Carry On My Wayward Son

"Sammy, get in the car!" Dean called. He looked over his shoulder and whistled, "Cas, come on boy! We're going for a ride."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Sam called, shaking his head in disbelief but smiling all the same as he walked down the steps. The fluffy golden mutt Dean had adopted and decided to name in memory of Castiel had bounded over to Dean and jumped up, placing its paws on his chest and panting happily.

"What?" Dean challenged, with a look that playfully dared his little brother to disagree, "Don't tell me we haven't earned this. Everything is finally right with the world and we deserve a party."

"Eileen's still not thrilled about this party idea of yours," Sam attempted.

Dean rolled his head. "I'm not telling you and your girlfriend what to do. If the crowds aren't your thing, fine. But, we're at least all having a drink on Bourbon St."

Sam smiled and patted Cas's head. "Alright, Dean."

Sam looked over at his brother as they pulled out from the Bunker. True to form, Dean had blasted on Kansas's "Carry On Wayward Son." He had even managed to resurrect some of the old cassette tapes Sam could have sworn he'd replaced for CDs; they were now stuffed in the console waiting to be used. And, of course, Sam wouldn't have it any other way. It'd been a long time since he'd seen Dean this happy.

"Spirits on Bourbon?" Dean remarked, seeming to question first if it was haunted, second if he wanted to find out at that precise moment, and lastly if it wasn't and he wanted to appreciate the irony and have a drink there.

Sam shot his brother a disbelieving look. "You're kidding, right?"

Dean amusedly watched the barely 21-year-old Texan tourist being assaulted by his fifth shot in the so-called haunted, entryway reclined barber chair. Another middle-aged couple walked out drinking something from a skull that was glowing bright blue. "I don't know. Thought I'd throw it out there."

Sam looked Eileen, knowing her answer before seeing it. "No." He announced definitively. Eileen signed something that made Sam laugh.

"What?" Dean challenged.

"She says this place smells like piss and cheap beer."

Dean sighed in surrender and turned to Eileen. He asked, still undeterred, "Alright, what's your idea?"

Eileen gave Sam a knowing, coy smile and nodded her head to the side, indicating their direction.

"Eileen, what's the plan?" Dean wanted to know, following her. "Sam?"

Sam just shrugged, "All I know is she said something about a place that would make everyone happy."

Eileen had led them a few streets over onto Royal St. in the French Quarter. Sam was sure Dean hadn't noticed anything but the girls in shorts and varying degrees of choice tops covered in beads. After all, there was no better party than New Orleans at Mardi Gras. But there was so much more to the city. Sam loved the history that came with it and Eileen contributed to it with her love of the architecture. She had been the one that had told him, contrary to popular belief, it was Spanish, and not French, architecture that ruled the ironwork and old building construction in the French Quarter. The ironwork that currently was adorned with different styles of purple, gold and green flags from almost every corner.

Soon, their destination was clear. And, of course, Eileen had been right. Sam smiled at the sight of the massive, illuminated and detailed, revolving carousel top attached to barstools in front of them. It almost seemed too fancy a place for them. But, Dean, you would have thought he was five years old again.

"This place is a bar?!" Dean almost yelled in excitement.

Before following Eileen to the seats, Dean and Sam finished off the final sips of their long, fluorescent green Grenades that Dean had insisted on buying the two of them—Eileen had refused—before leaving Bourbon. Dean took a seat at golden chair decorated with a lion, Sam at one with a giraffe, and Eileen one with a tiger.

"Hangman's Blood," Dean ordered with smirk.

"Whiskey Sour," Sam ordered.

Eileen ordered shyly, "Strawberry Daiquiri," followed quickly by signing to Sam, "What? You know I can drink with the best of them. But, you're not the only one on vacation and I want something fun and sweet."

Sam laughed and put up a placating hand, "Alright, alright. You just continue to surprise me."

Dean turned to them. "Gotta say, the carousel tunes are a nice change from the jazz."

"Don't let any of the locals here you say that," Sam warned.

Dean rolled his eyes heavily, not having to explain to Sam exactly how much he disliked Jazz music, which permeated nearly every corner of the French Quarter during Mardi Gras. Still, he knew it came with the city and he was willing to tolerate it for a much needed vacat…

"Well, you know the stories…" Dean couldn't help but overhear the all too familiar dramatic, hushed and excited tone of someone telling a spooky tale next to them. "It seemed innocent enough at first. A few dead goats that got out and drowned in the bayous. No big deal. But now the people. This makes the fourth this month."

"It's Mardi Gras," their friend with purple-dyed hair responded. "People do go missing."

"But not like this. Gouged through the neck and the coroners say they were completely drained of blood."

"Maybe it's Lestat" a third friend piped up, "It is New Orleans."

"Everyone knows he died," purple hair girl responded. "Besides, they were found in the middle of the day."

"Sherri's right. It's not quite right for vampires. It's The Grunge," the first friend announced.

"The Grunge," scowled purple hair, taking a long sip of her drink. "How many urban legend books have you been reading?! It's just a story to scare kids away from the bayous."

"I still say it's The Grunge."

Sam had overheard them, too. Initially, he'd thought they might be hunters, but it was clear they were just locals gossiping…about something that was actually happening. He knowingly caught Dean's look, "No," he pleaded.

Dean ignored him and turned on his famous smile, going up to the girls. "Ladies," he greeted. "Having a good Mardi Gras?"

"Definitely," they answered. Purple hair added, "Although, we were just talking about how tragic it is so many people have gone missing."

"Oh yeah?" Dean prompted.

"Yeah, four people this month. A lady, a businessman and a young couple. All drained of blood in the bayous."

"Any connections to each other?" Dean asked.

"No."

"Did I hear you mention something about The Grunge? What is that?"

Her friend answered sardonically, "It's an old local myth about these dwarfed humans that got excluded from society, pushed back into the bayous in isolation and ended up in-breeding. It deformed them into half-goats and drove them crazy to feed on human blood. Supposedly some form of revenge on anyone that mocked them."

"Hmm," Dean bemused, appropriately skeptical for the girls, but taking note all the same. "Well, that's some myth."

"Pretty crazy, right?"

Dean shrugged, "I've heard worse. Thanks for the story." He turned to the bartender. "Barkeep, a round of shots for the ladies

A/N: Spoilers. There's a few different ways you can read this. Ending 1: Dean dies, but the how is changed within this storyline and the aftermath is fleshed out more. Ending 2: Dean lives, can pick up from either this storyline or the show's. "Mix/Match" ending: Take the show's final barn scene and read the last part of Ending 1 if you still wanted a little more from Dean in heaven.