Disclaimer: See Chapter One
Author's Note: I'm posting this a day earlier than normal to stay on a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule.
This chapter should conclude the chapters that I wrote immediately following my cancer surgery back in February. Like I said, I've been working on this story for a long time. And back then I was feeling a little snappy so if you feel that bite, don't let it scare you. The last couple of the chapters should weave in a little love in here and there. Also, I started this story prior to ever knowing SPN was going to do an episode on Dragons. In my story, because I don't have a budget to work with, you may find that my Dragon is a little different than theirs.
And if you're a Hawaii 5-0 fan, my awesome beta MAZ101 has a couple of great stories on her page! Thanks, Mate! I adore you! As always, I've tweaked here and there. All mistakes are mine.
Chapter Six: Keep Calm and Carry On
Sam wasn't sure what had woke him. But as he opened his eyes, he realized right away that he wasn't back at the motel. This bed was too soft and there were at least ten pillows – throw, decorative, standard, pink, sequined, laced, you name it – fluffed around his body. His arms were propped up, there was a glass of water on the nightstand, a cool washcloth gracing his forehead, the smell of lavender was everywhere, and an autographed picture of Kathy Griffin was taped on the ceiling, smiling down at him.
He was in a Drag Queen's bed.
It was still dark outside. At least, it was dark in the bedroom. But there was a faint light spilling in from the door. Sam pulled his head up from the mound of pillows and felt an immediate pain radiate from the base of his skull down his back. He hissed in a breath.
Oh, yeah. The Sylphid. Fucking little bastard. He brought his hand up to his head and rubbed. Hurt.
"Oh, that?"
Sam let his head fall back into the soft embrace of the pillows. He stayed still. Could hear Eva's voice, thick and sweet, rumble in through the open entrance. "That's a picture of my father and me. I think I was about eight."
If he tilted his head to the right, Sam could catch the small opening from the bedroom into the living room in the crack of the door. There was a card table set up not far from the bedroom and if he stayed right where he was, he could see Eva's body enter the small space as she placed a card down and when it was Dean's turn, he could see his brother's arms. Sometimes he could see parts of Dean's face. He looked entertained. Worried, but entertained.
And they were listening to Elton John. Sam smirked. Dean playing cards with a Drag Queen listening to the soothing sounds of the Queen of all Queens.
Someone saved my life tonight, Sugar Bear
You almost had your hooks in me, Didn't you Dear?
You nearly had me roped and tied…
"What happened to your dad?" Dean asked. Took a swig from a beer bottle. Sam watched him place it back down on the table.
"Oh, honey," Eva teased. The sound of a lighter flicked and quick puffs followed. "You don't mind if I smoke do you?" she asked and Sam figured Dean must have shaken his head because he could hear a long, audible drag taken on the stick. When Eva spoke again, her voice was deeper, more masculine, but still thick with playfulness. "My father is dead."
Dean was silent for a few seconds. Laid down a card, took another. "I kind of figured that. I mean, how? You said…" Dean shifted in his chair. "… in your act, you said, you're dad was dead."
"Uh-huh." Eva kept smoking. "Chasing the dragon."
"What does that mean?"
The corners of Sam's mouth tipped up. Dean knew exactly what that meant. He just wanted to be sure that what he thought it meant matched up with what Eva thought that meant.
"He was a drug addict," she answered. "Heroin."
Dean's head bobbed into the open space. Nodding. "That's what I figured you meant."
"What? You think my dad died chasing a real dragon?" Eva choked out a laugh. "Oh, he'd come home after a real wild night and my mom she'd warn him if he didn't let that dragon go, it'd be the death of him. But, you know, she was talking about the drugs. Not a…" Eva sighed. "Believe me, girl, today was the first day I've ever seen a real dragon."
Dean was quiet but Eva laughed so hard that Sam felt his dimples deepen. Girl.
The slap of another card. "So it's just you then. No mother, no father. No siblings."
Eva's turn. Sam watched her hand slowly enter the frame, took a card and turned it so only she could see it. "Hmm… well, my father had a family before us. He had a wife and four kids and then just left them one night. Eventually, he hooked up with my mother, had me, left her and died alone. I've never taken the time to find any of my brothers and sisters, though. And I never really gave a shit about my father."
