Disclaimer: See Chapter One
Author's Note: Well, I hit my garage door today and about took it down. So it's been one of those days where you do a thousand things and nothing feels like it's gotten done. But, I am taking a minute to stick to my two day promise! Emmers224, this one is for you!
And, MAZ, you have my adoration. Thanks for every word you've written to me over the past few months.
Chapter Four: Such a Fairytale
Dean drove.
They'd spent the day researching. Laptop on: looking up dragon lore. What kills one – both surprised to find there were many different kinds of dragons and even more ways to kill them. Dean pointed out that there were some that were gentle dragons. Maybe they'd luck out and get one of those. Laptop off: checked the area for possible lairs or castles. That was fun. Dragged their asses through mud and weeds past their waists. Sometimes they'd walk right into knee-deep water without warning.
"Dragon hunting." Dean shook his head. Dumbest thing they'd done in a long time.
He'd slept a good six hours the night before, but the last one was what really put him in the shitty mood that he was in now. They'd had coffee for breakfast, fast food for lunch and nothing but coffee the rest of the day. Now, it was past rush hour on a Friday night, already dark, and Dean felt like a salmon swimming against the current in the Cleveland traffic. He swerved past a semi, flipped off some lady – coulda been a guy for all he knew –, drank a 'Biggie' coffee in four gulps, and blared the horn through two yellow (and one red) light.
Sam just sat there, against the passenger seat. Had barely said three words to him the whole day. Distant, secluded, and goddamn ghost like.
Dean gripped and regripped the steering wheel. Took all the events from last night and shoved them aside. Forgot that Sam had broken down, if only for a second. Already disregarded the screaming, totally couldn't remember the things Sam blubbered. Certainly had no idea why neither one of them had even cracked a smile all day.
The future, it looked so bright. He'd wear his shades if it wasn't already night.
The billboard that signaled them yesterday that there was a bright and shiny strip club coming up down the road zipped by. Dean glanced up. Anna Nicole Smith after a really bad night. Yeah. That was her – him – her. Whatever.
Wanted to comment about the advertisement. Curious if Sam wondered about the people who visited the club. Were they looking for entertainment? Did they think it was just for fun? Looking for a date? Played the conversation out in his mind because he knew what Sam's level-head responses were going to be and how Dean wasn't going to feel so silly as he flicked on the turn signal to the parking lot.
"Dean." It was Sam who spoke first, though. It was rough, scratchy. And it startled Dean.
Still, he didn't want to seem eager or even relieved that his brother was talking to him. So he rolled shoulders, worked a twitch out of his right hand and sighed heavily. "Y-h?" said it fast so it was just a sound, really. Made it easier somehow.
"When we get in, we need to get to the back area again." Sam tilted his body toward his brother, his back leaning gently on the passenger side door.
"You got us in there so easily last time," Dean reminded him. Wished Sam would turn around. Recalled the time Sam was six and had fallen asleep against the door and Dad took a corner too hard… somehow the door popped open and young Sammy went tumbling out. A few scrapes, bruises… but it had scared them all so much worse. Dean thought Sam did it now just to irritate him. Took a breath. Not his fault.
"Yeah, I know. When we get in there, who knows who will be where so we need to find Eva and see if she can formerly introduce us to Marcel." Sam cleared his throat. "And then you need to ditch me for a while. Let me talk to him alone."
"Not gonna happen," Dean replied quickly, palmed the Impala into the closest parking spot, shifted into park and turned off the ignition.
"He'll respond better if there's just one of us. Send us both in and he'll feel like we're ganging up on him."
"So?"
"So?" Sam turned around, faced the front again. "So, you know exactly what will happen, Dean. He won't talk and I – we need him to talk. Right?"
Dean felt fidgety. Hated, hated the feeling that Sam was going to say something that made sense.
"I can… he'll be more comfortable with me. I'm…" his voice trailed off but Dean got it. Sam was more boyish. Less threatening. "Besides, you need to kiss and make up with Eva."
