Of Demons and Dragons

Part 1
Namesake
It often surprised Dean that some people could get so mad at him sometimes, especially if they got angry for no reason. This was mostly the case when Dean was playing online. Those people bothered him. It wasn’t his fault that they sucked at shooter games, so they could stop pestering him.

Dean shot someone in the face and a frustrated groan echoed through his headset.
“You little prick!” a high-pitched voice lamented, followed by a sigh,” are you invincible or something?” Dean shrugged, even if the 12-year old couldn’t see him.
“Not my fault that I’m better than you.” The kid grumbled.
“Who’re you?” he said after a short pause. Dean shot him in the face one more time,” damn! So you’re DragonSlayer97?”
“Yeah. So what?” The kid was beginning to walk on his nerves. Dean was trying to enjoy the game!
“Well,” the kid responded,” you’ve never killed an actual dragon.” This actually made him laugh.
“Kiddo,” he replied with a chuckle,” I don’t have enough face to palm here.”
“Don’t call me kiddo,” the kid grumbled,” I am much older than you think.”
“But you sure don’t sound like it. Now please keep quiet and let me enjoy the game,” Dean shot the kid in the face once more, which sent him raging.
“THAT’S. IT!” he shouted through the headset. Dean, who was unimpressed, just sighed.
“Look kiddo,” Dean answered calmly,” I’m gonna mute you now, you’re walking on my nerves.” The kid let out a wave of curses, before Dean pressed on the speaker button and the swear words cut off abruptly.  

Leaning back, Dean enjoyed the sudden silence and he kept on playing. Damn kids, he thought to himself. Who would let their kids play shooters like this? He didn’t have a problem with 12-year olds, as long as they didn’t freak out about losing that much. Dean shot the kid in the face one more time, which made him grin satisfactory. Quiet for once...

“Can you hear me now, you little shit?!” Dean jumped up in surprise, falling off the couch. He had muted that bastard, how could he still hear him? Dean groaned and went through the player list, but the kid, WizZzard, was still muted. The kid laughed.

“That’s not gonna work this time,” he told him and chuckled. Dean could hear him much clearer now and he realised that he was actually talking with a girl.
“Sure about that?” Dean asked sarcastically and took his headset off. He did admire the girls’ persistence, but he also found it disturbing. Did she join the game with a different user name just so that she could bug him? Dean stood up and stretched his numb limbs, which cracked softly when he did so.

“Oh yes,” the girl answered, making Dean yelp, who spun around, trying to find the source of her voice,” and there’s nothing you can do about that.”
“What the hell’s your problem?! Can you just leave me alone?” The girl sighed.
“Ah well, at first I was really angry at you, because you kept killing me right before my DAMN SCORESTREAK!” she shouted angrily, apparently throwing something over in frustration. Dean hadn’t quite figured out where he heard her voice from.
“Well sorry,” Dean said,” that’s just how the game works.”
“Yes yes yes yes yes. Gee,” she commented and sighed,” that can be forgiven. But what really annoyed me was your name,” she huffed sarcastically,” Dragonslayer.  You do know that some  people work hard to earn those titles right?” Dean frowned in confusion.
“Sorry, what?”
“Oh yes, you’ve heard me,” she said and repeated what she said,” some people work hard for that damn title. So you might as well do the same!” Dean rolled his eyes. This girl was seriously retarded! He took a deep breath, reminding himself that it would do him no good if he insulted this girls’ I.Q. and said,” That’s just my in-game name, you know? It’s not a title.” The girl began to laugh again.
“You don’t UNDERSTAND! You can’t call yourself something you’re not!” Dean smirked. Now he caught her.
“So you’re saying that you’re a wizard?” Now it was his turn to laugh. The girl was silent and Dean finished laughing, regaining his breath.
“Ahh,” he said,” I haven’t had such a good laugh in a long time.”
“Me neither,” the girl responded in a disturbingly calm voice,” As you clearly haven’t noticed, I’ll tell you. I AM a witch. Do you want proof? Here ya go. I’m talking inside your head, Dean. That’s your name, isn’t it? Dean?”

