Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Author's Note: Thanks everyone for the lovely words and reviews. You guys rock! Thanks to Maz101 for beta'ing for me. She's a gem, that one. This chapter is a bit of a meet and greet and then we'll get into a little of the gritty.

Chapter Two: Every Ass has a Seat

Sam ran.

Through a wild forest of neon feathers and metallic glitter, Sam ran. Spot lights changed colors from bold reds to hot white and they seemed to follow him through the crowd, pushing on polyester and shoving fake breasts out of his way so he could get to the door – any door – and get the hell out of all this heat.

He could feel something wet slide down the side of his face. Knew it must be his sweat but the fear… the fear was overpowering and he reached up to wipe it away, surprised that his hand didn't come back covered in blood or soot. He shoved on, trapped in a burning building and he couldn't save anyone inside. Not Marilyn or Eva or even Dean. Certainly not himself. Or any girls burning alive on the ceiling.

There was a bright jolly green door dead ahead, his arms extended in front of his chest and he pushed through it, the hinge squealing loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd. He felt an instant relief as he entered the next room, the air immediately lifting, clearing away the sweat and smoke and giving way to incense and perfume. His hands slammed against his thighs and he bent over at his middle, letting his lungs fill and expel.

"Well, hi, there honey."

Sam paused, felt his breathing stutter as he slowly raised his eyes up. Directly in front of him was a man, dressed in a tight-to-die-for-red-satin dress, crossed at the bust with a black ribbon, tied in a beautiful delicate bow. He wore black boots way past where the eyes could travel and matching leather gloves, with the fingers removed. His face was covered in make-up, blue eye shadow and darkly outlined brows that narrowed at him. "Are you looking for the ladies room?" he asked, his voice deep, but not husky. "Or are you just looking for a tall glass of water?"

Sam frowned at that. "What?" He pushed himself up. "No." Then rethought and answered, "Well, yes. To the water part. But… you know, I need a glass of water… glass of water… a real…"

The man cocked his head to the right and threw a hand on his hip. "What other kind is there?" he teased.

Sam leaned back against the wall, watched through damp bangs as the guy reached behind him and magically revealed a pitcher of ice-cold water. Then, very slowly, he poured Sam a glass. He handed it to him with a hot pink smile, manicured pink nails dragging across Sam's hand as he let go.

Sam took a long drink and then blinked shyly. "Thanks."

"Well," the dude clipped on a dangly earring. "Enjoy it. It's the only thing around here that's free." He was shorter than Sam – but almost everyone he met was – and he didn't have a wig on yet, his hair was pulled back in some sort of netting. Sam wasn't sure if he was supposed to be impersonating someone famous or not. He was a nice enough guy. "Are you looking for someone?"

"Uh," Sam stared at him, not sure how to answer that question, mouth opened to find the words when there was a thud on the door. Sam heard a familiar voice curse and then the knob turned the opposite way and the room filled with the sounds from the auditorium for a few seconds before Dean entered and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Son of a bitch." He shook his head, eyed his brother, couldn't hide the look of relief on his face. "This isn't my kind of strip joint, Sammy."

Before Sam could get in a breath, the man glided near, attention on the party crasher. "Can I help you?"

Dean took a quick look and Sam could read each snarky comment his brother was thinking and, without realizing it, Sam was shaking his head in warning. Shit, he thought, Dean's gonna blow it before we even get a chance to figure out what he blew. Then paused at the irony in his thought process.

But Dean smiled. He met and held the man's stare; Sam wondered what his brother was actually thinking, but if it was something smart or stupid, he kept it to himself and instead simply replied, "I was looking for my brother here." Motioned to Sam. "We work for a publication out of Philly. It's not big, but it covers lots of music and independent acts. We heard you guys put on a killer show. Thought we'd come down and see if we could catch it."

This seemed to please the man. His eyes lit up and he returned the smile, although his was much wider and toothy. "We do." He folded his arms across his chest suddenly, though. And it read: Back off. But in a sympathetic tone, not angry. "But... right now..." searched for the proper phrasing, "this just isn't a good time."

"No?" Dean questioned.

