Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Author's Note: Ah, and the day after Premier 7! I liked it. That's all I'll say for those who haven't seen it yet. But, I liked it. A lot. I do want to give a shout out to my lovely beta, Maz101 who never stopped nagging me (her term, not mine) "Finish the story. Send me something." Thanks, Maz. I wouldn't have finished without your… nudges. And my friend, Gaelicspirit who also often asked, "When am I going to read that dragon story, Bitch?" and I'd respond, "Hold on to your panties, Jerk." Really. We have t-shirts. Thanks, Girls.

Chapter Eight: With a Cherry On Top

Dean came to with a curse rolling off the tip of this tongue and a headache as loud as Cleveland. It took him five times of trying to actually get his eyes open and when he did, he really just wanted to close them again.

He was pinned up against a wall of the castle, like some girl waiting for a knight to save her. His legs were shackled at his ankles and pulled tight against the brick. His arms were cuffed as well, but they were angled above his head, his hands painfully crisscrossed, the clasp purposefully cutting into his wrists.

The smell of decaying meat filled the air. Dean craned his neck to the left, pushing his nose into his armpit to escape the stench with his own sweat. It wasn't enough, though; the scent was powerful. His eyes stung, his lungs lit up and he realized, horrified, that he had smelled this decaying before. It wasn't just meat. It was decomposing, human meat.

He squinted his eyes and let his gaze travel the width of the room. Wall. Wall. Wall. Oh, shit. There, half way across from him, off to the right… there was another body hanging from shackles. Dean leaned forward, hissed in pain and then gave a shout, "Hey!" His throat felt like it was ripped to shreds, his voice was hoarse and dry. "Hey, you hear me?"

The body was still, though. It didn't make any sounds and from what Dean could tell, its head was hanging low and oddly bent. He could see a discoloration, realized that it was a small pool of dried blood surrounding the person's feet. He blinked hard. Something had drained this poor guy – or gal – dry.

Dean swallowed and took in a ragged breath. That's when he heard the stirring near him. His eyes skimmed the rest of the room. Wall. Wall. Wall… Person.

There was a cough and the clinking and clanking of chains a few feet away from him and Dean released a sigh of relief. It was a live person. But it wasn't Sam.

"Oh, holy Lord," the husky voice grunted. "Oh, my God, this hurts."

Dean could see Eva in the dim light, pulling against her restraints, only to watch her over sized body fall back against the brick, limp.

"E-Eva?" Dean called over, cleared his throat and tried it again, steadying his tone. "Eva? You with me?"

Her neck snapped over in response to her name and she seemed to get a jolt of energy. "Dean, honey? Is that you?"

Shoving aside the honey, Dean concentrated on the rest of the words. "Yeah, it's me." He looked around swiftly, checking the walls and floors for any other bodies – dead or alive – that might be stuffed in the room with them.

Didn't seem to find any, though.

"Are you okay?" Eva asked.

Dean glanced back at her. She was both shadow and light, hard to see, but easy to make her figure out in the gray, she was so tall, so muscular. Her breaths were deep and long, her chest heaving like a beast about to attack. He hoped she was.

Besides his hands, his ribs, and the fact that he was sure he was bleeding from his forehead, Dean thought he probably looked pretty damn handsome. "I'm pinned," he admitted, hated how it made him sound weak. "My arms…" he pulled on his hands, tried to maneuver his wrists through the iron. He bent his knees and let his weight pull on his skin, praying for a little mind over matter. He envisioned his thumb popping through the cuff, followed by each finger. He swayed his body, twisted his torso… and pulled and pulled until the pressure was too much and all he could see was imaginary fireflies, and they were winking at him, the damned things, taunting him of his efforts.

"You're gonna pass out," Eva was saying as Dean found his footing and straightened his knees again. Neither his chains nor his hands had even budged.

"Something smells awful."

Dean blinked and looked across the room at the rotting body hanging just like they were. The shadows in the room had moved and he could see now that the person was dressed in a white t-shirt. Across the chest, proudly displayed in black block letters, was "The Beatles".

"Where is that smell coming from?"

