Big thanks to Heather for reviewing my first chapter. I am so happy you are checking out my new fic and your words meant a lot to me!

Good news...now we're on to Sam and Dean!

Let me know what you think!

Enjoy!

One week later…

"Dean, do you have to have the music up that loud?" Sam Winchester shouted to be heard above ZZ Top's Gimme All Your Lovin'. He knew Dean loved his classic rock and Sam usually gave him free reign of it, but it was starting to get a little ridiculous, especially when his brother was singing right along, giving the veteran rockers a run for their money.

Dean glanced over at his younger brother and smiled, but didn't turn down the music. Instead, he kept tapping his hands on the steering wheel, keeping in time to the beat and belting out the lyrics.

Sam glanced at him and reached to turn down the volume, but his hand was swatted away before he could make contact. Dean shook his head in disapproval and Sam huffed. Smiling as a thought hit him, Sam pulled out his cell phone and thumbed through the menu until he got to where he wanted. Making sure the volume was up as loud as it could go, he hit a button and all of a sudden Justin Timberlake's Cry Me a River was in competition with ZZ Top for music supremacy.

Dean reached forward, irritated, and turned down the radio. "Dude, what the hell is that crap?"

Sam smiled innocently as Justin broke into the chorus. "What? It's a good song." Seeing his brother's face turn slightly red, Sam turned the song off.

Dean shook his head as he kept his focus on the road. "You are such a bitch sometimes, you know that?"

Sam laughed taking pleasure in tormenting his brother, even if it was for just a minute. Dean was just starting to get back to himself after finally being able to relieve himself of the burden John put on his shoulders by telling him he may have to kill his own brother. Sam still didn't know quite what to make of that, but he knew what it did to Dean, what it made his brother feel. From what he'd learned, Sam knew he could potentially become dangerous and actually give in to the demon's plans, even though he was fighting it for all he was worth, for Dean. But he also knew he couldn't—wouldn't—live like that. He'd made Dean promise to kill him if it ever came down to that, albeit Sam was drunk when he'd forced his brother into it.

He knew that promise still hung over Dean's head, still bothered him. Hell, it hung over Sam's head as well because he wasn't sure if Dean would actually go through with it if it ever really came down to it. Sam didn't like adding his own burden to Dean, but it had to be done, he had to know his brother would be there for him when he needed him the most. Recently, Dean had gotten better, even going so far as to banter with him the way he used to before John died and Sam had to admit, it was good to see Dean like this. He was determined not to let Dean go down that self-destruction path again, it just took too much out of the young hunter to dance around his brother.

"How much further to New Orleans?" Dean asked, breaking into the young psychic's thoughts.

Sam picked up the atlas from the floorboard and flipping to the map he'd marked, skimmed it over. "About another hour, I think."

Dean smiled. "I'm telling you, Sammy, you're going to love New Orleans."

"Dean, I've been there before."

"Yeah, when you were a kid and Dad made you stay in the motel room the entire time."

"I was ten, Dean. He wasn't about to let me go with you two, especially when you were hunting down a werewolf."

"That was awesome," Dean said, gleefully. "God, it would be great if we could hunt another one."

Sam glanced at his brother and rolled his eyes. "God, you are such a dork."

"Dude, did you just call me a whale's penis?"

"Oh, you actually know what one is?"

"Did you forget to take your Midol today, Samantha?"

Sam sighed and looked at the printouts he'd made in Dallas when they'd gotten word of a possible new hunt in New Orleans. Dean practically pissed himself when Sam mentioned New Orleans and had barely gotten in the car before Dean sped off down the road.

Dean glanced over at Sam and saw what he was doing. "So, you never got to tell me why we're headed down to New Orleans."

"That's because you didn't give me a chance to tell you."

"I'm giving you one now."

God, give me the strength. "For the last week a series of bizarre murders have been occurring in New Orleans."

"Bizarre how?"

"Crazy bizarre." Sam leafed through the printouts until he came to one filled with notes in his handwriting. "The first one happened last Tuesday—Carlie Smith, a twenty year old student was found dead in the St. Louis Cemetery."

"How did she die?"

"The coroner's report says her heart burst."

"Burst? How the hell does that happen?"

"I'm not sure. The coroner isn't either, so he's blamed it on a heart attack."

"A heart attack doesn't do that, does it?"

"No."

"Well, on the bright side, I guess if you're going to die, a cemetery would be the place to do it."

"Dean…" Sam was amazed how his brother could be so insensitive at times.

Dean ignored Sam's annoyed tone. "Does it say where in the cemetery she was found?"

"Uh…" Sam flipped through the pages once again. "A few yards from Marie Laveau's tomb."

"Marie Laveau?" Dean glanced sharply at his brother, forgetting for a second he was driving on a busy interstate.

"Dean!" Sam yelled at the same time an eighteen wheeler beside them honked loudly, the driver screaming angrily, though he couldn't be heard by the brothers.