The man shook his head. "No, we've had a bit of bad luck lately. Lost a couple of our girls here in the past couple of weeks –"

"Hey, Patty Cakes?" A voice called over. A bigger, muscular guy was standing in an open door, a dragon tattoo planted on his left arm, breathing fire up past his elbow. He was swinging a black wig at the man. "You're up next." Gave a smile, but it curved down. Grim and menacing.

Sam watched the larger fellow. He kept his gaze on the dancer, though. He gave no never mind to the visitors in the back room. It didn't feel like a snub, though. It felt like a disguise; if I don't look at them, they won't see me. Sam felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Something inside told him to run, not walk away from that man.

The other dude, Patty Cakes, turned, grabbed the wig, and fitted it on top of his head like he was putting on his favorite hat. "Thanks, Marcel," he said to the handler, voice raising slightly.

The wig was full and curly and it was exactly the missing puzzle needed to complete the full ensemble for Sam. "You're Cher," he said, pointing at him like he was seeing him for the first time.

Patty nodded, pulled a tube of pink lipstick out of his cleavage and applied it, heavily over the first coat. "You boys wait here." He thumbed behind his shoulder. "You want a story for your little magazine, you wait for Eva. She's coming out next and she's the story you boys came to hear."

Marcel, the larger man – and Sam looked closely – he was, indeed a man, snapped his fingers once. Sam thought he caught a boom-boom in his ears. A heartbeat, perhaps, but dismissed it as the percussions in the auditorium sounded. The man gave a 3-2-1 countdown to Patty and then exited stage left.

Dean nodded to the dancer, smiled again, this time almost genuine, Sam noted and let Patty blow kisses to each of them as he turned away pulling in a couple of "If I could turn back time... ti-me... ti-ome..." One more… "Ti-i-ome." Perfect. And he exited, arms extended like he was greeting an old love for a hug.

The crowd roared which caused Sam to smile. Patty almost looked like Cher from behind as he… she disappeared from his sight.

Sam put a hand up to his temple and rubbed hard. His head must've weighed a hundred pounds. He nodded involuntarily, chin met chest and Sam felt the room swirl to the right. Rouges and eye shadows blended together with mascaras and perfumes.

"Dude." Dean sidled up next to Sam's right side. He felt his brother's hand reach up and pull on his arm. Sam looked over, righted himself for the moment, saw the look of confusion in Dean's eyes.

Sam sighed. "They're female impersonators, Dean." Watched as Dean scowled at him. "You know, Drag Queens."

Dean's turn to sigh now. "No shit, Sherlock." Like Sam was the slow one. Dean's expression shifted, went from irritated to big brother in a blink of an eye. "You took off on me."

Sam felt his cheeks blush. "Oh." Felt Dean's hand still on his arm, squeezing more than comforting. Almost restraining and Sam had to remind himself that not very much time had passed since he had up and took off on Dean, not even bothering to leave as much as a note. And that little adventure had ended with a demon coming for Ava. All the plans – big plans – and not knowing what Chess piece everybody was assigned.

"What is it?" Dean asked, but it came out more demanding than he probably intended and Sam felt himself take a mental step back. If he was being honest with himself, he had every intention of coming clean with his brother, but there were some things he could afford to be straight about and things he had to bend. And trying to explain to Dean that he had had a vision that had led them to this... place was one thing. Telling Dean that he thought that there was a strong chance that he might lose his life while Dean watched was another.

"It was just a musical number, Sam." Which forced Sam's gaze to shift slightly, a hard edge to it. He knew Dean was checking him out, getting a feel, watching for tale-tale signs of where Sam's emotional state was. That almost pissed him off more than Dean following him through a crowd of dancers or grabbing him by the arm like he was a child, giving answers to an interviewee, or accusing him of running off when Sam had no intentions of doing that again. But this? Acting like he got where Sam was coming from, like he knew... Sam took a deep breath. Dean didn't know. That was the point. Down play it to him so that Sam would get all hot and heavy and explode at his brother, giving Dean the perfect opportunity to put all the pieces together.

So Sam did the only thing he could think of to do: he looked away. Ignored the statement.