A lump clogged Dean's throat. He swallowed but it wouldn't go up or down. It lodged there, prepared to suffocate him, if it had to. She hadn't seen and Dean didn't want to tell her, but…

The door suddenly opened. A loud scrape against the cement floor and an appreciated spill of light filled half of the room. Marcel and Thing One filled the other half.

"Oh, honey!" Eva exclaimed, her voice on edge. Dean glanced over at her. She was staring back, eyes soft and dewy. "You're all bloody."

Dean nodded. He tipped his chin down and gave her a half smile. "You are, too, sweetheart."

With a swish of the tail, Marcel stepped in front of Dean, smiling big and bright. He reached up with his right hand and gave the chains a good hard pull. Gave a bigger smile when he saw Dean's teeth grind under the force.

"Los-s-s-t feeling in your pinky yet?" Marcel asked, thumped his tail behind him and let his tongue slither out. Split down the middle. Like a lizard or a prehistoric beast that never existed before.

"Well," Dean began, ignoring the question and cocking his head to the side to get a better look at Marcel's back end. "When the going gets tough, the weird turn pro, huh?"

Marcel frowned. He circled back once and slammed a solid fist into Dean's jaw. Wasn't lights out, not yet, but Dean got the message: Shut the fuck up or I will shut you the fuck up.

So, he shut up.

"Now," Marcel teased, walked a few paces between his two prisoners. "If you don't mind, I'd like to gather my thoughts-s, as-s-k a couple of questions and then retire to dine for the evening." He turned on his heels and fixed his attention on Eva. "Dear, tell me s-s-something… how do you do it?"

Dean glanced to his right. Eva was battered. Her lipstick was rubbed off and half of it smeared across her cheek. Even her short, curly hair looked in disarray. She gave Marcel a confused look. "Do what?"

The half-man, half… lizard… stopped walking. His chin shook with pent up anger. "You and I sh-share s-something very close." Marcel lowered his voice, telling a secret amongst friends. "You know that?"

Eva hesitated, watched him from her confines. Shook her head. But Dean could see that, for the first time he'd met her, she was afraid.

Marcel didn't take his eyes off of her and when he spoke, it was sinister. "We have the same father." His eyes sparkled, gleamed at her. Dean watched the exchange. Didn't know if he bought what Marcel was selling but as crazy as it sounded, Marcel seemed to believe it.

Dean's felt his eyes round in surprise but Eva looked unchanged like she was expecting it somehow. Like nothing more could shock her.

"…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…"

"Oh," was all she offered.

"If it makes-s you feel any better," Marcel continued, wagging his tail behind him, "out of all of our siblings that I've met, you are my favorite."

"Fuck off." Eva's voice hardened, came at him like an axe. "You're nothing to me."

"On the contrary. I am your brother."

Eva's mouth turned up in a sad smile. She flashed her perfect teeth but they were red from the beating she had taken. "No. You're nothing. Period." Even for being chained up, Eva stood very tall. Composed. Respectful. "Not a brother. Not a human. Nothing. You're nothing to me."

"S-still…" Marcel stopped in front of her, raised a pale hand to her brown face. Dean remembered the picture Eva had in her house of her as a young boy with her father. He was white. Eva took after her mother's side. Marcel rubbed the backside of his hand against Eva's cheek. "How do you do it?"

Eva scowled in disgust. She spat at Marcel but he ducked, reflexes quick, and he smiled a sickening grin at her. "I don't know what you're talking about." But her voice wavered and Dean wondered if she was telling the truth or if she were stalling.

"How can you be something you're not?"

And then Eva let out a laugh. An honest to God, belly laugh. One that would have had her slapping her knee if she could move her hands. She laughed hard, filling the room until she finally had to draw in air. "Really? Are you serious?"

There was a few seconds where no one spoke and the only thing that was exchanged was shielded looks. It was very apparent: Marcel was dead serious.

Eva sobered up. She shook her head at him and said, "Darling, I am nothing but a man dressed in women's clothing. Wigs and makeup. That's how I do it."

"No!" Marcel slammed his tail on the cement floor. The sound ricocheted off the walls, tearing the air. "No! You are more than just that! I have seen you! I have smelled you! I have spent the past few months getting to know you! You know the rest of the formula, the rest of the secret formula – I need, I want you to give it to me." He followed her with wild eyes. Hungry eyes. "Please," he begged. "Please… I'm only half. You are whole."