More sipping of beer and smoking and then Dean softly said, "If you didn't give a shit, you wouldn't have kept the picture."
Gotcha, Sam thought because Dean was that good. But the smile he was holding on to faded.
"He committed suicide in the end. Set himself on fire in an empty barn. Burned the whole damn thing down with him." A heavy silence followed that admission. "What about you, Buttercup?" Eva challenged. "You don't seem to be living in the suburbs with a wife and two kids, waiting for mom and dad to come over for Sunday dinner."
Buttercup? Sam made a mental note of that one to use later.
"Believe me, if I did live that kind of life, I highly doubt my dad would've come over for Sunday dinner." Said without emotion. No heat, no sadness. And that surprised Sam.
A pain radiated quickly and without warning down Sam's temple to his shoulder. Twisted there for a couple of heartbeats. Sam bit his lip. Waited it out. Stayed quiet.
"What about your dad, then?" Eva asked. "Your mom died in a fire. What about your dad?" She paused. Sam saw a wine glass tilt up and down. "And tell me he's alive. Please don't tell me the boogey man got him. I don't know if my heart –"
"Demons. My parents were both killed by demons." Dean's voice was just above a whisper, Sam had to strain to catch it. For a split second, Sam wondered if his brother's voice was kept low for Sam's sake. Not to disturb him or to keep the disclosure away from Sam's ears. Hurt him somewhere deep down, somehow, and Sam wasn't sure why.
"So we're just a bunch of orphans, huh?" She was quiet. "How long for you guys?"
Dean must've been shaking his head. Sam sensed some sort of movement. "Not long."
"Well, I'm not looking forward to the holidays. I mean, there's nothing worse than parentless children on Christmas morning. You may as well move the turkey over so you can fit your head in the oven."
Dean chuckled. It was sad, though.
"Really, though? Your parents were killed by… was it the devil?" Eva asked, sitting on the edge of her seat, Sam could see.
"No. Not the devil. Demons are different. They kind of work for the devil. If there is such a thing." Another swig from the bottle. Set back down. Close to empty.
"You don't believe in the devil? Huh." Her voice held a hint of surprise. "Do you believe in God?"
Sam couldn't see it, but he knew Dean was shaking his head. It was quiet out there. Hell, it was quiet in the bedroom. Another jolt of pain stabbed down the back of his head and Sam felt his throat clog. He really just wanted the pain to stop. Either the one in his head or the one in his heart.
"I do." Eva finally said. "I look around and, I mean I know there's bad out there, but all the good and the beauty… I just can't believe it happened by chance. It just seems like something somewhere had to orchestrate it." Oh, her voice was warm. When she spoke from her heart, Eva sounded like she was singing an opera. Sam lay still, he could understand how somebody like Dean could be friends with somebody like Eva.
"Well, Sam and me… we haven't always had a lot of God's blessings bestowed upon us. If you know what I mean."
Sam blinked. He knew what he meant. But, still…
"Maybe you're each other's blessings." Eva's hand hovered over the deck, slowly she took a card. Waiting. Sam knew that waiting.
"Or maybe we're each other's curse."
Hot tears danced without warning from Sam's eyes and absorbed quickly into the pink pillow behind him. He sniffed and the pain rocketed again.
"Well," Eva continued, "you normally don't want to save something you're cursed to have."
Sam closed his eyes. Wanted this to just stop already. How much had Dean told Eva about them? Knew this was unfair, eavesdropping on his brother. It was different than with the Sylphid, though. With Eva, Dean seemed eager to talk to her. Why, Sam wondered, why was it so easy for Dean to talk to outsiders and not to his own brother? Thought about the irony is his thoughts when Sam couldn't talk to anybody at all. Jealous, he guessed of Dean's ability to open up to somebody.
He could hear a bottle of beer being set on the table. Full, probably cold. Sam wiped his eyes. Cussed himself out for being such a fucking wuss.
"What do you need to save him from? Is something after him?"
Dean laughed then. "Something wants him." Soft and sad again, words fuzzy with liquor. But not wasted. Just Dean on the edge of tipsy. "But, yeah, I'll do whatever it takes." There was the glug-glug of a bottle being poured. Sam knew it wasn't into a glass, though, it was down Dean's throat.