"Shut up."
"Get your chocolates."
Dean reached back behind the front seat and grabbed a slender box of truffles, decorated in lavender, just waiting for him on the backseat. He felt the heat hit his cheeks as he twirled around. The last time he'd bought something more than a drink for a chick… he couldn't even remember the last time he'd done that. His fingers wrapped around the door handle, but he held for minute, stole a look at Sam. "Hey."
Sam slowed, his eyes looked dark as they skimmed over the seat. Looked guilty.
Fuck. Realized that this was just Sam's every-day-look. Dean. I'm full of it. Grasped what Sam meant because it was pouring out of his brother. "Just, don't do anything stupid, okay? Don't go anywhere without telling me. Don't ask anything that's going to get you pegged. And don't go off getting yourself into trouble."
Sam's eyebrows rose. Almost playfully. "Trouble? In a drag bar? Dean –"
"You know what I mean. Don't go off getting yourself hurt or something –"
"You're worried about me. You don't need to worry about me. You just concentrate on keeping Eva happy." Sam pulled the door handle. Exited the vehicle.
Dean followed, chocolates tucked undetected under his arm. Sly. Followed his brother around the front of the Chevy.
Sam sniffed, inhaled. Eyes scanned the landscape to the west. Smelling again.
Dean took in as much air as he could through his nose. Besides the prairie that was next to the club, he just wasn't picking up on anything of particular mention. He waited as Sam wandered to the edge of the parking lot, walked the perimeter and then came back; apparently ready to go inside now. Not satisfied, though. Not by a long shot.
"You are, Sam."
A small tinge of confusion wrinkled his brother's face. "What?"
"You are worrying me."
Sam's right cheek tipped into a sad smile. He yanked hard on the Knucker's door, the inside pulsating the outside with a quick tempo, an upbeat pace, an absolutely fucking addicting '70's disco song that could make anyone want to tear into the place just to shake their booty.
Dean walked calmly and disinterestedly by Sam. Entered the huge auditorium and immediately felt his sac shrink up just a little.
Sam sidled next to him, pointed in the direction of the Jolly Green door. Dean started to make a beeline for it, when Sam pulled on his arm. Marcel was over to the right of the bar, talking with two of the dancers. Or, rather yelling at them. Eva was nowhere in sight. Best bet was she was in the dressing area. "Should I try and approach Marcel now?" Sam asked.
Dean looked up. "We said we'd have Eva introduce us."
Sam was eyeing the large man hard, though. "Yeah, why don't you go find Eva. Try and patch things up with her and you two can meet me out here. Or I'll meet you back there."
Dean was hesitant. "Sam –"
"I won't… do anything stupid." Looked at his brother. Meant it. Still looked guilty, though.
A nod. Dean closed his eyes and nodded again. Didn't like it. "Fine." Could see the Jolly Green door. Took a step, stopped when he felt Sam tug on his arm again.
"Thanks," Sam said, voice warm near his ear. "For last night. Thanks."
If Sam thought that was going to make it easier for Dean to walk away... Dean rotated around. But Sam was already three long strides away from him.
"Unfreakingbelievable." Dean muttered, turned away and started to weave his way through the crowd. Sam and his awesome timing. Spent the whole f'ing day with him – barely a word and then the last two seconds and he says everything. Everything that mattered, at least. A drink was offered to him as he was waiting on somebody with a huge feather hat to pass by. He took it, smiled at the lovely redhead who had given it to him, readjusted his chocolates and kept going, the green door just a few feet away. He put his hand up to knock when the door opened and a flood of dancers dressed in corsets and tall, feather hats piled out. It was tough to tell in this place who was a performer and who was a customer.
But another sparkly face greeted him. Another somebody trying to be a different somebody and as she danced Dean through the back room, one dressing room after another, eyes shielded by his left hand, Dean wondered how many lost people like this were out in the world. If they were even lost, maybe they were found. Regardless, it was like an entire underground he had no knowledge of.
But, they were nice.
