"Feathers," Dean stared at Sam from across the table, "seriously, feathers?"

Sam huffed out a breath and shot a bitchface at his brother. "Yes, Dean. Feathers."

"Sam, there's no way you saw feathers on a dragon!"

"Hey, you asked me what happened, I'm just trying to give you all the details!" Sam glared at Dean who just looked right back.

"Sam," Dean began slowly, "there have never been any sightings of a feathered dragon." He flipped the aged text in front of him to face Sam. "Look. Nothing. Any accounts have been proven false by closer Hunter inspection and there's nothing in Dad's journal about feathered dragons."

"I hate to break it to you Sam, but Dean's right." The two looked up to see Bobby standing in the doorway. He held up a book: The Complete Guide to Dragons.

"Really, Bobby?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"Watch your tone, boy! It's translated from Latin." Bobby opened the book. "Draco Americanis," he began, "the common dragon, is a large creature covered in scales of all colours and sizes. The shape is often an ellipse, but can be more triangular or round. Many primitive societies have legends around the dragon, named as the 'Great Bird of Fire', although there are no confirmed sightings on dragons with feathers. Often, these feathered dragons have proved to be dragons with larger or softer than normal scales," Bobby turned the book around, a fierce face stared out from the paper, "it goes on to say that the Eastern dragon, which was thought to be feathered, is actually furred. No feathers. Sorry Sam."

Sam stood and took the book from Bobby, skimming the next couple of paragraphs. It was just as the old Hunter said, word after word disproving the existence of feathered dragons. Sam sighed and turned back to the others, closing the book.

"I know what the lore says," he said, "and I know you don't believe me, but I know what I saw. That dragon had feathers and it saved Dean's life."

Dean flinched, bringing his right hand up to rub at the spot over his heart. The scar had lost its inflamed colouring and was now just a knot of scar tissue.

"Speaking of," Bobby sat in Sam's recently vacated chair, "how you feelin'?"

"I'm fine Bobby, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a damn burn thanks to a dragon trying to deep-fry me," he kept rubbing it though, as if it still bothered him. Sam's eyes followed the movement. Dean saw and dropped his hand self-consciously.

"Technically, it electrocuted you," Sam nodded his head at his brother, "I think it was the electricity that restarted your heart." At Dean's glower Sam raised his hands defensively. "You weren't moving Dean, you weren't breathing. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that you had honest-to-god died."

Dean sighed, dropping his head on to the book in front of him. "I don't know man. It was..." he groaned, "if I didn't know better, I'd say I had too."

Bobby looked over at Sam. He hid it well, but there was a touch of wariness in the old Hunter's eyes, a touch of fear for his adopted sons. Sam clapped Bobby on the shoulder before walking back to the table, sitting down across from Dean and pulling the book gently from under his brother's head. He closed it, setting it on the pile that the three Hunters had been going through, searching for Sam's feathered dragon. "Tell us what happened, Dean."

"I told you already," Dean sat back in his chair, indignant, "the scaly bastards took me to that dank-ass warehouse then, BOOM! There was some fighting, Sam's dragon frying me to a crisp, then we left. Nothing much to tell."

"Dean," Bobby stared heavily at the elder Winchester, "what happened. In detail."

"Jesus christ," Dean cried, slamming his palms on the table, "there's nothing to tell! I was an idiot and the dragons got me, Sam got me out. Nothing else!"

"Dean-" Sam began, but Dean stood abruptly. "I'm going to work on the car, Samantha here scratched her up. See ya." The door slammed shut behind him.

"Well, something's got him up in arms, that's for sure." Bobby scratched absently at his beard. "what about you," he turned his gaze on Sam, "you alright?"

"As good as I can be, considering," Sam smiled sadly, "there's something he's not telling us, that's for sure."

"He's your brother, he'll get around to telling you eventually, he always does."

"Yeah..."

"But Sam," Sam looked up, "how are you? How's... everything?"

Sam huffed a breath, he knew what Bobby was asking. "Same as ever," there were a couple candles littered among the books on the table; Bobby probably used them for rituals. Sam picked one up and, after considering it for a moment, set it upright before him. He drew in a breath, focusing on the wick, and waved his hand over it. The wick flared up, flames shooting into the air before dying down to a normal level, "almost completely useless, but entertaining," he looked up, "I can keep birthday candles lit at kids parties." He snapped his fingers, the flame disappeared.

Bobby shook his head. "It's a damn good distraction, Sam." Sam nodded, but he didn't look convinced. "Anyway," Bobby turned back to the door, where the sounds of Dean's ministrations reached them, "your story's definitely peculiar. First your feathered dragon, then Dean's odd behaviour about that scar. Something's definitely off," while he was speaking, a look had crossed Sam's face. He began to dig through the piles of books around the table. "Sam," Bobby asked slowly, concern colouring his voice, "what's up?"

"I just thought of something, something I read," Sam glanced at the cover of each book before placing it to the side, "I think it might have to do with Dean." He finally found the book: A Comprehensive Study of Dragon Mythology.

"When we were looking through all these trying to find anything about a dragon with feathers, I saw something interesting."