The shadows were changing again, the light shifting the darkened corners to a dim gray. Dean could see the body behind the door becoming more defined. It was only a matter of time now.

Eva sighed. "Marcel," said his name kindly and Dean wasn't expecting that, "You're right. I am a whole person. But I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary. I dress in my preferred gender. I am a woman trapped in a man's body. If I were ever able to make the jump and become a woman physically, my secret would be science. Doctors. Surgery." She let that sink in and then added, "I don't know what you think I am."

"That is our father out there!" Marcel screamed at her, his finger jabbing into the air.

"What are –"

"The dragon! That is our father!" Marcel blinked. He looked sincere and he looked desperate. His words were coming out fast, on top of each other. "There was a formula. He used to make it. I have half of it but to complete the transformation, I don't know how… see, he used to… he would smoke it and he always said that if you chase the dragon long enough…"

"…You become the dragon." Eva finished.

Marcel's face relaxed in relief. "Yes-s! Yes-s! You know it!"

"What do I know?" Eva asked, confused.

"The formula." Marcel started his nervous pace again. "Drag Queens. I know, it's an odd request, but it's one of the only things in the human world that can be one thing but live life as another. The blood of a Drag Queen not only s-soothes the beast – our father – but it's also an essential ingredient. I'm miss-ss-ing something, though, s-something big."

Marcel rubbed his chin, scrubbed the back of his head, thinking, thinking, thinking. He stopped in front of Dean, licked his lips. Hissed. "What about it, S-S-Starsky? You hunters know lots of formulas. You got any ideas?"

Pain was lacing trails upon trails up and down Dean's body. His head pounded like a jackhammer and a spasm shuddered down his spine. Made his teeth rattle. Still, he shrugged as best he could, quirked an eyebrow and answered, "I think we're our own dragons and our own heroes and we have to rescue ourselves from ourselves."

That got an agreeing nod from Marcel. And a huff. And a puff. And he reeled back and socked one into Dean's stomach. His abdomen was weak and soft and Dean had to swallow the rising bile in his throat.

He couldn't fall forward or curl up defensively into a ball. All Dean could do was cough and try not to throw up.

"S-s-s-screw you," Marcel stuttered. "You're just a bargaining chip now anyways. Pretty s-s-soon I'm gonna put a bullet in your brain and then feed your body to the dog."

"A bargaining chip?"

"Leave him alone." Dean heard Eva pipe in and, oddly, that only made him angrier.

But Marcel was having fun and at Dean's expense which was even funner. "A shoe for a shoe."

Dean felt his upper lip quiver, wanted to spit in the thing's face, but thought better of it, deciding it would be best to reserve his saliva. "Where is he?" he asked, bit his tongue to stop him from cursing because he didn't have any cards to play and he knew he was barely hanging on. Once he got his hands back, he'd beat the shit out of the creature then.

"He?" Marcel sang back, danced a step over to Thing One as if this were a game. "There are lots-s-s of he's around here. Girls will be boys and boys will be girls…" Paused and then delightfully asked, "You know what I mean?" Eyes flicked up and down Dean's body like the creature was seeing candy and Dean felt oddly undressed.

He worked his jaw and let it pass, though. Wasn't sure if lots of he's was a strike against Eva or Sam or if it was a clue to who or how many drag queens were locked in this place. Didn't really fucking care right now. Got to the point. "Where is Sam?" he asked again, not really recognizing his voice. It was somewhere between dangerous and murder and Dean wasn't sure how he was going to get to either one.

Still, Marcel found this all humorous and so he chuckled despite himself. "Oh, that he." Crossed his arms, let Dean get a good look at his tat. The tail illuminated and swished in rhythm to Marcel's. "I wasn't s-sure because in here we have he's-s that are s-she's and she's that are he's-s and he's that are he's and he's-s that are… well, they fall under the category of s-s-something else." Lifted his eyebrows high on his forehead until they disappeared under his hair. "That's the category S-S-Sam falls-s into. Other. Unknown. Not yet identified."