"Whatever it takes?" Eva egged him on.
"To save him."
Sam tilted his head again, could see through the opening: Dean's fingers on his bottle, Eva's fingers on her wine glass. Very different people. Yet, stranger-to-stranger, they were becoming friends. And Sam knew that that just didn't happen very often for any of them.
"I have a feeling," Eva tapped her nails on the table, "that you and your brother have things after you that I could never wrap my head around."
A fractured laugh. "Sweetheart, you have no idea."
"Darling, why is it I am always drawn to the people who are full of dents and damaged? Just like my shoe collection. I swear, just once, it'd be nice to meet someone who came from a nice, happy middle class family." Eva sighed. "I guess they just don't exist. But you and Sam…" Her voice turned, empathetic. "I'm sure the road so far has been difficult."
Sam swallowed. Wished badly that he wasn't there any longer, cooped up in this outlandish bedroom, wanting to run, get on the road, and leave it all behind. Kicked his foot out, felt the pain burn up his left side and almost whimpered in response. Sucked in a breath and remembered why he was here. Why he didn't get up and do those things. Not going to leave. Not again. Not ever again.
"But you've survived it together," Eva said it like she was smiling. Probably was. "Whatever is to come, I have a feeling that you'll survive it again. Together."
"Thought you said it doesn't end well for any of us."
Dean always with the negative. Sam shook his head.
Eva took a drink. "I can be wrong about some things, can't I? I'm not the psychic one. I've never had a vision about anything else before in my life!" Her voice raised, but it was to make a point. Not out of anger.
And Sam lay on the bed, yo-yoing again. He wanted more, because if Eva knew he had special abilities, then she had learned this from Dean, and Sam didn't know how his brother felt about him anymore. He didn't know where they were with each other. That frightened him more than any dragon or any secret plans Yellow Eyes had in store for him.
"I told him I was tired," Dean confessed. "A while back… I told him I was just tired of the job. Of the way we live. But… I can't out run it and I – I just don't know how much more I can give."
Sam's heart sped up, cracked against his ribcage and most likely broke, he wasn't sure. He believed Dean wanted more than this. Wanted to see what other scary things were in the world besides monsters and demons. I had a life once, Sam thought. He felt his eyes sting again.
Somewhere in the dark and the pink-feathered boas, Sam heard Eva say, "You give what you get. And all you can do is hope it's all been worth it." A long pause and then, "You love him, don't you?"
Sam turned away, his body curled into a tight ball. He hugged the comforter between his arms and his chest, wished he could just knock himself out. Mom and Dad and Jess and Madison. Tally them up. Check them off the list. Whatever – whomever – he touched. Dead and six feet under. It was hopeless, this fight. The whole goddamned thing was fucking hopeless. And if Dean saved him, Sam breathed… shit, he'd probably lose Dean, too.
"There's so much between us," Dean's voice caught, but he paused, cleared his throat and salvaged what remained. "Sometimes it's just so hard to keep calm and carry on."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut. Wished he could get up and make it better but he was too broken and Dean was too lost and together they weren't stronger, they were just more screwed up.
He heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and Dean's heavy steps on the wood floor, shuffling with Eva's large but lighter steps. There were the sounds of dishes being gathered and bottles clinking together. A murmur from Dean, asking if she wanted any help and a refusal. Eva was going into a good-natured rant then about boys and not being able to pick up their messes correctly anyways.
Sam's eyelashes fluttered and he could see Dean standing in the doorway, right side pressed against the frame, staring at him.
"You straight boys think all you have to do is wink and smile… get out of doing all the house work. Good thing you're my guest." She was teasing him, voice lighthearted.
Dean didn't respond. Shadows moved and a hint of a spark from the living room made it just possible for Sam to catch Dean's eye movements in the dark.
"I ask you a direct question and you don't even bother to answer me." She stopped, paused. "You hear me, doll face? I asked you a question." Must have gotten used to Dean not answering her. She was a quick one, that Eva. More dishes piled on one another and she trotted off into another room.
Sam blinked long and slow. Met Dean's eyes. Longed for words. Knew that they weren't going to go anywhere tonight. That they were stuck here in Eva's house, stuck with a thankless job that neither knew how to break away from, stuck shoulder to shoulder with all the roads in the world open to them. Not knowing which one would lead them home.