He had gone deathly pale and dropped back onto the couch. How did she know his name? Was she really a witch? How else could she talk with him right now?!
“It has gone awfully quiet on your end,” the girl commented,” Scared?” Dean swallowed, looking around uneasily.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to understand that you can’t just call yourself a dragon slayer. I bet you haven’t even killed or even seen a dragon in your entire life, have you?”
“Ok ok,” Dean threw his hands into the air,” I understand.... could I please go back to my game now?”
“Uhmmm... No,” the girl declared,” I need to be 100% sure that you understood. Plus you’ve ruined my game experience, so I might as well ruin yours. And last but not least, I’m bored now and need a new source of entertainment.”

Deans’ room began to tilt sideways, but the furniture didn’t move. All that moved and fell was Dean, who was screaming and crashing towards the open kitchen door.
“Good luck!” the girl shouted before Deans screams were subdued by a menacing storm, which was raging on the outside of his kitchen door. He desperately tried to hold onto something, clawing his fingernails against the floorboards, but he slipped and flew through the door.

He landed hard on the ground, his back crunching into the snow. Dean blinked and saw nothing but thousands of snowflakes thundering through the air. An icy wind took all the warmth out of him, blasting snow across his body. His ears were ringing loudly and Dean could only rely on one thing. His eyesight.

Dean gazed across the landscape, but he couldn’t see much. Most of it was hidden in the blizzard. Something warm and yellow, Dean hoped for it to be fire, glittered in the distance. Carefully, Dean tried to stand up, but the strong wind knocked him off his feet and he fell face first into the snow. He grunted began crawling on all fours through the snowstorm, shivering and hoping that he wouldn’t freeze to death.

The light wasn’t getting any brighter, but Dean knew that he was getting closer. He had lost the feeling in his limbs and his teeth were clattering. If he didn’t get out of this blizzard soon, he’d die. Biting his teeth together, Dean continued trudging through the snow until he finally stumbled into, what he assumed to be, a cave entrance. A torch was burning beside it, nothing more.

Dean collapsed, lying on his side, shivering. His skin, especially his lips, was blue and his hands couldn’t stop shaking.  He glanced at the flickering of the torch, the darkness prowling around it like a predator. Grimacing, he rolled onto his belly and pushed himself up with a final effort. Dean struggled to stay on his feet, but he managed to stand by leaning against the rock wall.

Freezing and exhausted, Dean took the torch from its socket and stumbled deeper into the mine. He held the torch in front of him, but he could barely see anything in the dark tunnel ahead. All he saw was his breath which crystallized in front of his eyes, white clouds swirling through the air.

The mine was icy cold. Dean wrapped his other arm around his elbow, his teeth clattered. He wasn’t wearing the right outfit for this climate. The jeans was keeping him a bit warm, but his short-sleeved shirt just didn’t do the job. His sport shoes were covered in an ice crust and his socks were drenched. Dean was pretty sure that his feet had turned to ice cubes by now. Even his movement was slow and stiff. Dean was barely able to lift the burning torch.

The deeper he shuffled through the tunnels, the louder he could hear the echo of his own footsteps. Tap tap tap. Deans breath crystallized in front of his eyes, even though he held the torch close to his face. The mine was dark and cold. Water drizzled from the wall and ceiling, green moss and roots clutching onto the rocky corridor.

Dean tried to make sense of the situation. How on earth did he get here? Was he still on planet earth? This mine tunnel looked out of shape, unused and simply old. When did a human mine in here the last time? Dean frowned. When did anything mine in here the last time? A disturbing thought settled in his mind, taking his hope and building a comfortable nest from it.

What if he was the only human in the world? Dean gritted his teeth and tried to remove the thought from its comfortable spot in his mind, but it stuck. He had no explanation how it was physically possible to be... teleported like this. His entire house had tilted and he fell through a door, landing on top of this cursed mountain.