He was still for about 2.5 seconds and then Dean lost it. He pulled and yanked and rattled the chains that restrained him. He lugged his body as far away from the wall as he could possibly go and twisted and twirled until his broken ribs jabbed his lungs and stole his breath and he fell fast and hard, his hands catching his fall. There was a hideous popping sound as his left shoulder shot a wave of hot pain through his body. The ordeal ended with tears burning behind his eyelids and his lungs gasping for air. The cement floor beneath him blurred into a wave of gray and Dean was really surprised that he hadn't dislodged himself and ripped Marcel's head off yet.

He was over his head with this one.

"Is that… Abbey?" Eva suddenly asked and Dean had to keep his eyes shielded or he was surely going to break down.

"Abbey, Annie, Danny, Mike. Who knows who it is?" Marcel waved a dismissive hand in the direction of the lifeless body.

Over his head and everything running out of his control.

Dean could see the shine of the half-dragon mutant's shoes as he entered Dean's field of vision. Dean was down for the count, his body hanging like a ragdoll, heart beating slow and sluggish.

Over his head and he wasn't going to be able to save Sam.

Marcel walked closer and Dean could feel the heat of his warm breath against the back of his neck, right against his ear. "I had my boys-s take your boy out to the field and leave him there. The S-Sylphid wants him. The dragon wants him. One of them will probably get him in the end. But if he beats-s them both… I haven't made up my mind if I am going to enjoy watching him bury you or you bury him before I kill whoever is-s left."

Dean sucked in a breath but it was shallow and it burned his lungs. He didn't want to breathe and yet he couldn't get enough air in. He could feel the warmth of his own blood trickle from his hairline down his forehead and drip away, disappearing into the darkness. He was chilled but it was from fever and he had to open and shut his eyes briskly to keep himself from passing out.

Over his head. Wondered how bad he was going to fuck things up this time.

The tat on Marcel's arm lit up again, blue and green swirls coloring its small body. The inked dragon swished its tail and turned its neck, and blew a puff of smoke at Dean. Marcel's hand came into view, covering the tattoo gently. With love and care.

Dean was weary but he lifted his eyes to Marcel. "I saw that."

There. Right there – Marcel's throat bobbed up and down. A swallow. Nervous but didn't break his gaze. "What did you see?"

Dean paused. "I don't know what I saw." Tilted his head. "But I saw that."

"Give them both s-some water," Marcel ordered. Dean could hear the creature turning away from his captors and in the direction of Thing One. "Don't give that one any food. But feed my brother. Pretty please, with a cherry on top."

Then it all got very quiet and, not wanting to admit it, but very lonely for a few long minutes. Dean sank his weight down, against the cuffs, let his body hang for a while until his hands went numb and he found that he did still have the strength to stand. Eva wasn't talking, but she was moving. It was the usual: lunging forward and backward, pulling and yanking, grunting and groaning.

Thing One reentered the room. Alone, this time, and bearing gifts. He stopped in front of Dean first, let him have a short refreshing drink of water. Dean hated accepting it and wanted desperately to spit it back into the giant's face but times were hard. He drank greedily and wished for more as the guy stepped to Dean's right and first offered Eva a drink and then a bite from a sandwich. It looked like turkey and cheese. Dean's stomach grumbled.

There was a quick swoosh of cold air that blew by him and if Dean could swear to it, he would have said it was like a black tornado erupted from the wall. Eva's arms were coming down on top of Thing One's head, chains and all, while her knee was coming up with a slam to the groin. The man fell to his knees while she pummeled him with her clasped hands across his jaw to the right, then the left, then the right. A kick to his middle and one to his shoulder and the big guy was down for the count.

Dean lifted surprised eyes. "Eva –"

She turned on her heels then, gave Dean a drawn-out look and a slender smile. "Now, Dean," she said, rummaging through Thing One's pockets until she found her prize. She plucked out the keys to her lock and was free within seconds. She hurried over to Dean and unlocked his chains. "I just saved your ass," she continued. Dean took his first step and started an immediate face plant. Eva caught his right arm and threw it over her shoulders. He looked up at her and smiled in appreciation. She grinned back, bloody and toothy, but alive. "The next one's on you."