I'm not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know.
"You want to watch some TV?" Eva sped by the opening. On to another task.
"Yeah, sure," Dean said. Flat and bored. "Indiana Jones on or something?"
"Oh, so you'll answer questions about TV."
Sam could see Dean swallow. His eyes drifted somewhere between the floor and his soul, but then they stopped and fastened on Sam. He released a heavy sigh. "Of course I love him." And those words were said purposefully in the dark and so gently that only Sam could hear them.
WWW
Dean woke up the next morning with a decent sized headache. Not a hangover. Just the kind of headache where your head feels blown up, like a balloon, detached from your body and yet hanging on by a string.
He rubbed the palm of his hand into his eyes until he saw stars. Sat himself up on a black velvet sofa, sitting in a black and white living room. Rubbed his eyes again. Yup. Those were definitely a collection of Holiday Barbie Dolls staring at him. Enclosed in a china cabinet no less.
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Clothes designed by Bob Mackie," he read to himself. Jesus Christ. That's scary. He pushed off the couch and walked a few steps. Just the awkward motion of standing and walking made him dizzy and he had to stop.
God, his head hurt.
That's when he heard the sound of typing. He turned around and sees Sam nestled in Eva's little dining room – what did she call it? That's right – a nook. Sam was nestled in Eva's nook, sipping on coffee – must have made it himself – and typing on her home computer.
Dean's head felt like it was going to explode. Right out his eye socket, blood splattering all over 2001 Barbie. He shrugged. Could use some Tylenol and there was something that looked like a medicine cabinet right above Sam. He shuffled over, reached above his brother's body and – Yahtzee! – Tylenol! He popped the top and threw three back. Grabbed Sam's cup of coffee and washed them down.
That got a look. A scowl. And then Sam went back to typing.
Dean thought about peeing. Then thought slumping down on the chair next to Sam might be a smarter move. Peeing usually required standing for a small period of time. Dean didn't think he was ready to balance himself this early in the morning.
Sam, on the other hand, had his head buried in the computer screen like he'd been awake for at least four hours and it was only… 7:26. Dean yawned. He really did like watching Sam do the job. Don't tell me you don't like it. He stretched his arms over his head. Needed caffeine. "You make more coffee?"
Taptaptap. Sam's gaze shifted over for a second. "Eva made it."
Dean waited. Rubbed his forehead. Apparently that was all Sam had to say. Not the usual blahblahblah shit that came out of his mouth.
"Where is she?"
"Who?" Didn't look up.
Who did he think? "Cher."
Sam smiled then. Quick and childlike. "She's in the sunroom."
Dean leaned forward. "There's a sunroom?"
"There is." Sam nodded. "And in that sunroom is a little 19 inch black and white television set where she watches Richard Simmons Sweatin' to the Oldies and she works out with him. In a hot pink leotard." He stopped typing and looked over at Dean. "It has a thong. You know, up her… you know."
Dean shivered. "Jesus."
"Tell me about it." Sam went back to his typing. "There's coffee in the French press in the kitchen."
Dean pushed off the chair. "In the what?"
"It's a fancy coffee pot, Dean. You'll find it."
He did. Poured himself a cup and used some of the expensive looking, International cream that was sitting out. Picked up the coffee cup, noticed it had a naked woman on one side and on the opposite was scripted, I perform all my own stunts. He rolled his eyes and rejoined Sam.
What a waste of time that was. Sam didn't even acknowledge his presence. Dean thought about the day before. He hadn't done anything in particular to piss his brother off. Must just be waking up and realizing that once again, he had woken up a Winchester. That was enough to put anybody in a sucky mood.
Dean was through with his quick mental survey and observations. Enough of this shit. Just cut to the chase. "You mad at me or something?"
Sam's eyes flicked up and back. "If I was mad at you, I wouldn't have told you about Eva's workout routine and would've just let you walk in there all by yourself."
"Then why are you acting all…" Dean rotated his shoulders. "Mad?"
Sam laughed, sarcastic but spongy, if there was such a thing. It made Dean frown. "I got beat up by a Sylph last night, Dean. I've taken two showers so far this morning and I'm still shaking pebbles out of my hair. I ran out of towels so I tried to escape back to the bedroom… naked… and was caught by Eva in her leotard."
