Charleston, South Carolina

The entire sewer system. We wandered the stench filled, rancid tunnels of the city in its entirety and came up with nothing. Not a scrap of gold, a scale or a single virgin (or anyone else for that matter). I'm going to smell like sewage for days.

I have to admit, I never smelled so exotic before I started hunting with Dean. First goats, now this. Maybe next time we can roll around a pile of fish guts and have flocks of seagulls on our ass for days.

Seriously though, I've taken five showers in the last twenty-four hours and I'm still feeling unclean and disease ridden, even in a fresh pair of blue jeans and a brand new Pink Floyd t-shirt. The smell obviously doesn't bother Dean nearly as much as me. He's only taken one shower and changed once.

Granted, Dean's pretty preoccupied with figuring out where our dragon might be hiding. By "preoccupied" I mean completely consumed in frustration. It's clear by the way he pours over police reports and city maps he hasn't had to put this much effort into leg work in years.

I'm personally looking forward to the day I'm pro enough to forgo the legwork process myself. When it all just becomes instinct. When I'm like Dean - a less alcohol dependent version of him, anyway.

"You done primping?" he questions with a complete lack of amusement as I wander from the still steamy bathroom towards my bed.

"Ha ha," I return dryly, running a hand through my damp, dark hair before pulling a blue plaid button down shirt over my arms.

"I'm starting to worry you're a germaphobe," he comments without looking up from a map, to which I roll my eyes. "Check the internet, would you? See if there are any caves in the area."

"I did," I tell him with a small sigh. "Twice."

His eye leaves the map before him long enough to give me an unenthusiastic look, wordlessly telling me to check again. I let out a soft, inaudible moan as I trudge to the motel desk and open my laptop. My web search this time yields the exact same results as the first two attempts.

"Seriously, dude," I say after an hour of pointless and redundant research. "There's a tunnel in Walhalla, which is literally on the opposite end of the state. That's it." I pause as Dean lets out a long, frustrated sigh. "I did a search on abandoned buildings, too," I continue, hoping to impress him with the additional research I managed to conduct without him having to ask. Even if what I found won't help our case. "There aren't a lot anymore. Ever since the economic recovery and the Abandoned Building Revitalization act of 2013, most abandoned places were either torn down or fixed up."

"That's not very helpful," Dean mutters with annoyance.

"Maybe it's not a dragon," I suggest, trying to ignore the disappointing fact my extra efforts have gone unnoticed. "The area's not real conducive for them, considering the lore."

"Six jewelry stores have been robbed of gold in the last two weeks," Dean speaks with an aggravated tone. "And five young women from the same abstinence club are missing. It's a dragon."

"Okay," I say, finding myself irritated by Dean's attitude. "What if it's an abnormal dragon. You said they look like people sometimes, right? What if it's hanging out in a regular, run of the mill house?"

"That's starting to look like what's going on," Dean agrees with my theory. "That still doesn't help where we find the damn thing." He pauses to stretch and take a sip of whiskey. "Suit up," he tells me after a moment of thought. "We're going fed on this one."

xXxXxXx

Agents McCartney (Dean) and King (Ben, aka me) make an appearance at the local cop shop where we don't gather anything more than I had already managed to hack into. The jewelry shops that had been robbed aren't much help either. Even with the interesting footage they managed to catch on candid camera (by which I mean their security cameras), it really only confirms that we're hunting a dragon (or a big ass black blur that kind of looks like a massive bat with a tail if you pause the recordings at just the right moments).

Which leaves us with one place left to check...

"I hate abstinence groups," Dean shudders as we stroll up the cracked path to the modest looking Methodist church.

"To each their own," I reply as I straighten my red and navy striped tie before reaching for the front door handles. "Although, if hunting has taught me anything, it's that virginity is a risky lifestyle."

"No shit," Dean agrees.

We wander the church which, considering the size, doesn't take long. Within five minutes we've tracked down the small basement room where the abstinence club meets. We also find Cindy, the young, thin blonde woman who claims to be the "assistant director" of the group.

"It's so tragic," she dramatically wails at us when we ask her about her missing friends, all the while batting her lashes at me with a certain hunger in her eyes. "I can't believe anyone would take them. They're all such wonderful, sweet girls."

"You didn't happen to see who took them, did you?" Dean questions, to which she shakes her head.

"No," she tells us as she leans into me, rubbing her breasts against my shoulder as she drapes her arms around my neck for comfort. "It's all just so... so..."

"Tragic?" I fill her sentence for her. She bats a pair of big, hazel puppy eyes at me as her lips form a sad pout.