Dolly, as she called herself, arrived at the last door on the right. It had the biggest gold star adorning it. She rapped twice, opened it just enough to stick her head in. "Eva," she whispered loudly. "You have a gentleman caller." Dean knew Dolly was winking or lifting her eyebrows up or, God forbid, making an obscene gesture with her tongue and her cheek.
Whatever she did, there was a grumble in response and Dolly darted her head out and shrugged at Dean. "You can go in."
Dean nodded briskly and squeezed through Dolly's ample body and the open door. Blushed because she made it no secret that she was enjoying him slither in and out. Dean pulled the door shut quietly behind him. Turned, and was taken aback at the sight of Eva. She sat in a sea blue gown, long strings pulled tight around her middle, let loose at her bosom. She had rhinestone stilettos strapped in blue knots across her feet, but that wasn't what made Dean stop. She hadn't yet put on her wig… she was applying her makeup, her false eyelashes, actually, and hadn't placed the icing on the cake just yet.
Her hair, her real hair, was kept short, like a buzz cut. Looked like she had just enrolled in the Army. Her head was full of tight black curls. But she had large earrings on, silver lightning bolts that took up most of her ear. She looked vulnerable, some how.
"You've come back solo," she observed with barely a glance. Put some sort of glue on her lashes and pressed them on hard.
"Sam's here." Dean moved away from the door. Walked into the rest of the dressing area. It was about as large as a walk-in closet. Probably the biggest dressing room in the joint. Dean spotted two chairs that he had the pick of, pink or black. Extended his right foot out and hooked it around the black one. Dragged it towards him. He sat down quickly. "Sam's here," he went on, not that she had asked, "he saw Marcel in the auditorium. Thought he'd try and talk with him first."
Eva didn't show any expression to that news. Her hand reached for the mascara and she worked the fluffy brush through the recently applied lashes, her eyes squinting with the force.
Dean pulled the chocolates out from under his jacket. Looked around. Just the two of them. Tilted his head and swallowed before revealing them on her dressing room table. If she noticed the gesture, Eva ignored it, continued on with her primping.
"What is Sam saying to Marcel?" she asked instead.
Dean let out a breath, didn't know he was holding. It was hotter than hell in the dressing room. "We're sticking with the story that we're reporters and we're covering the club for our column. He's just asking some basic questions about when he took over the place, the changes he made, looking for when Marcel slips up or gives him clues. You know, in case he's involved with the disappearances."
Eva threw the mascara to the side. She heaved a breath and looked at Dean through the mirror, her eyes narrowed on him and her lips, bright red and screaming sex, formed words that Dean had trouble paying attention to. "What the hell is wrong with your brother anyway?"
It was an immediate reaction. Dean bristled. "What?"
She didn't waver, though. "What is he? Psychic?"
Oh, that. Dean's warning decreased from red to orange. Which, for him, was pretty normal. "Sometimes, he has dreams that come true."
Eva looked away. Dean was relieved. She rummaged through a basket of make-up and tools. Pulled out an eyelash curler and Dean watched as she pressed her eyelashes with it, impressed at how lovely the curl was when she removed it. She was starting to look more like Eva now.
"So, he is psychic, then?"
Dean pulled his lips against his teeth. "Yeah. That's one word for him. There's other words that would describe him, too."
"Yeah," Eva agreed. "Like pain in your ass."
Dean had to give it to her: Eva learned quickly. He grinned. "Yeah, that, too." He paused a second and then asked, "What about you? You've been having your own dreams and they've come true so far."
"First time," Eva admitted. "I mean, I get feelings sometimes, but nothing out of the ordinary."
Dean watched her, mesmerized. "You aren't adopted or anything, are you?"
A quick what the hell look, but she showed that toothy smile. "No."
Dean batted a pink ribbon away from his knee. It was hanging from above. Seemed oddly attracted to him. "So no chance that your mother – your birth mother – died in a fire in your nursery? When you were a baby?"
