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It was an exceptionally pleasant day in the Lebanon Valley. Mild weather boded well for the upcoming harvest season, livestock were thriving, and the recently reopened Eastern Pass had brought novel trading opportunities to the small villages that speckled the valley.
The road into Lebanon, the largest town in the valley that shared its name, was busy that day as people journeyed to and from the market on foot, on horseback, and in the occasional horse- or donkey-drawn cart. Spirits were high as goods were bartered, news was shared, and visitors were welcomed.
It was the middle of the afternoon when the air shifted and a wide shadow passed over the road, causing heads to turn towards the clear, blue sky. The shadow moved swiftly yet there was no real panic. There was surprise, perhaps, and a bit of wonder, though many of those who’d paused at the disruption went quickly back to their business with fond smiles.
There was a rush of wind as the shadow moved overhead, a great whoosh as mighty wings pushed against the air currents. A small number of travelers continued to stare, captivated, as a massive, golden form slowed and dropped, gliding smoothly towards the ground. It was breathtaking for those who’d never witnessed such a thing.
For many who called the valley home, however, a dragon was no longer such a rare sight.
Once revered and sought after, dragons had all but abandoned the continent over the last century. Some now lived on distant islands in the eastern sea, while others made their homes beyond the mountains in the north, free from human interference. And then there were those who continued to roam and soar above the continent, lone dragons or a small thunder. They were either unwilling to relinquish their territory, or content to remain among humans as their ancestors had. Here in this valley, one such dragon could be found.
A mile or so outside Lebanon, as the road began to veer closer to the Sasnak River, which ran along the foot of the mountains, a large, rocky outcropping sat between the calmly flowing water and the road. A lone figure stood atop with eyes turned skyward: a man with sunwashed brown hair and an elderwood staff, favored by wizards from the oldest and most powerful guilds, in one hand. He wore a hooded, leather cape and tall boots, while the rest of his clothing was made from rough, natural fibers dyed in forest tones. The only unusual adornment he wore was a gold amulet, strung on leather.
Spotting the man, the dragon circled back towards the overlook. A swift dive brought the beast to the grass-covered slope. Its hind legs were thicker than tree trunks and topped with blade-sharp talons, and the ground shook when it landed, sending small rocks skittering. Gold scales and shimmering wings rivaled the sun, while two curving, black horns crowned the dragon’s head. It loomed over the grinning man, imposing in both size and strength.
There was a moment of absolute stillness between the two, hazel eyes wreathed in fire staring down into stormy green, before the dragon moved. One foreleg reached out to snare the man by his waist. He lost his footing and was quickly pulled against the dragon’s chest. But while he was no match for the dragon’s size, the man was not without skill and speed, spinning out of the hold while taking care to avoid black claws. His staff was used to knock away the dragon’s foot, light steps keeping him just out of the beast’s reach.
It was akin to watching a well-rehearsed dance, their movements more playful than aggressive. The dragon snorted curls of smoke each time the man cleverly evaded him. Those passing by on the road looked up and shook their heads at the display before continuing on their way.
Finally, whether the dragon gained the upper hand or the man allowed himself to be caught, the two tumbled carefully onto the grass and remained there. The man’s chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as he leaned against the dragon’s side. One thick, scaled foreleg sat across his thighs, effectively pinning him in place.
“Oh no, I’ve been captured by an evil dragon!” The man’s dramatic shout reached the road, though no one reacted. “Someone help me!”
The dragon snapped its jaw, its voice a low, warm rumble. “Dean. You are causing a scene.”
“This isn’t a scene, Sam. This is a plight.” The knotted elderwood staff sat discarded beside Dean on the trampled grass, well within his reach. Hardly a dire situation. “I’m being held in the clutches of a dangerous creature.”
“And you’re waiting for someone to come along and rescue you?” Sam asked, baffled. “Dean, people in the valley are more afraid of you than they are of me.”