"You know," Dean started, attempting to make the best of an odd situation. He let go of Sam's arm and moved around, circled the area. Sam looked up, watched as Dean gingerly touched a feathery hat and fingered a sparkly scarf. "You'd look good in a few of these." Dean picked up a studded belt, swung it around Sam, stepped back to check out the accessory. "Could be like the Halloween when we dressed you up like a girl."

Sam's cheeks broke out in a smile. "I wasn't a girl. I was a witch."

Dean pointed a finger at him, released him from the belt. "Pay attention. Wicca 101: Witches are girls."

"Fine. I was a warlock."

"You had a broom, Sam." Dean picked up a mammoth bra with at least a dozen hooks in the back. Put it up against his own chest and made an over the top shocking face. "You thought you could fly. That's a witch, princess."

Fair enough. Sam shrugged. "Enjoying yourself?"

Dean quirked his eyebrows. "Think I've seen this bra before. On Melissa Evans a couple states over." Threw the bra down, cupped his hands way out in front of himself. Stopped and stared at his brother, gave a tired chuckle then and Sam recognized the tone. It was the Let's cut the crap – I just drove over five hundred miles so you could lead me to the backstage of a men who like to dress up like women's dressing room chuckle. Oddly enough, he'd heard it before. "You think a demon's here?"

Sam swallowed. Didn't want to give Dean his number just yet. "No. I don't know what's here."

"Something's here, though. Your spidey sense is going off –"

"Yeah."

"Well, you, plus a vision always equals a demon."

Always. Wanted to disagree with him but he couldn't argue it, either.

"Hey." Dean leaned back, hands reaching behind him to rest on a chair. His right leg extended out and kicked Sam's foot.

Sam glanced up.

Dean shook his head, let a calming smile pass by his lips. "It was just some pyrotechnics, man. Wasn't a real fire." Locked his gaze with Sam then. Point driven home.

Sam felt his eyes prick. Had to shut them for a second longer than he should've needed to, but Goddammit, fucking Dean always had his number.

"Hello!"

Sam opened his eyes, had to squint to see through the extra moisture and zeroed in on a large, dark figure, light on her feet, moving with the grace of a trained dancer, headed right toward them.

Dean moved first, stealthy and quick, with the caution of a trained hunter, swiveling at the hips, hands moving in a defensive motion, quick to the draw. Best to keep the other person in surprise, if needed.

But if she was surprised, Eva didn't show it. She sashayed her white glittery dress by both men and turned abruptly. She was a large man, towering an inch or two over Sam and the satin that was draped around her had a difficult time containing her muscles. Sam blinked. Guessed her about 230, 240 – hell, probably 250. He was sure she could hold her own. The thought of meeting her fist in a dark alley was something he'd rather not think about. She was big.

"Well, girls," Eva began as she sat down an oversized, round rump onto an itty-bitty stool underneath her. Sam grimaced, but she swiveled away from them with ease, checking herself in the mirror. A small comb was grabbed and brushed vigorously through her eyelashes. "Backstage passes? Who'd you do to score such privileges?"

Sam could hear the audible gasp escape Dean's mouth. Eva's eyes flicked up and narrowed in on his brother's colorless face.

"We're reporters," Sam interjected into the room. Wasn't sure exactly what this connection was that Eva had with Dean or that Dean had with Eva but wasn't sure it was going to turn out to be a friendly one.

Eva whirled back again on the stool. Facing them now. Cut the crap. "Don't I feel like Oprah." She placed her lovely large hands into her lap. "What are you reporting?"

Dean was fidgety. Sam could feel his brother's eyes on him, begging him to take the reins on this one. No need for Dean to open his mouth up and insert his foot, Woody Woodpecker and all.

So, Sam gave it a shot. "We're fans –"

"Fans of what?" Voice high, sing-songy. Pleased with herself.

"Music."

"Ooh! Me, too! What kind do you like?"

Sam shuffled his feet, broke eye contact with her and looked at his shoe. He hadn't been asked such a personal question like that since… well, since college. What kind of music did he like? What was she going to ask next? Did he like long walks down by the beach? Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain? "Well, I like some Indie stuff, but mainly we listen to…" Gestured to Dean, looked back up. Eva's eyebrows were raised high, her arches wrinkling her forehead. "Classic rock."