Eva's hands didn't stop moving. Now she was spraying something all over her face and neck. Kept the make-up from flaking off as she perspired. She chuckled, deep and throaty. "No. Why do you ask?"
Dean looked away. Felt a bead of sweat stream down his temple. Felt like a sauna. "No reason."
A few plucks from a tweezer and Eva was signaling Dean for her wig. He stood up and walked the short distance to a dresser where a trio of mannequin heads were perched, each with a different style of black wig.
"The one on the left, Dear."
Dean's hand stilled over the first one. Dear. Been about… twenty-three years since he'd heard anyone call him that. His hand brushed the wig. It felt like every other woman's hair he'd gotten his fingers tangled up in.
"Is that how your mother died?" Eva's paper soft voice caused his hand to freeze. "She burned up in your nursery when you were a baby?"
Dean just stood there, trying to figure out a way to backpedal his way out of this one, but Eva was deserving, somehow, and she had asked so politely. "Sam." Even speaking his brother's name, Dean felt protective. "It happened in Sam's nursery. When he was a baby." He chanced a nervous look at Eva. She smiled sweetly.
"Of course," said like she was stupid to not have it figured out already. "He is the younger one. The good looking one." She rolled her hand for him to hurry up with her wig.
Dean hovered over the mannequin. "I have to save him." Shut-up, dickwad, he told himself. But it was eating him, this secret, this responsibility. And Dean was afraid. Afraid he'd fail.
Eva was quiet, the music outside beating through a drum solo. "Can't he save himself?"
Dean snickered. Nice and simple and such a fairytale. Wished he could explain why that was so funny, but all he could do was shake his head. The words took too much energy all of a sudden.
"Dean," Eva said, bolder. He looked over. Wasn't even embarrassed. "My wig is on your other left."
Oh. Blinked and realized he'd gone to the first wig, on the right. He reached over and grabbed the far wig. It was shorter, choppy, and had a bright blue streak carving the edges. But when Eva put it on, the sharp lines hugged her face in fiercely.
"Hey," Dean said, voice raspy. He gestured to the chocolates that were still balancing on the edge of Eva's dressing room table.
Eva frowned. "Hey, what?"
God, she was going to make him do this the hard way. "I just, about last night…" pointed to the chocolates this time. "I was… I said some things that I shouldn't have."
Eva looked down, saw the box, finally, sitting there waiting for her to open. She reached over, her nails scratching on the plastic that protected the box. "What is this?"
Was it that difficult to figure out? Dean bit any commetns back and nodded. "I bought you some chocolates."
The box was turned around and Dean could hear the pieces of chocolates dislodging from their wrappers. Eva skimmed the back of the box and then, very slowly, her eyes lifted back up to meet Dean's. "Lavender?" she questioned. "You bought me chocolate flavored nougats disguised in a lavender box? They're not even real chocolates."
Dean smirked.
"Don't tell me," Eva pushed. "You bought these from something that has Drug Store in the title." She turned the box back around, looked in disgust at the pink bow printed on top. And with pure horror, she read the corner of the lid, "Nobody knows the truffles I have seen?" Her false eyelashes fluttered and she glowered at Dean.
Uh, oh, was Dean's first thought. His second came out verbally, "You're kidding me, right? I was sorry… for last night. I bought you a present so that you would know how sorry I was –"
Eva stood up, her frame over powering Dean's. "You bought me something that cost $6.99!"
"What?" Dean elevated his voice, to show his repulsion over the accusation.
Eva pointed to the bottom of the box. "It says so right there. I'm worth almost seven dollars to you." She shoved the box back at Dean, smeared it into his chest to prove her point. "And it's lavender!" Voice over-the-rainbow-past-sane now. "Lavender comes in the form of soap you're not allowed to touch. I don't think you bought these for me to bathe in. Lavender? You line a casket in lavender!"
He'd give it to her – for a dude, Eva really knew how to push his buttons. He didn't know whether to tell her to go fuck herself or to make her a mix tape. She was nine kinds of crazy.
