Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or the boys within it...shame...

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. tracer2032, I hope I give New Orleans' her justice. If anything seems out of place, let me know. I'm just a Midwesterner myself. H.T.Marie here's some more to judge! saiyuki123 thanks for the kind words! I love to know how I'm doing, good or bad, let me know! I can only get better if you tell me how I'm doing!

Sweet, here's chapter 2:

Cloudy Perspective

Dean walked into the shop or store, whatever it was with his senses on guard. Voodoo was the last thing that he really needed torturing his mind. He took everything in at once.

He had just assumed that it was going to be one of those shops. You know, the ones selling fake items to unsuspecting customers. He half expected a crystal ball and fake antics to suck in the crowds. What he found instead, was a restaurant. It wasn't your normal restaurant either. Dean instantly had a flashback of a Midwestern restaurant not a New Orleans restaurant at all. The colors of the restaurant were more neutral colors they weren't as bright as some of the restaurants that he had been in this week. Tables, not booths, with different colored table cloths littered the room.

"Come on son, we don't have a lot of time," Dean heard from the back. He slowly made his way back, visions of knives and other appliances flying at him. When he made his way into the kitchen, he had three pairs of eyes on him. His hand rested on the gun that was tucked in the back of his pants. He didn't know what to expect. He just had this feeling in the back of his mind that Ophelia wasn't who he was supposed to be looking for.

"I wasn't talking to you Dean," said the woman that Dean had assumed was Ophelia. Her short statue still had no effect on the presence that she gave off. Her blonde hair was long and curly. Her dress and hat were bright and touristy with patterns of flowers everywhere. She had a very commanding attitude around her. Dean stood sheepishly for a beat not knowing what to do, not knowing what to believe. He hated feeling like this. He never felt like this and this definitely wasnot his first job alone. Ophelia turned back to the other man in the back, pointing out items on a menu to him. A girl looking no older than Sam turned and looked at Dean.

"Come on stranger, you can help me set up," a girl with the same blonde hair said walking past Dean, her eyes never making any contact with him. Dean paused before following. This was the weirdest thing that he had ever encountered. Ever. But he felt so compelled to follow the girl.

"I'm Laramie Jones, Ophelia's granddaughter," she stated as she reached into a drawer pulling out rolled silverware. She turned to face Dean for the first time. And that's when he finally got a good look at her.

Laramie was shorter than Dean by only a couple of inches. Laramie's jeans were ripped and her t-shirt had something written on it in another language. Her blonde hair was pinned up to stay out of her round face. She was very soft looking, Dean though that she never looked like she played sports at all. And then he figured out why. Laramie wasn't looking at Dean; she was looking below his eye line. He looked over his shoulder quickly to see no one there. He looked back to her very light blue looking eyes. It almost looked like they had a swirl of white in front of them.

She continued to hold her hands out with the silverware, waiting for Dean to take the hint. He stood there realizing that Laramie was blind. She offered the silverware again. Dean started to move to take them when she pulled them towards her body.

"If you wave your hands in front of my eyes once, you're going to regret it," she stated before she outstretched her arms the last time. Dean took the silverware quickly. He wasn't going to do it but he couldn't lie to himself that because he was thinking about it.

"I'm Dean, Dean Winchester," Dean stated as he followed Laramie's lead in setting them down on another table. "But you already knew that didn't you?" Laramie smiled as she moved to another table, slightly tripping on a chair. Dean moved to help her but she shook his help off. Dean leaned back taking her all in. He wondered how long she had been like this considering she knew her way around the place without a cane or dog.

"My Grandmother called your father. He said that he had another more pressing job to deal with. But, he said he would send his son Dean. And we're assuming that's you," Laramie stated as finished her table. Dean remembered that conversation like it was yesterday.

"Dean, son, I need you to go to New Orleans. An old friend called, they're having what it seems to be an old Voodoo problem," John stated to his son who was still licking his wounds from the night before.

"I thought Jericho was our next project," Dean asked as he finished covering up a wound on his arm a little confused. He always worked with his father on everything.

"Dean, you're twenty-six years old. This job done in New Orleans should be a fun one for you," John stated. Dean knew something was instantly up. Usually jobs were straight forward, never fun. Fun times were the times Dean and his father made money in bars.

"Dad, listen, I think I should be at Jericho, with you," Dean spat out. John whipped around to his son, tossing him a duffle bag.