"So, like Zeppelin? Or, Rush?"

Sam swallowed. "Yeah."

"Not Cher? Or Barry Manilow?"

Dean laughed. No, Dean snorted and Sam knew their cover was blown, if they had ever had one at all.

Sam didn't deny not being a Fanilow. But he had a hard time meeting Eva's I gotcha now! stare. She signaled to the boys with a wave of her hand for them to take a seat. Sam grabbed a chair with a wire-heart back. Dean rolled up a smooth, purple stool with fur around the edges. He hesitated over the seat, trying to figure out exactly how to sit on the fake leather when a dark hand extended out and lay on his thigh.

"Honey," Eva explained frankly, "every ass has a seat."

And with that Dean sat down hard and manly and crossed his legs and then uncrossed them and finally decided on resting his hands on his knees. He tilted his head to Sam, gave him a twisted fuck-off smile. "This sucks. Out loud."

Sam had to look away or he was going to burst into laughter. Felt good, actually.

"And so you're really here because…?" Eva strummed the table near her, her finely manicured nails clicking musically on the plastic tabletop.

Sam stalled. Chanced a look at Dean but Dean was staring straight ahead. No freaking help there. But Eva wasn't going to start. She was waiting them out.

"Look, we," Sam cleared his throat. "I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean –"

"Oh! Hello, Sam." Eva leaned forward, hand erect and meaty and Sam's hand slipped in easily disappeared from his sight. She then turned to her left. "Hello, Dean." Hand extended again as she waited a full two seconds until Dean made up his mind to shake with her. "Pleasure to meet you both."

Sam smiled. "Pleasure's ours." And then wondered why he said that and realized that she was being so nice to them. Cordial. It was hard not being polite back. "It's hard to explain exactly why we're here, but…" Met her gaze, cleared his throat. "We understand that you have a story worth hearing. And we might be the people that can help you."

"Help me?" Her expression was unchanged. Her voice steady.

"Yeah," Sam continued. "I think we were sent here to help you."

Eva seemed to consider his words. She was a hard study. Difficult to put any regular old word that would define her. She would not be labeled. "Tell me, Sam. Where are you from?"

Sam blinked. "What?"

"Home? Where do you call home?"

Suddenly it felt like everybody had his number. Was he really that transparent? "Um, Kansas."

"Oh, good band! How long did you live there?" Flicked a finger against a loose sequin hanging by a string.

"Not long."

"Happy memories?"

Sam didn't answer. Felt his jaw clench and his face heat up. It was like she had a big hot poker stick and knew just where to nudge.

"And your mom and dad? You close with them?"

"Shut the fuck up. Who the hell are you, you son of a bitch?" Dean's voice steeled, sliced through the air like a galvanized blade. Sam couldn't help but look over, knew his eyes were bright with anger. Dean, his big brother, was coming in for the rescue. Who was the damsel here anyway?

Eva smiled at him, toothy and wide. "I'm just one of you, honey. The stray and unwanted."

Dean stood up. Abrupt, hands flexing into fists and Sam was horrified as he watched Eva stand in full 6'6" form, sequins quivering as her muscles bunched together tightly. Shit, Sam thought from his chair, I think I'm the damsel. So he stood up, pressed a restraining hand against Dean and another out to Eva. But all that resulted in was a palm full of fake breasts. He dropped his arm and closed his eyes, totally unsure of what was transpiring here.

"Look, sweetheart," Dean sounding like he was almost enjoying the banter. "My brother and I… we're just trying to help you with… whatever you got going on. We're not the bad guys and we are definitely not part of this world."

Eva laughed, throaty and deep. Her Adam's apple rolled up and down her thick neck and she leaned in close, voice dropping an octave so both brothers would pay close attention. "This is not my world, either, boys." She blinked long eyelashes at Dean and pouted her lips as she enunciated her words. "I've been dreaming about you for the past week, young man. And it doesn't end well for any of us."