It was, by and large, a fairly accurate assessment. Sam, whose given name was an unpronounceable mouthful of letters (and symbols), had been living in the valley for several years now and had, to the surprise of many, become its most invaluable resident, displacing even the young wizard Dean of the Winchester guild.
“What are you talking about? People like me.”
“They like you,” Sam pointed out, “but you also scare them. I don’t.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Dean said, settling further against the dragon’s side. “Look at you, you’re freaking terrifying.”
The Golden Dragons of Pasadinia had been amongst the largest of the dragon lines, strong and imposing in form. Their burnished scales lent them a regal appearance as they soared to and from their ancestral homes in the western mountains. Paintings and depictions of these magnificent beasts were once popular in royal halls and worked into the crests of noble houses.
The Pasadinian dragons were also very powerful, which meant that, unfortunately, many of Sam’s kin had been hunted down over the past few centuries by guilds who were looking to enhance their own magic or by knights seeking to prove themselves. Sam’s story was no exception. After being captured by the dark wizard Azazael, Sam refused to grant the man a share of his magic and was cursed, imprisoned in his human form. He managed to escape Azazael’s keep, but as he was unable to transform or tap into his natural power, Sam was left to wander the continent on his own for nearly two decades before he was drawn over the rocky passes of the Fordistan Mountains and into the Lebanon Valley.
“I was afraid of you once,” Sam reminded the wizard after a moment’s introspection.
“Yeah, but that didn’t last long, did it, Sammy?”
When Sam arrived in Lebanon, he was weak from the curse and injured from a recent fight during which he’d managed to chase off three bandits intending to rob a small family. Luck or fate saw him stumbling into the path of the young Winchester wizard outside a busy tavern. Fear and distrust had Sam attempting to limp away; he’d sensed the volatile power humming beneath the wizard’s skin and had no intention of becoming a prisoner once again. But Dean had taken one look at the dried blood on Sam’s ill-fitting shirt and offered his help, leading him to the doorstep of the valley’s most notable healer, Castiel.
Between Castiel’s skills and Dean’s constant attention, Sam got stronger. To the dragon’s surprise, he’d found himself bonding with the wizard. Dean’s humor and knowledge made him easy to be around, and Sam never saw him use magic for anything nefarious; he’d mostly stuck to necessary enchantments, healing spells, or defense. As powerful as Dean was, the young wizard seemed to have no desire for acquiring wealth or influence. When he did manage to be helpful, he took payment in home cooked meals (he was especially fond of fruit pies), feed for his horse Impala, and the occasional coin.
Sam grew fond of Dean, though he’d kept his true identity a secret. Dean hadn’t recognized Sam’s buried magic until they’d known each other for over a month, when a single kiss between them revealed a great deal more than their feelings for one another.
Sam had no reason to fear after that, and Dean had made it his mission to break Azazael’s curse.
“There goes the miller,” Dean said after watching the road for a short time. “He likes me.”
The dragon sighed, a faint wisp of smoke curling from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t remember turning him into a donkey?”
“It wasn’t permanent!” Dean protested. “He cheated on his wife. I was teaching him a lesson. He shouldn’t have been such an ass,” he added, chuckling.
“And now he’s terrified of you.” Sam watched the miller rush by after he happened to glance up and spot the two of them on the rise. The dragon didn’t add that several months ago, the miller had gone out of his way to express his gratitude to Sam after the dragon had tracked and returned the man’s son when the boy went missing. No animal transformation required.
Once Dean had finally succeeded in lifting Azazael’s curse, Sam had chosen to remain in the valley and make himself useful to the people who’d accepted him so thoroughly. He’d used his strength and natural gift of fire to clear the Eastern Pass that had been blocked by a rockslide for nearly a decade. He protected the valley’s stores and roads from bandits and kept other beasts from entering the valley and causing harm. The villagers appreciated everything Sam had done for them, and if a sheep or cow went missing every few months, they considered it a worthy exchange.
(That, and Dean usually came knocking on their door within a day or so, leaving behind a heavy purse. Sam’s hoard was modest, but he paid his debts.)