Dean couldn't help it. He smiled. Big as a Montana sky. "What did she say?"
He watched Sam swallow. Nervous, eyes looked quickly to the left. "She said… " Sam's voice raised an octave. "'Well, sugar lips, that sure does have personality, doesn't it?'"
Dean snorted. Oh, but his head felt better.
"Stop it." Sam brought his arms closer together. "I was afraid she was going to try and have a conversation with it."
Tears pierced Dean's eyes as he laughed. He pinched his finger and thumb into his corner sockets to stop himself from crying. Crossed his legs. Damn, he really had to pee now.
"Remember hearing the dog last night?"
Dean took in a deep breath. He remembered the barking. Remembered seeing the fucking dog chasing after them. It was brown and white. And it was snarling right along with the reds and the oranges of the fire hunting them all. "Yeah."
"You ever heard of a drag hunt?"
He quirked an eyebrow. That could mean a lot of things. "No." Sipped his coffee.
"Well," Sam folded his hands, gave Dean his undivided attention. Felt kind of nice, somehow. Maybe he really wasn't mad. "Hunters take a dog – normally a foxhound or a beagle – give them a scent and then they follow the dog until they lead them to where ever the hunted is."
"Yeah, okay? Where's this going, dude? I gotta take a leak."
Sam put a hand out – palm forward. He just needed a minute. "That dog that we heard barking. Dean, it was on my tail. I got a good look at it. It was a brown and white foxhound. And I'm pretty sure it was chasing a scent."
Dean's mouth twitched. He decides that Sam isn't mad at him. Takes him this long to decide it. Wonders why. Where are they? And why can't they go forward? "Your scent?" Sipped on his coffee again to hide his grimace. Not his fault. He didn't ask for this.
But , the thing was, it wasn't Dean's fault, either.
"No. Not mine." Sam paused, licked his lips and Dean sighed. Intentional. Dean looked up. "Not mine," Sam repeated, eyes locked and loaded. "I think its Eva's. I think it's literally a drag hunt."
"What? Like, you think that this dog is trained to find virgin drag queens?"
Sam ran his hand through his hair. "I heard barking way back at the billboard when we arrived the first night. And yesterday, I'm sure I heard it in the fields next to the club. I bet if you start walking in those wheat fields near Marcel's, sooner or later it'll lead you to Knuckers."
Dean tipped his head, studied Sam for a minute. He looked like a train wreck and Dean felt like kicking himself that he has just now noticed. Felt his stomach pitch. "You dream about it again last night?" It came out a little bitter, but he was done and he wanted to know.
A hitch of a shoulder. "Yeah, but…"
Dean had to place a hand on the computer table. Felt all wobbly inside. Sam's eyes tracked his movements. "I didn't see anything new." His voice wasn't right. It was all-tight and thick like when he's about to cry or avoiding something.
"You sure?" Doesn't believe him, but he'll give him one more shot. Sam and all his goddamn omissions. Half the truth is still a full lie, Sam. But Dean doesn't say anything because Sam gives him information like Dad used to: need to know on a need to know basis. And Sam is one stubborn son of a bitch so they get nowhere.
But Sam wavers because unlike Dad, Dean has some sway over him. There's something protective, something sad about the look in his brother's eyes that reminds Dean of another time. He strokes the coffee mug, recalls the other night, Sam trembling in his arms. Remembers the Her spoken fresh from the heart. So raw. "She isn't going to be there, Sammy. You know that, right?" Locks eyes, hold there for a long breath. "This isn't… this isn't about…" Feels honestly sorry that he has to go this far. Wishes he'd gone here earlier. "It's not about Jessica."
Sam turns on him then. Insulted. "Fuck you, Dean." It's quick and venomous. And it causes pain and swelling, which is the point. Sam goes back to his typing and drag hunt hunting.
Dean gives him a minute, tries to think of something to make this better, and when he can't think of anything and gets nothing more from Sam, he shakes his head.
"Whatever, prick. I gotta pee anyway."
WWW
They had a plan. Dean didn't like it, it wasn't their best plan, but Sam and Eva had out voted him. The only thing that they seemed to agree upon was the first part of their plan: Go to the club and talk to Marcel. Find out for sure –Was he a demon? Or was he something more powerful? Was his tattoo maybe just a small version of the dragon and all they had to do was stab him in his arm and the dragon would go away? Yeah, they were all in agreement – the plan was a little lame but it had to start with Marcel.