"Apparently, there was a tribe of people who worshipped dragons, leaving offerings and such every new moon in exchange for protection. Now, we both know that these arrangements don't work; the dragon gets bored and destroys the village, no promise kept. But apparently, this dragon did."

"Each new moon, the tribe would kill some sort of animal, livestock, or the result of a hunting expedition, and in return the dragon would watch out for each member of the tribe. If a storm came along, the dragon would shelter them in its den. If a battle occurred between the dragon's tribe and another, the dragon would fight with the people of the tribe. This apparently went on for decades, maybe even more than a century, until, one day, one of the kids from the tribe was mauled by a jungle cat."

"He was a good kid, and took care of his sick father. He was still alive and so the elders, not having any idea of what to do next, had brought the kid before the dragon and asked it if it could help them. The dragon, upon seeing the damage, went into a rage, striking out at the tribes people. According to the book, the dragon spoke of great danger to itself and to the tribe. It was afraid of 'falling', it said."

"The kid was hardly alive at this point, and so the elders left, telling the dragon that this would be their offering this month. Two days later, the kid walked back into the village, fully recovered. The wounds were completely healed, but there was a scar on his chest. When asked what had happened, the kid said that, "the dragon gave him a piece of itself". But get this," Sam looked up at Bobby, "the dragon had feathers. It's the only account of a feathered dragon that hasn't been disproven - well, it hasn't been proven either."

Bobby's eyes were wide. The old Hunter reached for the book, scanning through the pages of the tribe's tale. "I need to make a couple of calls," he replied. With a nod to Sam, Bobby walked out of the room, pulling his personal phone from his pocket. Sam remained seated for a minute before Dean's cursing drew him out to the yard.

Stepping outside, Sam couldn't see Dean at first, not until he rounded one of the many rusty cars in Bobby's lot and found his brother glaring at the Impala's bumper.

"Dean?"

Dean turned his gaze to Sam, puffing out an annoyed breath. "Look at this Sam," he waved a hand at the back of the car, "scratched to hell! What the fuck did you do, wash the bumper with chain mail?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't. I may, however, have found you taken by dragons to a warehouse with a gravel road!"

"Shut up! It's not my fault dragons like hanging out in shitty warehouses!"

"No, but you were taken," Sam crossed his arms over his chest, "and you almost died. I'm sorry that the Impala is a bit scratched up but you were in danger!"

Dean turned his head away and Sam sighed, moving to lean against the car.

"What's wrong Dean? You've been weird ever since that night, now I don't know -"

"It talked to me, Sam."

Sam froze, mouth open, staring at the back of Dean's head. "What?"

Dean grit his teeth and turned sharply back to his brother. "It talked to me, okay? I don't understand half of what it said, barely remember the rest, but it talked. And not like the shit we've heard before. It sounded important."

I knew I heard something, Sam thought. "What did it say?"

"I just told you I don't know! Jesus christ Sammy," Dean stood, tugging his sleeves down.

Sam was about to reply, probably with something clever if he could think of something fast enough, but was interrupted by Bobby yelling from the house.

"Boys! I think I found something! Get your asses in here!"

They went back to the house quickly, finding Bobby waiting for them at the door.

"There's this contact of mine, real prick, but reliable. That is, as long as you can put up with his bullshit," Bobby led them back into the study, and tapped at a newspaper clipping in an open book, "found him a couple years back when I was on a hunt."

They both bent over, reading the clipping. Dean snorted and stepped back, sneering. "Seriously, Bobby? A sorcerer."

"Hey, he's the real deal. And he'll help you, you've just gotta interest him."

"Bobby, really," Sam said, "are you sure?"

"Sure as I am about any info I give you two. He's your best chance at finding out what happened with Dean."

Dean was shaking his head, but Sam nodded, pointing at the book. "That's where we'll find him; New Orleans?"

Sam and Bobby turned to Dean who scowled, kicking at the floor. "We'd better get some damn good gumbo while we're there."

"I can't believe we're doing this."

"Dean," Sam gave his brother a hard look, "we need to know what that dragon did to you. Hell, maybe this guy can even help us find the damn thing!"

Dean huffed but stayed silent. Sam stared at him for a minute before quietly saying, "Dean. You do want to know, right?"

"Of course I do! I just don't want to deal with some fucking sorcerer who may or may not be talking out of his ass!"

"Dean - "

"No, Sam! First of all, you're not a sorcerer. You're just a little sensitive. Second, I don't want this jackass putting any ideas into your head," Dean glanced over at his brother, "we both know what happens when you try using more advanced magic; nothing good."

Sam knew that Dean was right, but that was just because he didn't have the proper training. He would see if this sorcerer would be able to help him develop his abilities, without Dean's knowledge.

"Okay Dean," Sam looked down at the map in his hands, "you have to turn up ahead, then we'll be there."

Dean gave his brother a look that said he knew that Sam was planning something, but just turned where he had to. The Impala rumbled along the curb until it stopped in the glow of a brightly lit sign.

"This the place?"

"I guess so."

They got out of the car, exchanging similar looks of disbelief at the gaudy sign.

"The Trickster's Palace."