Dean walked straight into a thick, sticky spider web and shrieked in surprise and panic. He slipped and fell, a loud thud echoing through the darkness. Dean scratched his hand across his face and yelped. Damn spiders! he cried in thought,  they even exist in this place!

Regaining his breath, Dean picked up the torch which he had dropped in the struggle and waved it in front of his face to avoid another spidery encounter. When he was sure that he had burned any remaining strings to a crisp, he took a deep breath and continued. After a few steps, Dean stopped, staring into the dark ahead.

Where was he going? Dean wasn’t fond of the idea to just stroll through a dark and abandoned mine. Especially if he didn’t even know where or when he was. And what was it the kid... or the girl had said?

Some people work hard for that damn title. So you might as well do the same!  Dean remembered that he called himself DragonSlayer. Slowly it dawned him what the girl wanted from him. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring ahead uneasily. Deep within the mines, Dean imagined to hear a deep roar, muffled through the thick rock walls.

Somehow exploring the mines in the dark seemed even less appealing than before. Was there a live dragon in these mines? Were they abandoned because of the beast? Dean swallowed, sweat forming on his forehead and he spun around, staring once again into the wall of sinister darkness. He wanted to run, to flee out of this cursed tunnel, but where to? Back into the blizzard, into the world of the unknown?

Dean turned back around, his legs shaky, but he gripped the torch even tighter in determination. There could only be one place out of this mine, this mountain, this world. He had to face the dragon. That’s what the girl would’ve wanted. She wouldn’t, no, she could not just send him here to die. She would give him the chance.

He shuddered. Would she really? Was she so keen in seeing him exiting alive? The unsettling thought took its place next to its disturbing sibling. Now they were both playing with his fear, uncertainty spraying through his head. Dean could picture the dragon, huge and fearsome, guarding a heap of treasures with an evil glare, burning those who dared to enter the sacred dungeon. A smirk hushed across his lips.

The certainty of a reward in the form of a treasure triggered a feeling of adventurous lust, spurring him on. Even if he had no proof that the dragon actually sat on a pile of gold, Dean could imagine it realistic enough. When he closed his eyes, he saw himself in a large hall, braziers scattered randomly across the ground, giving the hall a warm touch.

After a while of stumbling through the darkness, the corridor narrowed, until it got so thin that Dean had to squeeze himself through the tight gap, the torch outstretched in front of him. The passage led him into a bigger room, broader and with a higher ceiling. He was in some sort of a chamber. Dean explored the vast area, occasionally spinning around in paranoia, having imagined hearing footsteps behind him.

On one side of the room appeared to be the remnants of a fire, charred pieces of wood piled on the floor. Some fresh, unburned wood had been neatly stacked beside it. Next to it was a pile of furs, functioning as a bed. Dean got down and tried to rekindle the fire, building a pyramid from the wood. He grinned, feeling that his luck had turned for once.

When smoke rose from the fireplace and flames began to slither across the logs, Dean sighed in relief and held his arms close to the growing flames. Only then he noticed how cold they really were. The numbness began to fade and Dean wrapped himself tightly in the furs until it hugged him like the blanket he had at home. He dropped onto the side, still shivering but also slowly warming up and stared into the golden flames, which were dancing across the firewood.

A deep rumbling shattered through the cavern...

//

There were whispers, far away in the distance. Whose voices were they? They were sweet and soft, chit-chattering with each other, but Dean could not make out the words. He heard his name multiple times. Dean. Dean. Dean. Was it a wake-up call?

His eyelids fluttered open and he was greeted by darkness. The fire had died long ago, just a few charred pieces of wood still glinting in front of him. For only a short moment he thought to be home in his own bed at night, but the comforting illusion quickly faded. Dean straightened his back and sat up in the darkness. How long did he sleep? What was he going to do without a fire, a source of light?