It was Saturday night and Saturdays at the club were ass grabbing, 50-dollar stuffing busy. There were three shows and Eva was only on call for the last one. It didn't start until after 1 a.m. and was forty-five minutes of pure Eva. Tonight was a big deal tonight, she had explained to the brothers, there was a talent scout coming from Las Vegas just to see her. He had managed a number of top performers, including Barry Manilow and Wayne Newton. This was like the Pope coming to visit a hopeful Priest. For a Drag Queen this scout was a big fucking deal.
The club was bouncing when they walked in, Eva in all her glory, leading the Winchesters in through the back way. Someone was on stage, performing. She had a red Mohawk and barely any clothes on. Dean noticed Sam staring at her longer than he should. Dean, however, easily found Marcel laughing in the crowd. He pushed forward.
"Hey, ass hat," Dean started but Marcel turned around with a shit eating grin on his face. He looked immediately beyond Dean and laid fond eyes on the star of his show.
"Eva!" he exclaimed, waved her closer, "This is Mr. Hale, from Las Vegas. He's traveled here tonight to see you."
Well, that did it. Eva melted. She elbowed Dean out of the way, extended her hand and was selling herself before the dude ever had the chance to hear her sing. All the while, Marcel sipped on a glass of water, eyed Dean and Sam up close and personal. They glared back. Couldn't really open up a full on exorcism in a place packed with so many people. Couldn't open fire, either. All they could really do was just observe.
He was balding. Hadn't noticed that before. Yesterday he seemed to have so much more hair. Maybe a wig, everyone in the joint wore one. But he had muscles growing out of other muscles and the tat on his arm was indeed a deep purple colored dragon, outlined in blue. It had a spiraled tail, like a spring, and fired shot out from its mouth, climbing up Marcel's arm.
It was small, but as they say, quite impressive.
Sam was closer and his height gave him a little more advantage and power so Dean let him try and get Marcel to talk, but the man ignored them, choosing instead to keep his focus on the agent and Eva.
"Eva is our s-star," he was saying. She smiled, but it was forced. "I'm hoping that once you see her perform tonight, that you'll be interest-sted in investing some money with us-s. Get some more girls here – some girls with more talent than is at my fingertips." Laughed at himself. "Some girls-s who are more… refined."
Dean frowned, noticed Sam did the same thing. Marcel was looking to join forces with other drag queen shows to get a better clientele? A juicier one, perhaps? How hungry was this dragon?
"Eva is a good friend." Marcel gestured to her, placed a hand on her arm and Dean could see a squeeze. "Sh-She was just over at my house the other day. Her and her poss-ss-e." The man – demon – whatever the hell it was grinned at Sam and Dean. "Fed my pet."
Part of the game, Dean realized. The thing was sizing them up. Eva was just the distraction. Marcel already had a plan of his own.
"Ah, we should let Eva go. Let her rest," Marcel went on. "She has to make sure her dancers-s are ready for her number later." He glanced at his watch. "You go on in just s-six short hours, my dear." Smiled, menacing. "I'm going to stick close to Mr. Hale. Make sure he gets treated well." He placed his hand on the gentleman's shoulder. The dragon glowed briefly, its tail whipped to the left and the right. "Keep him s-safe." He leaned in next to Eva and took a long whiff. "Oh, darling, don't you s-smell good." Backed up and blinked, his eyes cheerfully opening, heated black liquid stared back.
Eva stumbled backwards. Dean's hand balanced her on the base of her back. Sam quickly leaned forward, past the demon and directly into Mr. Hale's personal space. He drew the agent in close and whispered into his ear, "Christo."
The man pulled back. He wasn't the world's most physical guy. Gray eyebrows stretched deep into his forehead. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" the scout asked meekly.
Sam shrunk away. Gave a hasty shake of the head to Dean. Not possessed. Yet.
"I love this song," Marcel taunted. Eyes back to an abnormal gray, small and beady. He stuck his tongue out. It was forked, like a snake's.
Dean blinked. Like a reptile.