Dean glanced behind them. Saw the broken chains, the unconscious thug, and looked back at Eva. "You're amazing." Meant it.

She nodded. "Nobody puts Baby in a corner."

www

When Sam opened his eyes, he couldn't focus on anything.

Oh my God. His fingers rubbed at a screaming knot on the side of his head. He felt hazy, like he was doped up on drugs and yet he still wished he had a bottle of Vicodin. He didn't need a doctor or a nurse or his big brother around to tell him what this all added up to: He had a concussion.

He rolled over to his side and the colors of his scenery swirled and fell with him. He had a cramp in his stomach and had to talk himself out of throwing up. He had this. Pushed up to his right elbow and felt his tummy wretch. He released a sound, devastation, but no words. He found he had no language left in him at all. Sam slowed his breathing and tried again, locking his elbow as it shook, taking his body's weight.

He gave a small smile. Yup, not going to throw up. Now, he could do just about anything. He sat up and shoved his fingers through his hair. His head hurt like a son of a bitch. He wanted to claw and scratch and tear his hair out, it hurt so bad.

Then he remembered. He had been hit from behind – well, the side really. He'd been looking up, out the window as Dean was being dragged down a hallway. He remembered the blindfold and the Ziploc ties. He rolled his wrists around. There were red marks rounding his skin but the ties had either been cut off or fallen off.

He heard a clank in the echoes in his mind and wrapped a hand around his throat. The fucking drag chain. He swallowed and felt the razor like blades scrape down the inside of this throat. He pulled back his hand and saw there was blood on his palm. It wasn't dripping so he figured the chain must have just cut into his skin.

Everything just ached.

He pressed his index and middle fingers hard against his temple. The knot was growing. Probably had been hit by a 2X4 or an iron bar. Didn't really want to think about it. He shook his head. His teeth hurt.

After a few seconds of breathing and trying to clear his mind, Sam looked around. He had no idea which way the castle was and he couldn't see anything in the dark anyways. He was surrounded by wheat and when he stood up, his eyes traveled rows and rows of nothing but fields. He did a quick inventory check, his hands slapping down the length of his body. He had no flashlight, no gun, but... he could feel the sword pressed up against his right side. Shit, those stupid thugs had attacked him, thrown him out like trash and had missed a freaking sword hidden under his jacket? Sam smirked. They were dumber than he thought.

It seemed that was the only weapon and the only thing besides his clothes that he had on him. Still, it was THE thing he needed to slay the dragon. He looked right and then left. If only he knew which way he should go. He stood and took a few steps to the left, followed what seemed to be a shorter row, hoped that it would lead him to a clearing. It just lead him to more wheat. He turned right and started following a new path. It didn't lead anywhere either.

Sam sighed. This was going to take all night. It was kind of like the time Jess had dragged him to a Pumpkin Patch and they got lost in the hay maze. She had attacked him and for a few minutes, it didn't matter that they couldn't find their way out. Her hands sliding around him, between him and his hands coming around her, slipping into her. Nothing to worry about except a few strands of hay where it shouldn't be. And Jess's nails. His back ached at the memory and then his mind jumped ahead a few days later, Dean breaking into their apartment…

Sam felt his heart skip a beat and he had to stop walking. It sucked missing her and having to be the one to move on when he had no idea what he was moving on to.

He took a deep breath and released it, resigned to what he was going to have to do because he didn't want to do it and yet he had no idea how the hell to get out of this maze, if there was a way out. For all he knew, he'd been thrown in the farthest place from the castle, with no possible way to get back to Dean. One dead end after another. Kinda like the story of his life.

He looked up to the sky and called out, "Hello? Hello! I have a question I need answered!"

It didn't hesitate. Dust whooshed by him, blowing his bangs askew, and Sam felt tiny pebbles peck at his face. A tail spiraled in front of him, funneling up and growing large. In a blink, the Sylphid was bouncing a few feet in front of him, smiling like a fucked up Jack in the Box.

Sam looked away first and it was too fast. Swallowed hard before he looked back. Smiling. The goddamn thing was thrilled at Sam's desperation. Could see it.