Dean, on the other hand, had a bit of a reputation. The Winchester guild had lost favor long ago and were no longer welcome in any royal court. Without the pressure of kings demanding favors, the Winchesters had lost the mad desire for power that seemed to grip most wizards, yet their magical gifts had remained strong. And Dean could be…enthusiastic with his power and was prone to overreacting in certain situations. That helped when it came to breaking formidable curses, but wasn’t always necessary when dealing with village problems. In the time Sam had known him, Dean had accidentally burned down a barn while trying to capture a murderous pair of bandits, he’d cast a spell that put the entire town to sleep for three days, and he’d once made it snow in the middle of summer, nearly ruining an entire harvest. Not to mention the donkey incident with the philandering miller.
Sam adored Dean, but the villagers were slightly more wary. The knowledge that he’d broken Azazael’s curse and set Sam free had earned him some goodwill amongst the valley’s residents, though it was occasionally outshadowed by his mishaps. Their caution suited Sam in a way. Dragons were possessive creatures by nature, after all, and Sam would take all of Dean’s attention he was given. He hoarded moments like treasure, especially ones such as these, quiet and undisturbed with Dean absentmindedly running his fingers over Sam’s scales.
The dragon was beginning to relax, intent on enjoying a short rest with his beloved companion in the warm autumn sun, when Dean broke the silence again.
“Well, if no one is coming to my rescue, I truly am trapped.” He sighed loudly. “I suppose you’ll want to ravage me now, you great brute.”
The dragon raised his head and fixed Dean with a fire-ringed stare. “Who are you calling a brute?”
Dean laughed, which cooled Sam’s temper somewhat. He could not work out the game Dean was playing, which frustrated him. Sam had never loved a human before; some of Dean’s behaviors were confusing and lost on the dragon. The young wizard was often coy, and despite their bond continued to flirt with both eligible and ineligible villagers when it suited him, which only further sullied his reputation.
“Why such concern over this?” Sam asked.
A moment passed in silence before Dean answered. “If I’m ever truly in peril, I hope that someone finds me worth rescuing.”
Sam considered that reasoning. In the time he had known Dean, the wizard was hardly ever in trouble (unless it was trouble of his own making), and even then, Sam was often there to help. Dean meant everything to him; Sam could think of no one more worthy. Perhaps the solution was as simple as that.
“You have someone,” the dragon said. “You have me, Dean.”
“Is that so, Sammy?” Their eyes met, an unspoken warmth shared between them.
“I would always come if you needed me.”
“No one would want to mess with you, that’s for certain,” Dean mused. “A big, strong dragon, swooping in to save my ass…”
Dean’s intentions suddenly became clear, and the dragon felt himself responding, heat building in his chest. His primal instincts were called to the surface, though they were tempered by generous affection for the wizard who was smirking at him. Now that Sam understood the game, he could play along. Human mating rituals were strange, but never let it be said that they didn’t have their advantages.
“What if I save you from these uncaring villagers right now?” Sam asked, curling his long body around Dean’s, shielding him even further. “I’ll carry you off to my cave where you’ll be safe. But I must warn you,” the dragon added, voice rumbling as he allowed his primal instincts to rise to the surface, “I’ll expect something from you in return for my efforts.”
“Oh…” Sam felt Dean’s pulse begin to race where they were pressed together. “You mean you’d have your way with me?”
Fire curled against Sam’s senses; his eyes glowed. “I am a great beast, after all, prone to ensnaring handsome wizards who cross my path.”
Dean looked up. “Sounds scandalous.”
“Covetous as I am, I might even keep you there, having you over and over again atop my hoard of gold.”
So what if it wasn’t a huge hoard; Sam had more than enough for several human lifetimes. Gold was easy to come by. A wizard with a pure heart was a much rarer jewel.
At that, Dean laughed, delighted and breathless. “As…interesting as that sounds, Sammy, I think we’d be more comfortable in a bed.”