Lookin' for some hot stuff, baby, this evenin'
I need some hot stuff, baby tonight
I want some hot stuff, baby this evenin'
Gotta have some hot stuff
Gotta have some lovin' tonight…
Dean's shoulders squared, his body stiffened, he could feel the hilt of his gun pressing against his back. Wrong place, wrong time, he thought. Marcel could say whatever he wanted and he knew there was little any of them could do.
"Miss Destruction needs a little space," Marcel's hand traveled and turned into a good-natured arm throw around Mr. Hale and drew him in closer. "We'll see you soon, Eva. You go put on your lips-stick. Get all dolled up for us. We're looking forward to it." He located a table in the bar that had a better view of the stage and started to make their way towards it. Marcel shoved his star to the side in the process.
Eva, God love her, nodded. Smiled with a little sincerity. But it wasn't comforting.
Dean's lips thinned. He was pissed. It had her scent.
"Do we need to be scared?" Eva inquired, her voice a fine rumble against the music booming in the background.
Dean lifted concerned eyes to Sam. She'd used we, not I and Dean couldn't help but stand taller next to her.
"Probably," Sam answered. "But we should stick to the plan. If it goes well, you should be back here just in time for your performance."
Eva looked out into the crowd. Watched Marcel pull out a chair for Mr. Hale. "The man whose been controlling me and the man who can set me free."
"Either way," Dean touched her arm. There was a mark where Marcel had applied too much pressure. "You'll be free after tonight." Didn't use the word safe but he knew she knew what he meant. If this goes well, hell, they'd all be walking away free.
For tonight.
"Meet you in fifteen or twenty," Eva hummed and turned, disappeared into the swarm of bodies.
WWW
Sam was growing impatient. It had been thirty minutes and finally, finally, they caught glimpse of Eva's headlights on the lone road. Dean had parked the Impala next to the intersection where the concrete road turned into gravel.
"Come on," Sam muttered.
Dean scoffed next to him. "Give her a break. I'm sure she had to pack her heels." He yanked open the car door and slammed it shut. Sam sighed and followed suit.
The little Ford released a small screech as Eva pulled up behind them and came to a full stop. She got out and walked around to meet up with the brothers. Her hair was natural and she was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, plain and discreet. Her jeans were skin tight, however, and her boots were laced in tight symmetrical crosses up her calf. As she came closer, she smiled, her face painted with heavy makeup. A time-saver, Sam assumed. Just in case they cut it close in returning her back to the club.
"Oh, honey, tell me we are taking your car." Eva asked, placed a hand on her hip.
Dean swiveled, looked at his baby. "Uh, yeah."
Eva stole a glance at Sam. "Shot gun," she called.
Sam smirked. Every ass has a seat.
It took another five seconds for Dean to pop open the trunk and start rummaging through their weapons. They were prepared, they'd already packed, they had everything they would need.
Almost.
Dean grabbed two steel blades. Swords, more or less. Handed one to Sam, kept one for himself. Sam stood next to his brother, watched his movements. They'd used the blades before, with Dad and the Vampires. Used them on a couple of other uglies in the past that they had no idea how to kill and chopping off their heads seemed to do the trick in bringing down the house.
"Think they're special enough?" Dean asked.
Sam knew his sword like the back of his hand. It had no engravings. No writing on it. He knew Dean's as well. There was nothing special about either one.
Scares the hell out of me. You two are all I've got. Well, I guess we are stronger as a family.
Sam clenched the grip of his knife. Changed his mind. Both were special. They were theirs. "Hope so."
Dean shrugged and tipped his chin over his shoulder, "You got everything you need, Eva?"
She had packed her own bag. Pink with glitter and bedazzling on the side. Gag. Neither of them knew the exact contents of what was inside, but she had gathered some rare incense, herbs, and oils that Sam had read might help in hiding their presence as they planned their sneak attack.
She rummaged her manicured fingernails through the contents. Sam swore he saw an extra pair of red underwear but didn't ask because he didn't want to know the answer. She huffed and shook her head. "I own a gun," she announced, like they might be shocked. "I keep it in my trunk. I forgot to grab it. Damn thing makes me nervous." She sighed. "I think I have everything else."
Sam walked over, held his hand out. "Give me the keys, I'll get it for you."