"Dean, you're going to New Orleans. That's an order son. Pack up your stuff because you're leaving today," John stated as he walked into the bathroom closing the door tightly. Dean stood in the room for a moment before he started to pack up his things. Within the hour, Dean was alone in the Impala by himself with the AC/DC rolling on his way to New Orleans.

"And here I thought your grandmother was causing the Voodoo," Dean stated, going out on a limb. Laramie began to laugh instantly. He raised an eyebrow at her laugh. It reminded him of the Grandmother from the Garfield Christmas movie.

"My grandmother," Laramie popped out between her laughter, "helped your father on a case about ten years ago with pixies. Your father owed her. She called in a favor." Dean walked over and picked up more silverware to set the last table. "You just have to set that last table to your right." Dean stopped mid-step turning his head quickly at Laramie.

"How did you, I thought you were," Dean stuttered. Laramie smiled.

"When you grow up blind, you pick up on other things," Laramie stated. She pulled out a chair and sat down. Dean joined her.

"So, tell about this Voodoo problem. This is New Orleans right? I did get about a hundred hits for New Orleans Voodoo online," Dean stated. Laramie began to twist her ring as she started to talk.

"Usually the Voodoo is child's play. No one ever believes it really. And if they do, it's for love or friendship. Never murder," Laramie paused as the male that was in the back walked out the front doors. "We've had five deaths, five in which were all here at the same night. They were all different deaths, all at different times."

"All had no reasons to really be dead," Dean finished for her. "Why do you think it was Voodoo?" He leaned forward closer to Laramie. If she noticed she didn't move.

"That night, there was a man who came to the restaurant for the first time. He claimed he was a Voodoo specialist, pulling pranks and such to customers in the room, like a show. But now, anyone who was here that night is starting to die." Laramie stated. Dean nodded his head.

"Do you have his name, anything that I could track him down with?" Dean asked. Laramie nodded her head. She stood up and made her way to the hostess's area. She bit her lip and waved Dean over.

"I don't know what his card feels like," she mumbled as she tried to find the business card. Dean could feel her embarrassment. He pushed around some items on the desk until he found one.

"Was his name Alan?" Dean asked after reading the card name. Laramie paused for a moment with her hands and then nodded her head. The card was like any business card with an address and a number. It had a figure like the invisible man, a dark cloak and hat.

"What is your plan of action dearie?" Dean heard again from Ophelia. She was now in the room with him and Laramie. Her hair was now pinned up like Laramie's, out of her face. Her flowered hat was now gone too.

"You make it sound like there's a time limit with this sort of busy," Dean teased. Laramie's face which was holding a smile was now holding a frown matching her grandmother's face. Dean looked between the two.

"You might actually," Laramie stated. "I'm guessing you don't know what happens at the end of the week?" Dean shook his head no. Ophelia shuffled out of the room to come back with a flyer.

"It's the annual Voodoo Festival that happens every year on Halloween," Ophelia said to Dean as he took the flyer from her. "We're assuming that some real damage could be done."

"Ahhh crap," Dean stated as he rubbed the back of his head. "End of the week?"

"End of the week," Laramie stated.

Later that night:

Phillip Myles was in the comfort of his own apartment watching waiting for his mother to call. He had promised that he would wait before he went out for the night. It was the one night a week that she would call. What he really wanted to do was smoke a cigarette. But having gone cold turkey for a week now, all he really could do was play with his lighter. Lighting it, closing it, lighting it, he just kept playing with it.

He began to pace. God, he hated waiting for his mother to call. It was like waiting for the ocean to part. Phillip began to feel a dull pain in his shoulders. He rubbed his back with his free hand. Within seconds, his knees were exploding like someone was bending them backwards. He was on the floor and in pain. The lighter flew from his hand to the ground open. Phillip grabbed his knees, trying to figure out what happened to him. He didn't even notice his open window.

Or the person dressed in all black in the open window.

The fresh air made the fire spread quicker in the apartment. Phillip was doomed. His shouts for help never reached his neighbors ears until they smelled the smoke. But it was still too late for him.

No one saw the man in black. Or the doll that he threw into the fire with pins in the knees.

Second Disclaimer: Okay, I don't own AC/DC or the Grandmother from Garfield but I figured I would throw this in for good measure.

A/N: Okay, I know Dean is fumbling a bit but he is human compared to popular opinion ;) What do you think?