WWW

Eva had timed her reveal perfectly. Within seconds of dumping that she had had her own dreams of Dean, the trio looking at each other with frowned faces and heaving chests, Marcel came bursting in, calling for her to come quickly – the final act was getting started. There was a moments hesitation where everything between them was private and vulnerable and Eva reluctantly turned away from the brothers, gave them a calm, "Stay here." Then followed Marcel to another room to change her costume.

"You're the st-star," Marcel was scolding her, hair feathered back against a pale face. Definitely over forty, maybe fifty. "We've had to do too many numbers without you this week. They all came tonight to see you!"

"Sorry," Eva was saying, "I was enjoying a quick chat."

"S-save the fans-s for after the sh-show." Didn't stutter. Hissed.

Eva seemed utterly unaware of any oddities. "Not fans." She whisked by the small opening between the changing room and the stage. For a split second she was visible to the Winchesters. A dream girl in aqua. Ruffles and boas and a peek-a-boo black bra peeking out at the chest. "They're friends."

Marcel fluffed the back of her dress, just over the ass. It grew two times bigger. "We're ending with Dancing Queen." He put a hand on his hip and the other to his chin.

"You boys watching?" Eva called over. The music was dying and a loud voice came over the speaker, announcing the final act was coming. The crowd roared once again, no doubt standing on their feet. The noise was incredible.

"Think we'll sit this one out," Dean offered. Gave a wink to her and narrowed his eyes at Marcel.

Eva pulled on the black leather gloves from before, fingers poking out seductively. "Not ABBA," she said. "We'll end with… Ice Cream Man."

Marcel stiffened behind her. His hands dropped slowly and his stare intensified.

"You heard me," Eva tucked a smile over her shoulder. "And why don't we give out free ice cream. It is my return, isn't it?"

"Ice Cr – What? By… V-Van H-H-Halen?" This time it was a definite stutter. Marcel was ruffled. His arm flexed, the dragon tattoo moving with the motion. The tail seemed to whip with the flick of Marcel's wrist and then wrap around tight again as he brought his temper into check.

Dean didn't miss any of it.

"Fine." His voice curt but resolved. "You want David Lee Roth –"

"Really, it was the only time Van Halen was any good," Eva teased. Flashed a playful grin at Dean, teeth dazzling white against the aqua and the gleam of a spotlight, and then walked onto the stage as if she had nothing better to do.

Marcel stood frozen for a minute and then turned at his heel, gave the Winchesters his first real look and screamed, "I guess I'll have to alert the others-s-s!" He straightened his jacket, smoothed it out professionally with one hand, and exited in a huff.

Dean wiped a fine line of sweat from his brow. He chuckled low and stole a glance at Sam. "What the hell is that thing?"

Sam's cheeks tipped into dimples. Giving that power smile that had old ladies giving them free pie and young ladies giving them access to morgue keys. "I don't know. But when he was in here earlier, it was cold and now…" Took a swipe at his own new trail of perspiration.

"Hot under the collar," Dean observed. It was warm but cooling off fast. Sam was the first to give a shudder. They could hear Eva belting out the beginning to Ice Cream Man and they stopped for a minute and just listened.

"I'm your ice cream man, stop me when I'm passin' by. See now all my flavors are guaranteed to satisfy. Well I'm usually passin' by just about eleven o'clock. And if ya let me cool you one time, you'll be my regular stop…"

Dean quirked an eyebrow in Sam's direction. "She's good."

Sam was rubbing a hand up and down his bare arm. He looked like a kid. He wasn't, of course. He'd grown up in Stanford. But since Dad had died and they'd discovered people like Max and found that their future was slipping out of their control, Dean found comfort in the things he did know. Like Sam would always be a kid. Even if it was only true in the form of his kid brother.

Eva's voice bellowed louder. "I got bim bam banana pops, Dixie cups. All flavors and pushups, too…"

Dean blinked. "John Brim wrote this song. Performed it first. Van Halen, they just covered it. Got all the credit." Shifted his weight, arms folded across his chest. Felt a little insecure standing in a room full of a rainbow of feathers.

"Who?" Sam asked, his voice soft alongside the climaxing musical number on the other side of the curtain.

Dean met his eyes. "John Brim. He was a blues guitarist from the '50's."