A few steps, a jingle and a click later and Sam had the Ford's hatch open. For as much as they had different about their lives, one thing they had similar was they all seemed to live out of the back of their cars. Eva's, of course, was littered with costumes and make up, props and accessories. He shifted a box of cheap jewelry to the left, found a vibrator, gasped quietly, and moved the box back again. He shoved a pile of pink and more pink over from the right and sitting underneath a pair of white cowboy boots lay a pair of handcuffs and a small, cream colored revolver. Must be hers. Sam reached down and picked it up.
His eyes snagged on a twinkle and a glimmer.
There was something shiny pushed up against the spare tire. He gently touched the object, wrapped his hand around the leather handle and pulled it out.
It was a long and sleek dagger. Sam twirled the steel around and caught a glint of etching under the pale moonlight. He held it up closer to his face and read the engraving: To my son, Evan. The man who fights too long against the dragon becomes the dragon himself. With Love, Dad.
My father died chasing the dragon…
Was this why Eva was having visions of this hunt? Sam spun the knife easily in his grip. It was a lot heavier than it looked. "Dean!" he shouted.
That's when he heard it. It wasn't barking this time. It was snarling.
"Sam!" Dean called back. "Sammy, we got a problem!"
Sam stepped to the side of the car. There: low and to the right. It crept out of the shadows, head down, teeth bared, maw pulled back, exposing all it had to give. Eva backed up in step with Dean and Sam tightened his hold on the knife.
It acted fast. The dog lunged, paws first, knocking Eva down to the ground. She let out a desperate scream. Dean responded before Sam could take a breath. He tried to pull the hound off Eva and for a hopeful second, the dog let go. Then turned on Sam's brother and sank its teeth into his right arm.
"Dean!" Sam screamed.
He thought he saw Dean try to hit the dog with his free hand but the hound just took that as an open invitation to let go of Dean's arm and attack his hand. Sam swore he could hear a snap as the dog chomped, released, then chomped again.
Sam ran the short distance just as Dean spun around in pain. The dog moved easily from Dean back to Eva, its claws ripping into her tight jeans, tearing her left calf. Sam tried to take the place of his brother, desperately grabbing at Eva's frantic hands. He could hear the cries behind him from his brother, "Sam! Fuck! Sam! Sammy!" Sam could smell fresh blood, but he almost had Eva… Her fingertips were just grazing his fingers and when that didn't pan out, she caught hold of Sam's pant leg. But the strength and the momentum of the dog pulling her were too much and their grasp was broken.
"Eva!" Dean yelled out into the dark.
The hound tugged harder on Eva. A deadly sneer shoved out of its throat and it started a slow drag into the field of wheat. Sam could feel Dean on his left, breathing heavy. "Don't," he spat at the dog. "Don't you make me run after you." And just like it could understand what Dean had spoken, Eva was pulled quickly into the field.
Dean took off without hesitation after her.
Sam was left holding the knife he'd found in Eva's trunk. He moved in a sweeping defensive motion and took a step. A large wind blew in front of him, followed by a wisping cloud of dust. Sam's arm came up and shielded his eyes from the debris. He stopped where he was and took a breath. Dropping his arm, he looked up.
It laughed merrily. "Ah, the chosen one."
Sam swallowed. He could hear Eva's screams fade the deeper she was pulled in. Sam lost track of any movements, didn't notice any disturbance in the wheat from either soul that was sucked in. He opened his mouth to call out.
"I thought you were the smart brother." It giggled. "He will not hear you."
Sam closed his mouth. Jaw clenched.
"Well, you are finally here," it said. Half mocking, half-satisfied.
Sam narrowed his eyes. He slid the blade out of sight between the inside of his coat and his ribs. Felt painfully uncomfortable. His gaze coasted beyond the Sylphid, eyes scanning the dark landscape for signs of Dean. He needed to get his brother back. And if all that was standing in front of him was this fucking motherfucker, well, Sam was ready.
"That I am." Long and dangerous. Waited then because it wasn't his turn to play.
Playlist:
Someone Saved My Life Tonight performed by Sir Elton John
Hot Stuff performed by Donna Summer
- Dragon quote engraved on Eva's sword is a quote from Friedrich Nietzsche, Philosopher
-TBC- Only four more chapters left to go...