"Red." Heaved the word. "You want to apologize to me, you use red. The color of sirens. Of cherries. The Devil. Red. The color of sex."
Dean couldn't take in a breath long enough to figure out what to do with it.
"Piss you off?" she ventured, studying his face for a full minute.
Dean inhaled through his nose. His blood was pumping, and he was trying to figure out if it was all rushing to his head or away from it. He nodded.
"Good." Eva said, turned and gave herself a quick once over in the mirror. Pushed her breasts up higher. "Now you know how I felt last night. You and I, we're even."
Even? This was Eva's idea of getting even? Dean spun around, felt dizzy, and followed her out the door, down the small corridor that Dolly had danced him down earlier. "Hey!" Dean called. "We gotta talk. We need to figure out what's going on and how we're going to stop things from, you know…" He picked up the pace. Eva moved fast. "Escalating."
Her hands were moving as she pushed down the hallway. She grabbed at a boa that was hanging over a door and wrapped a belt around her waist that she saw hanging on a hook. Stopped, considered her ensemble in a full length mirror and then ditched the belt.
"You need to try and change your attitude." She dabbed at her lipstick. The voice over the speaker was announcing her to the stage.
"Yeah," Dean said, eyes darted around, looking at the other dancers getting ready to go on. "I'll try that."
Eva twirled and laid a thick hand on his shoulder, squeezed his muscle firmly. "I mean it. You need to stop and change your attitude toward someone. Not everyone is as different as you think they are."
"Yes, you're right." Dean smiled tightly, remembered Eva's rant from the previous night. "We're all similar."
She let him go, but held her stare. Someone came up behind her and placed a large feather hat on top of her head. "You better knock on wood, Dean." Smiled slyly.
And then the beat started and Dean backed away; let the dancers take their places. They started, one by one, entering the dance floor, arms away from their sides as they fluttered their arrival. Eva was at the back of the line and it was moving quickly.
"Oh, and Mr. Big Stuff?" Her neck craned to her right, eyed Dean sharply, the feather headpiece bobbed dangerously. "Last night? I found the castle, you know, where the dragon lives? But, go find your brother and we'll meet up later. Right now, I have a show to do."
Stunned, Dean looked around. Standing alone in an empty dressing room, surrounded by glitter and glitz once again, he felt like punching something. Took off through the Jolly Green door to do what Eva had ordered.
WWW
"Excuse me?" Sam shouted, index finger pointed at Marcel. The large man started to turn away, obviously wrapping up his tirade on the dancers and trying to make a quick get-a-way. "Excuse me!"
Marcel stopped. Eyes locked on Sam's. Caught. He elbowed one of the dancers out of his way and put a hand on the bar for support, tattoo hard to miss. "Can I help you?"
Sam let out a relieved breath, broke out a big smile and let his dimples do the walking. "Hi," he said over-achieving on the effort. "Hey, my name is Sam James and I'm here with my partner. We're from Philly and we're doing an article on some underground dance bars." Watched Marcel's reaction. Unreadable. "Wondered if you had a moment to talk about your place."
Marcel pushed away from the counter, arms folded across his chest. "This isn't a bar," he growled. "This-s is-s a night club."
Sam's ears started to buzz. The hairs on his arm stood on end. Standing face to face with this big, oversized guy, Sam knew from all his years of hunting that this man was not right.
"Sorry," Sam said, swallowed. "Your club. I had a couple of questions about it." The music, though, was so loud and Marcel wasn't going to budge from his location.
"Such as-s?" Couldn't control his lisp. Maybe he had trouble with his s's but his eyes were burning holes at Sam and his gaze was cold, snake like. His mouth was too small for his round face and he seemed to have trouble containing his tongue inside it.
"You've owned the place for just a few months?" Sam questioned, stuck to the plan even though every instinct was telling him to high tail it out of there.
Marcel unfolded his arms, took a deep breath and then leaned in – real close, right next to Sam's neck. He let out a long, rank breath. Made Sam's lips curl and he spat out, "What?"