Sam smiled. Crushing, that grin was sometimes. On the top of the world one minute, ripping your heart out the next. "You and Dad and you're music." His smile faded. The room dimmed. "I never got that, did I?" A fine line deepened his brow, his face folding into a frown. "Didn't get a lot of things, I guess."

Maybe it was being surrounded by all the girlie undergarments in such a small room that was bringing out such emotions from his brother, but Dean felt bad for Sam just then. With everything they had piled on their plate, through all of the ups and downs and downs and downs and downs… Sam had never asked for any of this. It wasn't his fault that this was happening to him. He didn't do anything to cause it. And John, well, John just wanted to hide everything from him. Everything they needed to know on a need to know basis. It was probably just easier for John to connect with Dean because he didn't have to hide from him like he did Sam. He didn't fear Dean like he feared Sam.

Fear for Sam.

"I don't know, Sam." Dean elbowed him. "Nobody could get Dad's blood pressure going the way you could." A quick smile. "Hell, I think he enjoyed it. You made him feel, you know, alive."

The crowd was on their feet. The music hanging on their last note. Dean looked out to the changing colors shadowing the curtain near them. "I guess she's done." Scooted back from where the stage lay beyond. Wasn't sure which way the dancers would exit and certainly didn't want to get crowded by a group of them. "Do I say she?" he asked, genuinely curious to Sam. "I mean, he's a he, right?"

"Uh," Sam stood taller, seem to realize that the song was over, too, and soon there could be a parade of Drag Queens coming through. He edged up next to his brother, gave an exaggerated shrug. "I don't know. I think she is right."

"But she's a dude." Dean's voice lowered, kept it between him and Sam.

"Yeah." A brief nod. "But, she dresses like a girl…"

"So he's a she." Dean resolved.

"Right." Sam agreed.

"I just don't want to…" Dean's hand waved into the air. Piss Eva off? Offend? Get punched by a guy in a dress?

"I know." Sam said and Dean knew Sam knew. "We're going to have to convince her to go someplace else and talk."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Sam, can you even imagine where she'd take us?"

Sam was quiet next to Dean and after a few seconds ticked by, Dean heard Sam say, "No, I can't." Which tickled Dean in the fact that Sam was actually thinking about where they might go later. Still, they'd have to convince Eva that a change of venue would be beneficial.

The sounds of large boots and plastic shoes hitting the wood as the flooring changed from stage to backstage was almost more painful in what to anticipate than what would probably be real, but it didn't matter. In the end, the dancers weren't flocking their way. Must be departing off the opposite exit. Dean could hear Eva's husky good-bye's in the microphone. Knew he didn't have much time before they'd be a trio again.

"Sam?" Dean leaned to his left, shoulder pressing against his brother's. "Dad didn't get me, either." Tried to meet Sam's stare when he made a pfff sound. Didn't. Sam wasn't ready to let him in yet. "I mean, he didn't get anybody. Not even himself."

Then Eva blew through the curtain like a fireworks display, blazing of color and scorching from heat. She released a long sigh and in a manly voice said exactly what they were hoping to hear: "Give this skag ten, boys. I'm gonna throw on some jeans and we'll hit someplace else where we can talk.

WWW

When Eva said "throw on some jeans" Sam didn't know exactly what to expect. When she said, "someplace we could talk" he hadn't pictured any place in particular, either. But a fuchsia tank top with a small white jacket and skin tight black denim with bright purple pumps wasn't the first thing to pop in his head. The café they went to, however, was quiet and conservative.

Eva stood out like a first-prize-blue-ribbon-winning Halloween costume. She didn't seem to mind, though. Between the risotto and the vodka, Eva could've been anywhere.

Sam watched her eat as he finished his salad and passed on the main course. Dean's Hawaiian burger was big enough for the both of them, if needed anyway. But Eva ate like a horse, drank like one, too. But had the manners of any fine Southern woman. Napkin in her lap, fingers placed properly on her glass, fork and knife held backwards as she scooped up her rice. She was surprisingly dainty for her size. Which, was ginormous. Sam felt quite small compared to her and if he felt small, he could only imagine how Dean felt.