Sam rose slowly, a clear picture forming in his mind: flying Dean off this ridge (it makes the wizard nervous every time, despite Sam’s two centuries of winged experience) and back to his mountain cave. It was rather nice, fitting for a dragon of Sam’s lineage. Large, dry, heated by the sun and protected from the winter winds. Beyond his gold, he’d accumulated many human comforts in the time he’d called this valley home, some for him and others for Dean’s sake.
Safe and away from curious eyes, Sam could shift to a form that was more conducive to the kind of ravishing Dean was imagining. After Azazael’s curse, Sam rarely reverted to a fully human appearance, preferring something in between. Partially shifted, Sam towered over Dean by several inches, golden scales turned to golden skin except along the back of his neck and down his spine. His black horns remained to crown his appearance. In that form, he was more vulnerable, but it was worth it to be with Dean in all the ways his full majesty would not allow.
Sam felt Dean’s gaze on him now, no doubt appreciating the shift of thick muscle under shimmering scales. He lowered his snout, bared a smile that was full of dangerous teeth. Dean’s breath caught on a gasp.
“Then it’s a good thing I have a bed, too.”
“Will you rescue me then, handsome beast? I’m feeling quite unsafe here on this ledge.”
Sam let Dean see the fire in his throat when he growled, “It would be my pleasure, you infuriating wizard.”
~…~…~…~…~…~…~
Later, in that spacious mountain cave, the dragon and the wizard were both thoroughly ravaged. Muscles ached in delicious ways and sweat slicked the warm planes of their bodies. The air was thick with the scent of passion. Sam filled his lungs with it, sated and content.
He rolled to face Dean. His hair was messy from Sam’s fingers and his broad chest bore all the marks of a proper claiming. Carefully, Sam reached out and touched the amulet that rested over Dean’s heart. The necklace was the only thing Dean wore; the rest of his garments were stripped and flung aside at some point. As far as Sam knew, Dean never took it off.
Sam swallowed the surge of affection that welled in his throat.
“Give me ten minutes,” Dean muttered sleepily beside him, “and then we’ll see about that whole having me atop your hoard thing.”
“Rest now,” Sam said, his voice softer and more suited to his near-human form. “Plenty of time for that later.”
Dean’s hand covered Sam’s on his chest. “I can feel you thinking,” he said, green eyes fluttering open.
Indeed, there was one thought that wouldn’t let go. “If people knew about us, they might stop worrying about you seducing their relations.”
“People know,” Dean pointed out, turning onto his side to face Sam.
“Castiel knows,” Sam grumbled in response. “The rest assume I’m sticking around to settle a debt.”
Dean frowned. “What debt?” Sam tugged gently on the pendant. Dean sighed in understanding. “No debt there, Sammy. I know how you feel about wizards, though, and I wish I could find the dick who cursed you and kick him right in the—”
Sam cut him off. “Dean…I’m yours.”
To seal his declaration, Sam pulled Dean forward by the necklace and took his mouth in a kiss that differed from the many that came before. It was magic shared, a promise unspoken. Dean surged against Sam. One of his hands pushed through Sam’s hair to wrap around the base of a thick horn while the other skimmed possessively across the dragon’s scaled shoulders. Between them, the amulet grew warm.
The single gold scale, given willingly from the dragon’s arm, had been the final piece necessary to break Azazael’s dark curse. Even in his shifted form, Sam bore a faint scar on his skin where the scale used to be. It seemed only fitting that Dean keep it safe, carrying a part of Sam with him no matter where he went.
“To hell with taking a break,” Dean cursed when they broke apart to breathe, “I’m ready to let you have me on that pile of gold. Just…bring some cushions or something,” he added, laughing as he jumped out of bed. Moments later, Sam gave chase, happier than he could remember being in ages.
An exceptionally pleasant day, indeed. One that would end with a wizard and a partially-shifted Pasadinian dragon walking into a village tavern hand-in-hand, to the delight (and relief) of all.
FIN.