It rubbed where a tummy would be. "Such aggression last time, Mr. Winchester." It's timbre was deep and gravely. "You shot me."

Can't kill 'em. Sam nodded. "Sorry about that. It's just... you pissed me off."

It laughed then. A full on chuckle, its middle rolling like a giddy Santa Claus. Or, in its case, a Sandy Claus. "I tend to do that."

Sam paused a moment, put his hand to his hip. "So," he started and it was still grinning, ready and willing to wave its magic wand. "You read minds." Not a question. A statement. An observation.

It rolled back a little, a step, Sam figured. "You ask me a question, I answer it."

"But your source..." Sam sidestepped again, "You know things. You're psychic." Like me, he thought, but didn't speak it.

"No." It wasn't smiling anymore. "I just know things. You want to know something and I just see things inside you. Your dreams. Your desires. Your fears."

Sam frowned. That means you're psychic, freak. Sam had used that logic before. Personally.

"So, what do you want to know?"

Sam scoffed at the ground below him, drawing a line between himself and the thing. Back and forth. Back and forth.

"You want to know..." it hesitated, waited for Sam to look up. "If she died in vain. If there was something you could have done to save her."

His foot stopped moving and if Sam was asked later, he'd swear he wasn't breathing at all. Just quit existing. His soul surely leapt from his body then and hovered, just out of reach of his body. Catch me if you can.

"Oh, Jess, what would I do without you?" The Sylphid's voice changed tones, shifted into something more human sounding. More Sam sounding.

Sam froze. Wished he had a gun so he could shoot this goddamn thing again. Needed to shut it up. It was choosing and picking as it Rolodexed its way through Sam's memory.

The Sylph's voice melded into something higher. Female this time, eye sockets entranced with Sam. It took a deep breath and released the words in a sigh, "Crash and burn."

"Stop it!" Sam yelled. His voice shook. Alone and afraid and the Sylph had him.

The thing's smile faded and he gave Sam an almost empathetic look. In the end, though, it was about business. It wanted its questions. "But you have to ask. And be specific - which one? Jessica? Madison? Your mother?" Its body bounced like a spring. "Because they all have a different answer."

It lunged quickly, swooping close to him. "Oh, and I know what she was thinking right before…" Empty eyes looked up to the sky, like it was a ceiling and the Sylph spread its thick fingers apart. "Before… poof!"

Sam bit his lip. He felt like a bomb had just went off and his body was melting, his flesh burning. It was all too much, and this was suddenly starting to look like an opportunity instead of a risk. He was forgetting that he was standing in front of something that spelled clear and present danger.

"Or maybe you wish to know if you are going to turn evil."

Sam's eyes darted at the thing.

"Because I know the answer to all of these. Or maybe you want to know if you are already evil. Or if your brother has a chance in Hell of saving you at all or if you're already long gone." It kicked up a dusting of dirt and kicked it towards Sam. "Your move."

There was a fine line between right and wrong and good and evil and Sam wavered. Hell, he always wavered. It wasn't his fault. He chose the good guys every time. He talked a good game, he fought the good fight but, if he were being honest, it had always been a struggle. No matter his choice, he always felt a deep, hard pull to what he knew was wrong. He couldn't help it. It was like he was tainted, marked somehow, and even now, he felt that pull to give up. To give in. Over and over he could go…

"What's it going to be?" The Sylphid teased. "Come on, I'm bored. Who's behind the door? Jessica? Madison? Mother? Dean? Dad? Or your destiny?"

Sam glared. He didn't miss the fact that the Sylphid was complaining of boredom and it was then that he remembered the rest that Dean forgot to mention – for a Sylphid to manifest itself, it was usually tied to something. Usually working as either a slave or a partner to something bigger than it was. Sam smiled to himself. This wasn't a fucking fairytale. This thing was just a thing. It had to pay its due and Sam figured its payee was probably a mutual frenemy. "I don't want any of that."

"Of course you don't. The Sylphid shrugged. "You are a coward," It egged. "You will only ask about something you desire. You won't ask about the things that you fear. You don't talk about those things, do you?"