Upon arrival, Eva had pointed to a table towards the back. So that was helpful. It was a fairly secluded section and at this time of night, the traffic in the restaurant was low. Not at risk for anyone to overhear anything.

The main thing that Sam made special note of from this meeting with Eva that was different from before was that she wore her dark hair swooped up in a pony tail, exposing the sides of her neck. And up high, sitting rather still was a small tattoo of a blue dragon, complete with fire puffing from its bright red lips.

"Nice tat," Sam commented. Narrowed his eyes at Eva.

She seemed unaware of any suspicion Sam might be throwing her way. Just kept scooping up the risotto. "Thanks." Nodded as she chewed, drank some vodka to wash it down. "I got it after my Dad died years ago. I think it's ironic now, considering the name of the club and all. I did just get it touched up, though. Added the 'A'…" Eva took a deep breath, large breasts inhaled with her. "A for Abbey."

"Abbey?" Sam inquired, pushed his plate away, glanced at Dean, noticed he was checking out the tattoo. Good. On the same page.

"Abbey," Eva brushed back a stray hair that had fallen against her cheek from her wig. "She was my girl." Paused, let her eyes swing from one brother to the other. "My girlfriend."

"Oh." Dean said, nodded and winked. But all nervous like. And his voice cracked a little when he followed it all through with, "Gotcha."

Sam smiled. Almost hoped Eva would go into more of it – just to see Dean squirm.

"I met her at the club. Before Marcel took ownership –"

"When did that happen?" Sam asked, sipped on his Coke.

Eva thought about it. "Six, seven months ago. The club used to be the Meow Mix. But Marcel took ownership and changed things up, made it better, really. Changed the name to Knucker because… well, it rhymes with, you know. It's also the name of some type of a dragon… from London, I think. Anyway, it attracted a larger crowd. Money started pouring in. And dancers just started leaving." Eva leaned in closer, her breasts pressing into the space between them all. "Disappearing, really. I mean, Marcel he says they quit. Gave notice, but some of those girls – Fonda Dick, Candy Ass," counted five on her fingers – "have been around for a while, you know? They wouldn't have just up and left." Then her voice softened, became sadder. "Especially not Abbey. She worked one night… and just… never came home."

Sam gave her a moment. Let the silence say more than any words could. "So that was your tragedy? That's what you're just coming back to work from?"

Eva tapped her glass. Signal: Another vodka. Sam stared at her nails. They weren't just painted; they were strong. Like claws. Part man, part woman, part beast.

"No." Eyebrows raised, more sadness. "I was distraught over Abbey, yes. I couldn't find her. I placed calls to her family. I left messages everywhere. I tried involving the police. But she had left a message with her sister. Said she was going over seas for a while. There was a ticket purchased. It was all just weird and I was… weirded out. I thought I'd quit the gig, go back home, move in with my mother. But then my mother died. Just like that. Heart attack." There were tears in her eyes, but they didn't flow and when Eva blinked, they disappeared. "So I buried her and came back. I don't have any other family." Looked at Dean. "The stray and unwanted."

"And Marcel?" Sam pressed.

Her vodka arrived. Eva smiled as she caressed the waiter's hand. He smiled back. "Marcel? Marcel was happy that I'd chose to come back. I'm a big money maker for the club. So, pleased."

"And you?"

She took a breath, narrowed her eyes at Sam and for the first time looked at him like he had said something disgusting, like he had offended her. Sam could feel his brother tense next to him. It wasn't imagined. "Me? Well, I'd like my mother back. I'd like Abbey back. But we don't always get what we want, do we?" Stared at him hard. "And what about you? What do you want back? What would you change?"

Sam swallowed. "I didn't mean it like that." He hadn't. He hadn't meant it to come out sounding so personal. But what they dealt with was people's lives and they were always personal.

Eva's face twisted. Regret, possibly. Her features slowly softened and she sat back in her seat, nursed her drink for a couple of sips and then shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry," said with meaning, met their eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just –"

"Scared?" Dean asked. Sam looked over. Wanted to answer that question.