Sam pulled back. His eyes drawn down to the owner's arm, saw the colorful tattoo highlight itself momentarily in bright pinks and purples, the tail swished from left to right and then stilled again. Sam looked up. Voice dark. "Why are dancers disappearing from your club?"
Marcel laughed. A short, hacky, dry kind of laugh. "What are you as-s-king, really?"
Kind of wanted to haul ass and leave this place, but Sam stood still, leaned in closer to Marcel this time, articulated his question, "What part do you play in this? With the missing… with the missing girls?"
"Try it," Marcel hissed. "Try coming after us-s. And you know what will happen."
Sam stayed where he was, didn't back off an inch. "I know you think you'll kill me."
He laughed then and it made Sam shiver. "You?" Like it was a joke. "You come after us-s and it'll be your brother who pays-s the price."
Marilyn Monroe smashed in between the duo, breaking their connection. She twirled for Marcel, showing him a broken strap on her silky white dress. She was distraught about the broken tie, her fingers working as fast as her mouth was. The large man nodded at her, understanding, he placed his paws on her arms and turned her around to face Sam. "This man here," he said, "he can help you with your dilemma. He's good at helping with s-simple problems-s."
Sam scowled at him but Marcel was shoving away from the interview, back into the throng of customers. Another dancer approached him with some wardrobe malfunction, but he pointed at Sam to help her. Sam felt his mouth turn down into a frown and Marcel put the side of his hand to his forehead, saluted the hunter, blinked and flashed greasy black eyes to him before disappearing into the crowd.
Sam lost his breath, if he was even still breathing, Marilyn in his face, shouting at him about the broken strap and Sam did the only thing he could think of at that moment: he started to fix her up. It was ribbon like, but thicker and reminded him of a time when Jess had snapped a strap on her purple pumps. He'd fixed them, too.
His hands kept working steady, which he couldn't believe, and before he knew it, the dress was fixed and the other dancer was standing in front of him, broken finger nail and a tube of glue in hand. Sam patched her up, his mind racing faster than his fingers. If Marcel is a demon and the tattoo of the dragon is coming to life… scooted out of the way as a waitress butt in, asked the bartender for a couple of drinks. She looked Sam up and down. He had the nail pressed on secure and smiled back.
"Damn boy, I'd like to take you right now… make you a man." She licked her lips excitedly. A thrilled look in her eyes when Sam didn't run away in horror.
Joan Rivers bounced in and turned around, lifting her hair, exposing her neck and a broken necklace. The announcer was presenting the next act and everything was just so loud. Sam could barely think. He heard a disco beat pop out and without having to glance up, he knew that voice was Eva's.
"I don't want to lose you. This good thing, that I got…"
Eva was a star. She stood out from the others, big and beautiful and delicious looking. Her body was like the Titanic, but when she moved, nothing was sinking. It was hard to not watch her.
"It's like thunder and lightning. The way you love me is frightening. You better knock, knock, knock on wood..."
"Sam!"
Sam made a sound of noise, surprised, and looked up to see Dean staring at him in shock.
"What are you doing?" Dean asked, bit back a shit-ass grin, Sam could tell.
Sam attached Joan's necklace. "Just doing my job," he answered.
Not able to hide it anymore, Dean not only broke out into a smile as big as Oklahoma, he let a real laugh slip out. "Dude…"
"Stop it." Sam said, serious. But as Dean ordered a beer, another dancer worked her way in between them, her butt jutted out to Sam, needing the bow retied. "Dean, we have a problem."
Dean glanced over. "Why? What kind of a knot is it?"
Sam's hand rested on his hip and then he shifted it off as quickly as it landed. "I'm not – not about this." Pulled the bow tight and then flared the loops, crisp and full. The dancer reached back and scratched her lovely nails along Sam's cheekbones.
"You could totally get a job here, man," Dean teased when the dancer exited. "You'd blend right in."