Cursing at his foolishness for letting the fire burn out, he scrambled up, clutching onto the furs. He wrapped them around his shoulders and waddled through the darkness. Dean blinked. He couldn’t even see himself in the dark. The only thing he could perceive was his audible echo; his unsteady breathing and his footsteps.

And the growling in the deep, further down in the mines. Dean shuddered and tripped over the fur. With a yelp he plummeted onto the cold stone, a loud thud resounding through the cavern. The mine went deathly silent and Dean curled up into a ball and began to sob. He wished he could go back home. This was a nightmare! A hellish, demonic torture feast... probably even worse.

Dean noticed that the ground was shaking. It wasn’t trembling or going to split open, but it was vibrating now and then. If there was a dragon beneath him, it must’ve been fighting furiously. But with what or with whom?  A twist came into his mind, snuggling up right beside Dean’s other fears and horrors. What if there was more than one dragon?

”Shut up!” he screamed into the dark, as if to silence his fears, but only his shout bounced back at him through the mine. If I want to get out of this place, I will have to face the dragon, he declared and trotted through the dark, one hand placed on the wall.

He reached a corridor, which appeared to lead deeper into the mountain and, after a short moment of hesitation, he followed it. It appeared that Dean, who was still dragging the furs with him, slowly adjusted to the darkness, as he began to see vaguely where he was going. But when the passage was dimly illuminated, Dean realised that the light came from crystals.

Once he had noticed that they were here, Dean saw that they were speckled across the entire tunnel. The gems had different colours. Red, blue, green, purple and they were all emitting a soft, foggy light. Dean admired them with awe and stepped closer to a blue crystal, sticking out of a wall like a spike.

It had a solid outer layer, but the inside of the blue jewel seemed to be moving slowly, as if it had molten.  Dean touched it with care, thinking for some silly reason that he would burn himself. When he had reassured himself that the crystal was cold, he tried to break it off, but it wouldn’t budge. Slightly disappointed, he continued, his path poorly lit by the spectral gleam of the crystals.

The further down Dean descended into the mines, the louder the grumbling roars became.  He was getting closer and closer until the path ended in another large cavern. The passage between the shaft and the cavern was very small and narrow. There was not even enough space for the fur which Dean had been carrying on his back the whole time.

He left it in the dirt with a sigh and began to make his way to the other side. His small frame barely managed to fit through and he thanked God that he wasn’t claustrophobic.  Dean was halfway through when a horrific stench filled his nostrils.

Dean didn’t have to be a dragon expert to know that he had casually stumbled into one’s layer.  The offsetting smell of rot and gangrene stuck in the air. The corpses littering this dungeon have had enough time to decompose, decay and die. The bodies were more than rotten; they were foul and rancid.

The rot and the warm, sticky dragon breath had mixed together, adding to the common, unbearable stench found in dragon layers. Dean didn’t have the space to double over, but he still gagged in repulsion. He lost his footing and slid onto his side in the small crawl space, gasping for breathable air. His head was spinning and he covered his nose with his arm, still retching. The stench was stuck inside his nose.

The waves of nausea began to fade slowly, Dean fearing that he’d throw up every time he drew a deep breath. He crawled slowly towards the opening which led into the den. No matter how much this situation scared him off and how the cave urged him to back away, Dean had no choice but to defeat the dragon if he ever wanted to leave this place.

Once he had made his way into the huge cavern, he stood up slowly. There were almost none of the glowing crystals in this chamber; almost everything was covered in darkness. What if the dragon sat right in front of him, getting ready to strike? The stench still made him dizzy and-

In the distance a stick or a bone clattered and he froze. There it is, it flashed through his head in a panic, I’m dead. How am I supposed to fight a dragon barehanded anyway? As if on command, his shoe hit something metal and a loud clatter rushed through the cavern. Dean crouched and gingerly touched the icy cold steel with his outstretched hand. It was a sword.

