-like at the wall."

"Well, you don't have to be a smartass," Sam retorted. "I'm just sayin' that you—"

"Stow it, Sam—not in the mood."

"Now you're acting like Dad," Sam muttered. "Nobody's ever in the mood to talk when I wanna—"

"Because you don't wanna talk, Sam—you wanna lecture and bitch at everybody. That shit gets old, real fast, and nobody in this family has the patience for it, Dad especially."

"Dad doesn't have the patience for anything," Sam said hotly, crossing his arms over his chest angrily. "He's mad at me, even though I freakin' helped! He's a jerk!"

I must have seriously pissed somebody off to deserve this. Such a freakin' girl, and I'm the one who ends up having to fuckin'…emote.

"He's not really mad at you, Sammy—you know that, right?"

Sam didn't answer, and Dean reached out and snagged Sam's shoulder, pulling him to a stop so that they were face-to-face.

"He gets pissy when he's scared, Sam—sort of like you do."

"Shut-up!"

"Well quit being a little bitch about it," Dean retorted.

"I'm not being a bitch!"

"Yeah, you are. You're too fucking sensitive, dude."

"Well, if Dad would just trust me—"

"It's not about trust, Sam," Dean said, shaking his head.

"Sure it is! He never lets me help—and even though my trap worked, he still sent me home like a little kid, like I'm not old enough to see anything!"

"Hey, he didn't let me stay either, but you don't see me bitching and moaning about it, do you?"

"He only sent you away because he needed somebody to 'babysit' me on the way home."

"It's different with you, Sammy," Dean told him with a sigh, staring down into his little brother's doleful brown eyes.

"How?"

"Because you're the last thing Dad has of Mom," Dean murmured. "You're the last thing she ever gave him. He's scared he'll lose you."

"He can't keep me safe forever, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head in frustration, his shaggy hair flopping over his forehead.

"Maybe not," Dean mumbled, a sudden ache in his chest at the thought of anything ever happening to his brother. "But he's for damn sure gonna try."

And so am I. It's all I've got.

"I'd have sent you back, too, Sammy," Dean said quietly after a moment's silence.

"What?" Sam barked, sounding for all the world like he'd been betrayed.

"You're my little brother—it's my job to keep you safe. You're everything, Sammy. I mean, yeah, we've got Aubrey and Braden now, but…you're…" He trailed off, suddenly embarrassed by the total Hallmark-y-ness of the moment and not exactly sure what to say anyway.

"I'm what, Dean?" Sam asked softly, staring up at Dean with a gaze that Dean suddenly found all to penetrating.

"You're all I got left of Mom, too. I can't lose you, Sammy. I can't," he said emphatically.

"You're not gonna lose me, Dean—I promise."

But as they turned and started walking toward Jeb's again, Dean couldn't help but wonder.