But Sam wasn't in an amusing mood. Eva strutted around the stage, the feathered performers following her, their shoes clunking on the wood like cattle following the feed sack. She was on an encore's encore of singing "Knock, knock, knock on wood." Just when the audience thought the song was ended – Eva did another round.
Maybe this was why she was called Eva Destruction.
Sam edged next to his brother, shoulder-brushing-shoulder. He was breathing hard, felt like he'd just gone ten rounds with the heavy weight champion of the world. Dean looked at him, all joking kicked aside. Back to worry and Sam welcomed that more than the messing around.
"Dean," Sam started, kept his voice purposefully low, a tone Dean was trained to zone into, "we're dealing with a demon."
"Marcel?" Dean asked, even if it was unnecessary.
Sam nodded, kept his eyes moving around the room. "And that tattoo?" His hand hovered over his arm where Marcel was inked. "It came to life, Dean. I mean, it had to rewrap itself around his arm or it was going to jump off and skip away."
It was a long moment that passed. Eva twirled on the dance floor, the dancers were scampering off and she was left alone, the spotlight was only on her now. She engaged the audience, walking around and talking to people she recognized in the audience, calling one Danny and another Nancy. She asked what they – her fans – wished her to end with but she was greeted with so many requests, it was hard to decipher just one song.
Eva laughed, whirled the microphone on its stand for a few seconds and then looked out, towards the bar. Sam thought maybe she was looking at Dean. "My father," her voice turned flat, "her was always chasing the dragon." The crowd ooh'd. "Until one day he caught him and you know what that dragon did? He ate that stupid son of a bitch." Eva shifted her weight from stiletto to stiletto. "I was nine years old." The audience hushed. "Bastard," she breathed. And that was all she needed as her voice rumbled sadly, "I hurt myself today. To see if I still feel. I focus on the pain. The only thing that's real."
"Maybe the dragon on Marcel's tat is the dragon," Dean suggested. Sam had considered it already. Just hadn't talked it through yet. "Maybe that's it. Maybe it's just this little lizard thing that we have to…"
"Impale?" Sam shook his head. "Never that easy."
Dean sighed. "I know."
"I suppose we should plan on following Marcel home. Find out where he holes up."
But Dean was shaking his head. "Eva says she found the castle. Knows where the dragon lives."
"What?" Sam's neck snapped, his eyes glued on his brother.
"I was getting around to it."
Sam crossed his arms, watched Eva as she reached a hand out to one of the many who had fingers and hands stretched as far as they could to touch her. "What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end."
"You can't do it alone," Dean whispered, but Sam caught it. Didn't say anything back, even though he knew Dean was waiting him out. It annoyed his brother but Sam was through with making promises he had no intentions of keeping. "You aren't a superhero." Louder. Maybe even a little angry.
"I know," Sam offered. It wasn't enough, though. For Dean, when it came to Sam, there was never such a thing as too much.
"That's not enough, dude." Got nudged that time; Sam's balance faltered.
"We just need to get him closer. Off his turf. Away from a hundred people." The show was over, the crowd whistling and hollering and screaming her name. "And we need a plan."
"I'm for that." Dean agreed. Started clapping loudly, shouted a couple of "Yeah's" along with the other groupies.
Sam laughed. "I take it Eva liked the chocolates?"
Dean stopped applauding. Glared up at his brother. "Don't get me started." Rammed a finger into Sam's chest to make a point.
Sam's arms extended out. "What?" he quipped. "How did things go?"
Eva waved big, blew kisses and walked off the stage. The audience started to break up, voices dropping to inaudible hushes. Dean yanked on Sam's wrist, started to guide him through the auditorium, headed towards the Jolly Green door. "I don't know." Dean slapped his sides with his hands. Frustrated, Sam recognized. "I think I'm dating her." He shrugged. "And if this is what it's like to date her, breaking up with her is gonna be a bitch."
Playlist:
Knock on Wood performed by Amii Stewart
Hurt performed by Johnny Cash (original version by Nine Inch Nails, but Eva sang JC's remake. It's more haunting.)
-TBC-