Very careful he slid his hand across the steel blade, trying to find the handle. If only I could see more, he wished and recoiled in surprise and shock when his hand touched something cold and fleshy.  A shudder ran down his spine and he yanked the sword out of the corpse’s hand and scrambled up.

A deafening roar shattered the silence, shaking the walls and the ground. Dean screamed out and began to cry in fear, backing away and huddling in a corner. The dragon wasn’t where he had heard the clatter, but it was close enough to make Dean drop the sword. His arms were quivering and shaking and he curled up tightly, when he heard something.

Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack. A jarred scream cried through the dark and the room was illuminated by fire. Dean covered his eyes at the sudden burst of light, but he could see the beast, the monster, the dragon.

Dean had imagined the typical dragon as strongly built, with a bright fiery colour and an even brighter flame. This dragon was pale, the eyes were bloodshot and he was very skinny. The teeth stuck uneven out of the crooked and skew mouth.  He spat the last few flames into the air, the tail sorely flicking to the side. The dragon was unhealthy and probably even sick. But he was still a dragon.

It yelped and hissed, knowing too well that an intruder had not too secretly snuck into its home. His heart skipped a beat when the red eyes gazed at him for a split-second, but the dragon turned its head and stared into another direction. Puffs of smoke were steaming from the wide nostrils and the dragon, yelping in disappointment, swung around and vanished in the dark.

When Dean was sure that the dragon would not come back, he pushed himself up onto shaky legs. He was desperate to leave this death trap! His free hand tapped across the wall, trying to find the small crack through which he had entered.

A sudden growl erupted behind him and something big knocked into him, smashing him against the wall. With a squeal, Dean fell to the ground, his sword chucked across the den. The dragon had waited patiently in the dark, watching the only entrance and exit with the furious, reddened eyes. It hissed and roared, wrapping the claws around Dean’s leg. Then he took off and Dean slid across the rocks shortly before he was lifted up.

The grip around his leg tightened, the sharp talons digging into his flesh and muscle. Blood began to flow down his leg and Dean cried out in pain. The claws retracted, Dean’s vision tilted and he plummeted to the ground, hitting it hard with an audible thmack.

His head was spinning and his limbs hurt on a tremendous scale. Dean could taste blood in his mouth and he was barely able to stand. A gust of wind rushed up behind him when the dragon landed only a few steps away. Dean gritted his teeth and yelped. It was toying with him.

With neither a weapon nor a defence, Dean had only one option. He scrambled up and bolted, sprinting through the dark, away from the winged predator behind him. The dragon took a deep breath and a wall of fire shot up next to Dean, barely missing him. To avoid being burned to a crisp, he lunged himself around a corner. The dragon was still in pursuit.

The fire was still burning, magically drifting in the air and illuminating the cave. Now Dean only had to spot a weapon among the pile of corpses. The dragon slithered around the corner and hissed when it saw Dean. It rushed forward and Dean hurled himself to the side. The dragon went tumbling and crashed uncontrolled into hard rock.

Dean could see the hilt of a sword tugged beneath a dead body. He crawled to it and yanked it out from beneath the corpse, only to find that the blade had broken off somewhere above the hilt. The dragon was back on its feet and had regained its senses, glaring at him with evil eyes, which were slowly fading back into the darkness. The fire, which had burned up until now, began to die, small flickers trying to find something to latch onto.

The cave fell back into darkness and the dragon roared in excitement. The crystals were a weak, but also the only light source now. The dragon began prowling around him and Dean had to rely on his hearing and the disappearing light from the crystals to somehow spot the dragon. He stumbled through the darkness, clutching onto the blade, which was the only thing that stood between him and his inevitable death. A growl echoed through the dark. Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack. Dean closed his eyes and heard only his fast heartbeat.

The dragon’s tail whipped across the ground and hit Dean’s legs from behind, knocking him back down. His eyes snapped open in surprise and fear. The dragon landed on top of him, the front claws wrapping around his arms. The claws were like oval-shaped daggers and one of them embedded itself in his shoulder.