"Yes," she nods, and I feel her fingers gently caress the back of my head.

I'm starting to wonder how abstinent she really is.

I give Dean a silent "help me" look, but he doesn't notice. He's too busy studying Cindy.

"When was the last time you saw any of your friends?" he presses her for details, hoping to get more than alligator tears out of her. "School? Work?"

"I don't work," she mildly shakes her head as a finger suggestively twists itself around a tuff of my dark hair. "I saw them here. We had discussed getting together at my place, but they never showed up."

I'm not going to lie, Cindy's a looker. But the way she's pressing herself against me, a complete stranger, is making me really uncomfortable. Enough to almost distract me from how suspicious this is all getting.

Luckily for us, Dean is completely distraction free.

"That's a nice necklace," he compliments the thick, long gold chain that dangles from around her neck. "I've been looking for one just like it for my wife. Where'd you get it?"

"Hmm?" Cindy says as she gradually releases me from her clutches. "Oh, this? My boyfriend gave it to me."

As she moves her hand away from the back of my head I can hear the distinct sound of multiple bracelets clanking nosily against each other. From the corner of my eye I catch a glimmer of gold as she finally separates herself from me and I breath a sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes to us. "I wish I could be more help, but that's really all I know. If you don't mind, I've got a class in twenty minuets."

"No problem," Dean shakes his head, giving her a faux smile. "Thanks for your time anyway."

We remain silent until we reach the Impala, well away from hearing range.

"That wasn't suspicious," I mutter with a breath of sarcasm. "I think she's up to something."

"You think?" Dean returns with his own note of sarcasm. "That was way too much gold for a jobless college student."

"That was a lot of personal space invasion for a virgin, too," I add. "You think she's the droid we're looking for?"

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" he says with a nod, his eye fashioned to the church doors.

"Should we..." I begin, but trail off as I realize how ridiculous what I was about to suggest would sound.

Should we charge into a church with a broken sword and stab the assistant director of the abstinence club?

"We'll follow her," Dean tells me. "Just to be sure." He pauses to take a sip from his flask. "I'm not one for religion, but, outside of demons, I still feel kind of weird killing things in a church."

Rightly so.

xXxXxXx

"I hate to assume to know a person's situation, but I'm thinking that house looks a little nice for a college kid."

Dean nods his head in agreement as we both stare at the McMansion he's parked his Impala across the street from.

Long story short, we got bored waiting for Cindy to get out of class, so we dug up what we could on Miss Long and decided to stake out her house, which, by the way, looks nothing like a cave.

"You think her boyfriend bought it for her?" I ponder as Dean glances through his binoculars.

"Sure," he shrugs. "If her boyfriend is Bill freaking Gates."

The car fills with silence as Dean and I scope out the house. Which has to look creepy. Two dudes in a muscle car with binoculars, staring intently at a house that's occupied by a single female and no one else.

The thought makes me mildly self conscious, enough to prompt me to lower my spy ware.

I'm trying really hard to focus this time, I am. I've managed to (temporarily) put April at the back of my mind and I've done a decent job convincing myself not to take Crowley's words seriously. This is my last chance to prove to Dean I'm worthy of hunting and I'm worthy of a spot in his Impala. My head has to be in the game this time, I know.

So, of course, there's something on my mind beyond dragons. This time the thing I'm thinking about is sitting less than a foot away from me.

"Hey, Dean," I slowly begin, not entirely certain if I should bring this up, well, ever, but especially now. "Listen. I know this sounds kind of random but..." Deep breath. Exhale. "If you ever need someone to talk to about... stuff... I just want you to know that I'm here for you."

Slowly, Dean puts his binoculars down and turns his head to face me, his brows folded.

"Thanks Dr. Phil," he responds with a note of sarcasm, clearly less than thrilled about my sincere offer. "I'll keep that in mind. Remind me to stop at the store later so we can pick up some tampons for you."

I should have suspected his response might have been something along those lines. It doesn't make what I said any less sincere.

"Come on," he tells me, absently setting his binoculars on the seat between us. "Let's get a better look."

I do as I'm told, following Dean and his broken sword up the front lawn and around the side, peering into windows as we walk. The inside of the house, from what we can tell, seems pretty normal. Neat, clean, and bright.

Now I'm getting frustrated. How is it possible we can track down things like ghosts - which are invisible more often than not - with an incredible ease, but a giant freaking dragon we can't find to save our lives?

Just as I'm about to question how real dragons actually are, something out of place catches my eye.

"Dean," I softly call, motioning to the small basement window. "Check it out."

