Supernatural -> The House Of Lazareth

The House Of Lazareth, Rated: PG-13

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seascaping	Posted: Jul 14 2011, 04:27 AM
Newbie Group: Members Posts: 8 Member No.: 52,190 Joined: 26-November 10	Been dabbling at this for awhile - thought I go ahead and post it. NOTE In the banner: Dean, Sam, Castiel, and Alex. Of course, on the show, Alex is really Anna, the fallen angel. But I'm using her to be "Alex" - a total original character on my part. She came from my story �Harboring Demons.� This story takes place late in season four, and well after �Harboring Demons.� SUMMARY A mundane job down in New Orleans turns out to be a lot more than the boys bargained for. They�re about to come face to face with the original zombie of biblical lore: Lazareth. Cajun food, creepy cemeteries, and another apocalypse on the horizon, yep, it�s just another day in the lives of Sam and Dean Winchester. It�s a good thing Cass and Alex are watching the boy�s back. They�re going to need all the help they can get - who knew The Big Easy was such a hard town to survive? RATED: PG-13 (language, horror, violence) There is a house in New Orleans They call the Rising Sun And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy And God, I know, I'm one. The Animal's "House of the Rising Sun" A mound of powdered sugar covered the plate, the table, and most of Dean's shirt. There was also a thin line of the white mess over his lip. "Dude," Sam said, "It's like a pound of cocaine exploded on you." Dean ignored the mess, picked up another hot beignet from the dwindling pile on plate and took a bite. Sam watched as another avalanche of powdered sugar fell down his brother's shirt. Then Dean started groaning out noises that made Sam uncomfortable. "Would you stop that," Sam said through clenched teeth. Dean flashed his brother a toothy grin, picked up his coffee mug, and slurped down his cafe au lait. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and for a moment, Sam was really uncomfortable with the noises his brother was making. Finally, Dean set the mug down, stretched his arms out, and said, "Dear God in heaven. I think this is my favorite place in the world." "You said Brennen's was your favorite place in the world." "That was before I came here." Dean smacked his lips, sucked on his fingers, and looked half-crazed with the lust for sugar. Sam took out a bunch of white napkins from the dispenser and tossed them at his brother. "You've made a mess." Dean gave his brother a look. "It's Cafe Du Monde. Making a mess here is like a right of passage." He grabbed the last beignet, didn't bother to remove the mound of powdered sugar topping it, and then took a huge bite. "Dean," Sam said watching his brother with annoyance. "This is getting old. We've been to every restaurant in the French Quarter. I've watched you eat enough. Don't we have a job to do?" "Sam?" "What?" "You suck. You need a beignet. Let's go order another round." "We're leaving," Sam said grabbing his bag from the empty chair next to him, "before you become buried alive under all this powdered sugar." Dean gave an exaggerated sigh, "Fine..." he said taking one last bite from his beignet. He washed it down with what was left of his cafe au lait and stood up. When he did, powdered sugar fell to the floor like snow. Sam rolled his eyes, and left his brother to face the blizzard of powdered sugar on his own. The Impala was parallel parked on St. Ann Street. It didn't take long for Sam to reach it. He tried the passenger door, but it was locked. He cursed and waited for Dean to make his way to the car. Five minutes later, Sam was circling back to Cafe Du Monde to go look for him. But all he found was a floor covered in powdered sugar and an empty table that wasn't empty for long. A couple of college kids took it. Sam scanned the patio, then walked inside the cafe and looked over to the counter. And there was Dean - ordering Beignet's to go. Now really pissed. Sam grabbed his brother by the arm. "You scared the crap out of me, let's go. Now." Sam dragged Dean out of the Cafe and headed back to the car. Dean shrugged his brother off. "What the hell's wrong with you?" "I'm tired. I've been trailing after you all day while you play tourist. I'm ready to check into the motel, or guest house, or whatever it is we're staying in, and call Bobby to find out where we're suppose to be meeting this contact of his." "You're Mr. Grumpy-pants..." Dean said. "I swear to God Dean, I will shoot you if you don't get into the car." Dean dug out the keys from the pocket of his jeans, unlocked the doors, slid into the driver's seat, and leaned over to unlock the passenger side. Sam was still complaining when he climbed into the car, moving crumpled fast-food bags out of the way. "I bet the place we're staying at is haunted," Dean said. "It's freaking New Orleans - what ISN'T haunted?" "Man," Dean shook his head, "You really hate this place don't you?" "What's there to like?" "Two words. The Food." "Here's two words for you - Just drive." Dean glanced over at his brother and frowned. "What's wrong with you? You're even moodier than usual." Sam rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. "Nothing. Just a headache." "Uh-huh," Dean gave him a lingering skeptical look before pulling the car out of the parking spot. He turned the volume up on "Down South Jukin'" by Lynyrd Skynyrd, grabbed the misshapen map off of the floor, and looked down at the address Bobby scrawled in the top corner. "Just please tell me we're not checking into a bed and breakfast," Sam muttered, "after the last one we went to, I'm pretty much done with them." "Amen brother," Dean said. "Don't worry, it's not an Inn. Bobby set something up with one of his, um, lady friends. Apparently she said we could stay in her, get this, her guest cottage. I mean, what the hell is a guest cottage anyway?" "Is she our contact about the job?" "Sort of - she has a friend who needs our help, she wouldn't say with what." "I just hope it's an easy job so we can get in and get out." Sam pinched his forehead and took a deep breath. Dean glanced over at him. "You're lookin' green around the gills. Was it the gumbo at lunch?" "No. It's just a headache." "Maybe it's zombie voodoo related." Dean's face fell into a panicked expression, "crap, what if it's all zombie voodoo related? This is New Orleans. What do zombies eat? "Brains," Sam said, "don't worry. You're safe." "Oh. Ha. Ha."

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