Dean cried out in pain and he got yanked up again, the dagger in his shoulder twisting and turning. A steady flow of blood oozed out of the fresh wound, splashing down his chest and soaking his shirt. The pain blinded him, but Dean still gripped the sword heel in his hand. He slashed it upwards and pierced the thin and slender membrane of the dragon’s wing. It howled in pain, screeching and sneering, clawing at the small needle which had cut open the wing.

A strong arm knocked the sword out of his hand and it disappeared in the dark, but the damage was done. The dragon veered off and twisted in mid-air, about to crash into the unseen. It retracted its grip around Dean’s arms and the dagger-like claw slipped out of his shoulder. Dean screamed when he fell to the ground once more. He landed uncontrolled on his side, a painful crack snapping though his arm.

An even louder crash shook the whole ground. The dragon had smashed head-first into the wall and he dropped onto the cold stone, dazed.  The gems on the wall shone a dim light onto the dragon and Dean could see that it was still alive. He also noticed that a longer crystal had broken off and was covered in fresh blood, small drops dripping off of it.

The dragon was vulnerable for this moment, but Dean didn’t want to kill it. He knew that he would be foolish, and probably dead, if he didn’t end its life right there, but he couldn’t do it. He was not a killer, even if the dragon had almost dropped or slashed or burned him to death. Dean couldn’t bring it over his heart to do it.

He heard the dragon panting and wheezing. Dean stood up, groaning when his broken body cried for some rest, and limped towards the dragon. He knew that this was a reckless and stupid decision. The dragon will kill me, he figured, even if I run away. Something will find me that will. His shoulder was still bleeding and his arm had gone numb. If he was going to die in this strange, foreign world, he would at least want to get a close look at a live dragon.

When he came into the dragon’s view, it didn’t try to snap at him or to claw him open. It was writhing in a pool of blood and was barely paying attention to the human, which used to be its breakfast, standing only a few steps away.

Now Dean saw that the crystal had lodged itself into the dragon’s throat. It was gasping for air, gallows of blood spraying out between the scales and the gem, which was still gleaming while doing its gruesome work. The dragon dropped onto the side, gargling, and gave a few weak kicks, the blood flowing out of the snout and throat. It was agonizing to watch and Dean felt a stab of guilt when he saw the dragon suffocate and succumb to the ghastly wound. It died like everyone else who had entered the dungeon.

The dragon went limp and the blood splashes ceased to a flow. Dean dropped to his knees and began to sob.  His eyes were swelling with tears when he saw the dead dragon in front of him. I did this, he kept repeating in his head, I did this. Oh god, no! I did this!

Backing away in repulsion, Dean had only one wish. He wanted to get out of this cruel mine, this cursed mountain. He wanted this nightmare to be over. His head was spinning and stars danced in front of his eyes. He was going to faint from the blood loss. His hand reached out to lean against something, anything, and he dropped onto something hard. It was no rock. The object was made of metal and wood. Dean had fallen onto the treasure.

For a short moment, he stared at the chest beneath his arms. What should he do with it? He didn’t want the treasure anymore. It was blood money to him. He pushed himself away and fell to the floor. His head was throbbing and he felt sick from the fall.

I’m as good as dead anyway, he thought to himself grimly, so I might as well take a look at the treasure. He crawled towards the chest and placed his functioning arm on it, pushing it open with all his might. The wood creaked and cracked and Dean managed to open it with one final effort. He was panting from exhaustion, cold sweat sticking to his body which made him freeze and shiver. He leaned forward and peeked inside. The chest was empty, except for a small object that was lying neatly in the middle.

Curious enough, Dean leaned even further and picked it up. It was not a crystal, not a metal, but it was shimmering and solid like both. It had a crimson red colour. He stood back up onto weak legs and heard a crack behind him. He spun around and saw that the rock wall was crumbling apart. He took a careful step backward, unsure how to react at this unnatural phenomenon, but then he saw what was behind the layers of stone. His front door was embedded into the rock and it was so familiar that Dean had an outburst of joy and relief. He could go home!