Dean instantly corrected himself, barely avoiding a catastrophe with the huge truck. "Sorry," he offered to Sam sheepishly.

Sam took a deep breath, silently thanking whoever was keeping watch over them at that moment. He glanced over at Dean as his heart resumed a semi-steady beat, seeing that the older hunter was grinning.

"I'm so glad you thought that was funny," Sam bit off.

"I had it under control, Sammy. Get your panties out of a twist."

"Learn to drive."

"Learn to shut up."

Sam closed his eyes, trying to remind himself that fratricide would surely land him in jail for the rest of his natural born life. "Why did you act like that when I said Marie Laveau?"

"You don't know who that is?" Dean seemed surprised.

"I've heard her name a time or two. She practiced Voodoo down in New Orleans."

"Dude, she was the Voodoo queen of New Orleans."

Sam shrugged.

"Seriously?"

Again, Sam shrugged.

"I thought you were supposed to know everything." Dean sighed. "There's apparently a legend that says if you go to her tomb and perform some kind of ritual, she'll grant you a wish."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "How is it you know about this?"

"I heard about it the last time I was there," Dean said, quickly, but Sam noticed he turned slightly red, as if embarrassed.

Oh, this is going to be so easy. Sam chuckled. "You tried it."

"Yeah, Sam, I tried it, okay?"

Sam's chuckle erupted into a full-blown laugh. "Dude, I can't believe you bought in to that crap."

Dean took his eyes off the road for a split second to glare at his brother. "In my defense, I was drunk."

"Sure you were."

"Sammy, I swear to God…" Dean's voice was a warning.

But Sam trudged ahead. "What did you wish for?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Come on, Dean, tell me."

"I wished for a brother who wasn't so damned nosy," Dean said, a pointed glare directed at Sam.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Nope."

Sam smirked as silence filled the car. He didn't know what Dean was so ashamed of. So what if he bought into the legend and made a stupid wish? There was nothing wrong with it, people did it all the time.

"What did you wish for?"

"You're not going to drop this, are you?"

Sam shook his head which seemed to irritate Dean even more.

"I wished for sex with a hot chick, okay? That's it—no life altering wish, so drop it."

"All right, fine." Sam sat back in his seat and stared out the passenger side window. He knew that wasn't the real wish Dean made and he also knew there was no way he was going to force his brother to tell him what it was. It was hard enough to get Dean to open up to him as it was, but if he was forced to talk, Dean began to feel like a caged animal and retreated further and further into himself.

So, Sam would wait and when Dean wanted to talk to him, he would.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dean couldn't understand why Sam always had to make such a big deal out of everything. He just couldn't leave things well enough alone and he had to keep pushing until Dean either exploded or completely shut him out.

Before now, Dean never really thought back to that night in the St. Louis Cemetery almost a year and a half ago. He never really cared to. He wasn't one to dwell on the past, and he wasn't about to start now. What was the point? That was Sammy's thing. The kid had a memory like a steel trap and it always scared the older hunter to an extent because Sam liked to dwell on so much, let the guilt eat up at him until there was nothing left but a shell. Dean couldn't do that, he had enough to deal with, especially in his one-man crusade to keep his brother safe and not letting the demon's nefarious plans come to be.

But now he couldn't stop the memory from coming back full force as he drove closer to New Orleans.

Dean sat in the Impala, staring ahead at the darkened cemetery through the light rain that had begun to fall. He didn't know what he was doing here; it wasn't like he bought into the legend of Marie Laveau. But as he sat there, nursing a beer, he began to think maybe a tiny part of him did believe it, wanted to believe it. Maybe the locals had been right, maybe the spirit really could grant wishes.

The hunter had just finished his latest hunt, his first true solo hunt actually, and to say he was bone tired would be an understatement. He'd been surprised when his father told him to take this one on his own, that he had something else to take care of. Dean couldn't remember a time when he'd been able to truly hunt alone, without some kind of back-up. It had been that way since Sam left for Stanford, father and oldest son sticking close together, for fear of losing each other.

John had given him an easy enough hunt—stopping a Voodoo practitioner who was using his power to influence some very important people in the city. Someone should have told the practitioner it was going to be an easy hunt—the bastard fought Dean for all he was worth and the young hunter was sure he was going to have some pretty nice bruises for his effort. So, here he was, hours later, sitting in the rain and gathering his thoughts.

Did he really want to go through with this? Did he really believe it would work? A tiny part of him wanted to believe, but the rational part was letting him know he was losing him mind if he honestly thought it would. After all, there was no proof it would work, just talk that it did. People who came to the Voodoo queen's tomb swore it worked and at that point, it was enough for Dean.

He'd been thinking about it for a while now, it had been weighing down heavily on his mind. His life had been feeling empty lately and he was finally figuring out why, what was missing.