"No." Eva laughed. "But, rattled, I guess. And going back to the club? Returning there, well, the club is all I got right now." Looked away but her expression didn't change. "It's hard for a girl like me to land such a good gig."

The dessert tray was brought around loaded with the classics. Crème brulee, chocolate cake, bread pudding. Eva pointed and ordered the Sour Cream Raisin Pie. Requested three forks. "Want to know about the dream?" she asked, spread her hands apart. Big as sirloins.

Sam nodded. Knew Dean had, too.

"A few nights ago, I had this dream – and every night since – and each time I dream the same dream." She pointed a long finger at Dean. "You and I, we're in an argument. I don't know if we're fighting each other or someone else… it must be insignificant –"

"How do you know that?" Dean asked.

Eva shrugged. "Because I never care about the argument, love. I don't spend any time with it so it must be that important. Or maybe it's because something else is more pressing." She stopped yapping and pondered it.

Dean looked at Sam and Sam at Dean and then back to Eva.

"And then we're racing somewhere. You know, running and it's dark outside so I guess it's the night. We're running really fast… maybe down a hill… and you're following me but you're yelling at me and there's lots of trees…" Her hands waved above her head, her eyes looked up at the ceiling. Eva retelling a dream was like trying to follow a five year old talking about their day. "And then you fall. And you're hurt and we look up and there's Sam and he's standing in front of a building or a house and we don't want him to go in there and we're yelling for him to stop. He turns around and he's so confused. Should he stay or should he go?" Eva looked at Sam. Stared at him like she was expecting the answer.

"Well?" Dean asked. "What does he do?"

"Ooh, pie!" Eva squealed as the waiter put down a heaping piece of Sour Cream Raisin in the middle of the table. Gave each patron a fork, asked if there was anything else. Eva dismissed him with a smile. "I don't know." Took a bite. "Oh, my God. You have to try this."

Dean let out a reluctant breath. Sampled a piece of pie. Eyes wide to Sam. "It's delicious."

And then Sam. One bite. It was unfuckingbelievable. "Wow."

Eva grinned. Satisfied.

Sam took another bite. Her dream, though, played out for him more clearly. It made sense as he pieced it with his own dream. Sam standing with something in his right hand – a knife – getting ready to do something and Dean yelling to him. With Eva right next to him. The pieces were locking into place, but there was still a lot of pieces missing.

"Oh," Eva started, her mouth around a fork of pie. "And you're always holding a sword."

Sam's eyes narrowed. A sword. That was it. He looked up, eyes tracking Eva's expression. She turned her head slowly and looked at Dean. Her neck elongated with the motion and as moved to speak, Sam's eyes fixed on the small dragon inked on her skin. He felt the heat on his face, the thump-thump of his racing heart, and the weight of the sword in his hand. "Oh my God." Totally did not mean to say it aloud.

"What?" Dean noticed.

"But more importantly," Eva interrupted, "is what we do before any of this happens…"

Dean was staring at Sam. No, Dean was staring Sam up and down. The back of his hand over his forehead to check for a fever and his interest would've crossed the line to mothering him. "What is it?" Demanded.

Sam bit the inside of his lip because he wasn't even quite sure what any of it meant yet, but he thought he just got the last piece of the puzzle without getting a few of the middle pieces. He looked at his brother. Dean deserved an answer. And even though he wasn't sure, it escaped his lips weak and unsure, "I'm… the dragon slayer."

Eva broke out into laughter. "What?" she howled. "What are you talking about? There is no such thing as a real dragon. Besides, if you would all just shut up and pay attention, I'm trying to tell you what's more important than any of this. What do we do before all of dreams come true?"

Dean looked sick. Sam felt the blood run from his face, knew he was whiter than white. They looked back to Eva. She forked herself the last bit of Sour Cream Raisin, licked her lips and drank the end of her vodka. Her fingers snapped and the waiter returned. Her large hand patted his forearm. "Next let's try the Banana Cream and the Chocolate Silk." Let her touch linger for a moment before letting him go. Then, she turned to the brothers, her voice smooth. "We eat pie."

Playlist:

Ice Cream Man performed by Van Halen, originated by John Brim

-TBC- In 2 more days…