He yelled out in happiness, but was startled by the sound of his voice. The constant cold and the exhaustion had made his voice sound hoarse and rough. He tried to clear his throat and coughed, spitting onto the stone floor.

A small spark flew from his lips, dancing through the air before being extinguished. Dean looked at it and moved one hand to his mouth. Did that just come out of me? He coughed again, the air in his lungs filled with smoke, smoke which rose from his throat.

Pressure built up inside him, between his lungs and his mouth. Dean developed a coughing fit, more sparks rising from his mouth and his nose. He emptied his lungs and a stream of fire lit the air aflame. It was the fire which the dragon had used.

He doubled over and saw the trail of flames which spread across the cave. He stared back at the scale in his hand. Yes, it must’ve been a scale, a dragon’s scale, a damned, cursed treasure! He tossed it away, hoping to stop the curse, but he breathed even more fire. His entire face contorted and twisted, his nose and mouth forming a long snout. Smoke was already rising from his huge, scaled nostrils and his teeth fell out, one by one. The daggers of teeth, the ones he had seen on the pale dragon, slashed through his gums and Dean tasted more blood.

In desperation and panic, Dean sprinted for the door, hoping that if he reached the other side, the changes would disappear or at least cease. He reached for the door handle, but his hand had changed already.

Long claws instead of fingers scratched across the delicate wood and Dean was close to crying when he couldn’t get the door to open. He placed his paw, it was no longer his hand, on the handle in order to open it, but he broke it clean off. Even though the handle was off, the door still didn’t open to his horror.

Dean was raking and slashing across the door, yelping and crying in a voice that wasn’t his. From his torso upwards, his skin had been consumed by red scales, which had healed the stab wound in his shoulder. He threw his forepaws desperately against the doorframe, but it was no use.

The door didn’t open, so Dean had no choice but to break it down. Either he could go back home or he would be trapped here forever. His shoulder blades cracked and Dean fell onto his side. Two strong muscles grew out of his back, each muscle growing a thinner membrane. The last bits of his ragged, bloodied shirt tore off and Dean hissed when the two fully grown wings folded on his back.

Dean, now on all fours and clearly growing in size, took a few steps back and pounced, crashing into the door, breaking the wood down. He lodged his head between two solid rocks and had successfully destroyed the doorway between his home world and this forsaken place. He huffed in despair and tried to get himself unstuck.

Dean’s back legs became bulkier and his feet morphed into a set of hind paws.  He had placed his hind legs on the ground and pushed himself backwards, hoping to get his head free. He was panting and freaked, crying and yelping in fear. Much to his dismay, a sleek and long tail grew on his rear, wildly sliding across the stone floor. Dean gave one last effort and propelled himself backwards and got his head out of the rocky prison.

His tail hadn’t stopped growing in length, when he was finally free. He turned his body and glared at it, wide-eyed. The tail was just as long as Dean’s body when it had stopped lengthening. Dean stared at it and couldn’t comprehend what he was.

This isn’t me, he thought and ran in small circles, staring at his scaled body and long tail, this can’t happen. This is not me, oh please, this can’t be me. He was still pacing around, spinning his body to stare at his scaled body. Now it were his own feet that caused the clattering sound. Click-clack. Dean lost his balance, tripped and fell onto his side, staring into the now brightly illuminated den. He could see much better in the dark now. He blinked and yelped, rubbing a paw across his eyes.

If only he had not picked that scale up from the chest. Dean let out a frustrated, sad roar, shaking the cave walls. He had trapped himself in this wretched dungeon, the stench of decay and death filling his now smoking nostrils.

Dean sobbed and curled up in a ball, his tail wrapped closely around himself. He didn’t want this and he didn’t deserve it. Who knew what his life would look like from now on? Dean curled up even tighter and fainted, drifting off into a long sleep.