Dean's eye wanders towards the ground and he lets out a soft "huh" when he sees what I see.

The basement windows are black. And not because some one's drawn black curtains. They're literally black. All of them.

"Either someone's got a grow room, or we've found a dragon's lair," Dean says with a mild excitement in his voice.

I hold the sword as Dean puts his lock pick tools to good use on the back patio door. Within minutes we're slipping silently inside, cautiously inviting ourselves to take a look around. We find the basement door and use our flashlights to light our way down, choosing not to flick the lights on just in case.

I'm not going to lie, what we find reinstates frustration pretty quickly.

"It's just a basement," I say with a deflated breath.

Really. That's all it is. I mean, it's a nice basement. Well insulated, fairly clean as far as basements go and stocked with storage boxes marked with things like "X-Mas" and "photo albums". One of the walls holds a collection of nice and fairly new looking tools.

"Shit," Dean mutters as he squints his eye, shining his light in every nook and cranny.

"Maybe she's just a shifter, man," I suggest with a long sigh. "And the missing girls are being raptured or something." I pause as my flashlight hits something askew, something hanging from one of the cardboard boxes neatly stacked along the left wall. I inch closer, keenly studying it. Whatever it is, it looks dry and almost skeletal. Like something I've seen somewhere, but different.

"Is that..." I begin, leaning close to really study it. "Is that skin?" I poke it, discovering it is, indeed, dry. "I've never seen shifter skin like this before."

"That's not shifter skin," Dean tells me. "That's dragon skin."

Now that he says it, it is kind of obvious.

"Oh, good," I say with a hint of sarcasm. "Another monster that sheds-"

"Shh!" Dean silences me, suddenly glancing intently around the basement. "Did you hear that?" he asks in a whispered tone.

For a moment we remain silent, listening for whatever it was Dean heard.

And then I hear it.

"Voices?" I half guess, half state and Dean nods. "It sounds like they're coming from the walls."

"Yes it does," Dean agrees, switching his flashlight off. "Turn your light off."

I do as I'm told, which leaves us in complete and utter darkness. My eyes search the now pitch black basement before falling to a bare, stone wall. A small stream of light trickles from a small slit between the cement floor and the wall.

I nudge Dean on the shoulder, motioning towards the small stream of light. It takes him about a second to see what I'm pointing to and another second to react. Swiftly he dashes to the spot and places his ear against the wall.

"They're coming from behind here," he tells me as he places his hand at the source of the light. "I think this is a door."

He knocks, taps and presses against the wall before he puts all his weight into it with his left shoulder. As he does, the door gradually opens with a loud groan.

This second, hidden room is much larger than the part of the basement we had just come from, but more bare. A few beds sit along one of the cold stone walls and a toilet sits not too far from them, but that's about it.

Oh, and the five young women who stare at us with wide, terrified eyes.

"Is this... is this a dungeon?" I question as I stare at the shackles the women wear around their wrists and ankles. "I always wanted to play Dungeons and Dragons."

"Not an appropriate time for jokes," Dean cooly points out as we make our way into the room.

"Right," I mutter as the girls fearfully back away from us. "Don't worry ladies, we're here to rescue you."

They glance between each other with hesitation but allow us to approach.

"Damn it," Dean curses as he studies the shackles. "They've been welded. Ben, go see if there are any bolt cutters on the tool bench. We can at least make it easy for them to walk out of here."

I do as I'm told, returning to the basement's first section where I use my flashlight to illuminate the rows of hanging tools. A soft shuffling approaches from behind as I search and I sigh. I can't believe Dean can't trust me enough to look for a tool by myself.

"Don't just stand there," I call back to him. "Help me find some cutters so we can get these girls out of here."

No response.

Oh...

Shit.

Slowly, I turn to face a tall, dark haired gentleman who glares down at me, completely unamused he's caught me rooting through his tool collection.

"FBI?" I attempt, holding my badge up for him to see.

"No, I don't think so," he speaks, shaking his head as he does so. "I think you and your friend are hunters."

"Let me guess," I say with a defeated breath. "You're Smaug?"

Before I can blink, his right hand lashes out and grabs me by the wrist with a firm grasp that's almost painful.

Wait, no. This is painful. Hot, like...

Oh, he's burning me.

"A simple 'yes' would have sufficed."

Cliffhanger! Yes, I'm evil.

This was getting a little lengthy so I had to chop it up into extra parts this time. Hopefully I will have part three up for you by the end of the week, but I make no promises. Real life has decided I'm spending too much time in fantasy land and has been trying to hold me down. Stupid reality.