That jarred Sam. He felt his face crumple for a split second and knew he was exposed, raw. He tightened his lips, sucked in a breath, and put his mask back in place. He spread his arms away from his sides, met the Sylphid's stare. "I need to slay the dragon but I don't know how to find it. If you help me, I'll do what I can to set you free."

The Sylphid seemed to contemplate this request. Not a question, no, but a proposition and it was considering biting. Sam stared it down, didn't look away, didn't blink, nothing.

It coiled its body in closer, shrank a little and took in a dirty breath. "You can slay it but –"

"I will slay it." Determined, steady.

The thing pounced again but it looked nervously optimistic. "You can slay it." Didn't have a lot of confidence in the statement, Sam noted. "But only if the believer believes. North will not disappoint you. And your weapon of choice is in the dust where you fell." And with that the Sylphid backed away, unblocking the path its body had been covering. It threw dim light from its fingertips, the dirt on the pathway lightly glowed.

Sam met a stony look in the hollow eye sockets of the creature. "Follow the Yellow Brick Road?" he mused.

The Sylphid pointed to the path. "Watch out for the balls of fire." Sam followed its finger as the path lit up momentarily and there, off in the distance, Sam could see the outline of the castle and up on top of a large fence post flapped the large wings of the dragon. It snorted, blew a gust of smoke into the cool air and it turned its head and looked in Sam's direction. Sam swallowed, looked back and wondered just how good a dragon's eyesight was.

Sam moved through the field easily now, suddenly focused, back on plan: kill the fucking dragon. It would come down to him, he was sure of it, everything evil was somehow attracted to Sam. They all seemed to want to get a good look at him or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe it was them trying to get Sam's attention. Look at me. Look at me. Whatever. Sam shook his head. This lizard on steroids was going down - he flexed his fingers and held his head a bit higher - that he was sure of. He'd seen it in his vision.

That made him slow up. He looked around quickly, checking the world around him. Dean was also in his vision, with Eva, and they had been hurt. He spun around and then continued on his path. That meant the two of them were together and somewhere around there.

The dirt beneath him changed texture and he felt like he was walking in mud. The wheat started to dwindle away but was replaced by trees. Low branches reached down, leaves like large hands smacking his face and slapping the top of his head. He looked behind him. No Dean. No Eva. He trudged on, watching his sides. That's when he saw the castle and the downed crate he had fallen from. Sam ducked down and pressed his body against the side of the building's wall. He reached down into the dirt and sifted his fingers back and forth until he scraped against something steel. Quietly he pulled the sword to him. He stood up, eyes following the dragon's movements.

It was perched on top of an old fence pole, watching Sam as he approached, close enough now that he could see its large black eyes constrict. Its gaze was fetching, staring at Sam like it was seeing something beautiful. It made Sam feel uncomfortable and he wanted to break eye contact but that wasn't how he would win the game.

The dragon suddenly snorted again, smoke plumed into the air and it flapped its wings. For as evil as it was, it was also mesmerizing.

Sam swallowed and held the blade close to his body. It shook nervously in between his arm and his thigh. He started to second-guess himself and wondered if he was moving too fast. Figured why not wait for Puff to make the first move. Wondered for the first time what Dad would do. Watched the dragon circle around the front of the castle until it found a landing spot on the soft ground. Its eyes widened, beckoned Sam to him. Hello, Beautiful.

And then his mind started to wander again. Stupid thoughts he couldn't control. Like if Dad ever thought he was beautiful or Mom for that matter. Or did they always think he was something to fear or to protect. His head hurt and his heart ached. He shifted the blade to his right hand and stole a breath. Over and over he went.

Why are we fighting, Sam? Hell, half the time I don't even know what we're fighting about.

Sam sighed. No, but he always knew who they were fighting for.

Author's Notes: Two more chapters to go (and yup, well get it all in). I did want to take a paragraph at the end of these chapters to point out a couple of things. For this story, each chapter has the word Drag in it nestled somewhere. "drag across the field" "took a drag on her cigarette" "Sam, you're a drag". I have a Dragon, a Drag Queen, a Drag Hunt, a Drag Chain and I named the bar Knucker's, which is a Water Dragon. But also rhymes with… you know. Just a little tidbit. See you guys on Monday. Thanks again for all your kind words. You guys make my day.

-TBC-