Pushing open his door, he grabbed a brown paper sack in the seat next to him and stepped out into the rain. Closing the door, he pulled his beat up leather jacket tighter around him and began his trek through the cemetery. While most people would have freaked out about traipsing through the sacred grounds in the middle of the night, Dean Winchester found solace in it. Considering he spent a lot of his time in them and around death and misery, a cemetery for him meant a place of rest, of not having to worry anymore and being able to find peace.

He found the old tomb with relative ease. It stuck out like a beacon, even through the rain that seemed to be coming down harder. He shook his head in disbelief when he saw all the trinkets surrounding the tomb, and then chuckled wryly when he realized he was only going to add to the spectacle.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the paper sack and pulled out a fifth of Crown Royal. He didn't know what Marie Laveau's taste in hard liquor was in the afterlife, but he figured any alcohol would be acceptable. Moving a few things over, Dean set the bottle down and stepped back. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a piece of chalk and drew three X's on the tomb. He darted his eyes around the cemetery and after making sure no one was all of a sudden walking up on him, proceeded to stomp his foot three times—Oh, yeah, this wasn't weird—and knocked on the tomb—and now it's completely crazy.

Dean took another deep breath as the rain washed down over him. He knew what he wanted, there was no denying that. It was something he'd wanted so desperately for the last two years, something he was afraid he could never have again. But he had to try this, had to make sure he'd used up all of his options before he resorted to force and gave up entirely.

The young hunter cleared his throat as lightning flashed across the sky. "So, um, listen…I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do this and I'm not actually sure if I believe in all this crap. I feel like a big enough ass as it is, but I had to try it, had to know if it could work."

He kicked the ground and continued on. "It's just Sam, my brother, you know. We haven't really talked to each other in a couple years and…it's just…I miss the kid. I know he would never willingly come back, not after what Dad said to him and I can't really blame him. He deserves his shot at a normal life, away from all this darkness and despair. I just want to see him again…I need to see him again.

"So, that's my wish. I wish Sammy was back in my life."

Another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, followed closely by the low rumble of thunder. Dean wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a sign from the Great Beyond or what. He didn't know what he expected to happen, expected to see after he'd made the wish. Maybe a bright flash of lights and a big blue genie saying, "Your wish is my command!" He chuckled as he thought about Aladdin, the Disney movie Sam liked to watch when they were kids. I am definitely beginning to lose my mind…

Heaving out a huge sigh, Dean convinced himself that it didn't work. Not that he was holding out much hope, but here was always the off-chance he could be wrong. Soaked through and exhausted, Dean made his way back to the Impala. He shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the backseat as he slid in behind the wheel.

He heard his cell phone beep beside him and picked it up. Flipping it open, he saw he had a voicemail waiting for him. He instantly recognized the number as his father's and he cursed himself for leaving it in the car. John had been out of touch for the past couple of days, working a gig in Jericho, California and Dean had called him when his hunt had been completed, to let John know all went well. Dialing the voicemail, Dean held the phone to his ear and John's gravelly voice greeted him: "Dean, something is starting to happen, I think it's serious. I need to try to figure out what's going on…Be very careful, Dean, we're all in danger."

Dread instantly filled Dean's heart as he listened to the message again. This was not good…not good at all. Dean quickly dialed John's number, but only succeeded in getting his voicemail. "Son of a bitch!" He kept dialing the number, but always met with the same end result.

He leaned forward and rested his head against the steering wheel, trying to calm his jittery nerves. John said they were in danger. Dean could deal with that, he dealt with it on a daily basis. Then panic seized him, making him feel numb all over—if they were in danger, it could only mean Sam was in danger as well. Dean couldn't accept that, couldn't sit around and let something happen to his kid brother.

Dean turned the engine over and the classic roared to life. He sped away from the cemetery, knowing exactly what his destination was—Palo Alto, California. He had to make sure Sammy was okay, then he had to find John, in that order.

As the city lights faded in his rearview mirror, Dean couldn't help but wonder if his wish had come true after all.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam's voice broke through Dean's memories and the older hunter glanced over to see Sam had a worried expression on his face.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm fine." Dean gave his little brother a quick smile, hoping it would reassure him. It seemed to work as Sam focused his attention on the printouts once again. "So, what about the other murders?"

"Brad Pershing was found dead the same night as Carlie Smith. He took a swan dive from his fifteenth story apartment."

"Suicide?"

"That's what the police are saying…"

"But?"

"But the condition he was found in says otherwise." Sam glanced at Dean. "His eyes were completely white. The coroner says it appeared as if someone painted over his eyes."

Dean's eyes narrowed, but Sam missed it completely. "A couple days later, Phil Dunham walks in the middle of traffic and is killed instantly when he's hit by a car. Then yesterday, Frank Rose, a construction worker, fell off the scaffolding and impaled himself on a rebar."

"Is there any connection between any of the victims?"

"Not that I could find so far."

"Do we at least have a starting point?"

"Yeah." Sam looked down at his notes. "Mitch Cooley. He was the last person to speak with Brad before he took the leap."

Dean turned off the exit for New Orleans and nodded. "Let's go find a motel and then we'll talk to Mitch."