The Trickster - Supernatural Fanfiction

Part 3 - Fears

There stands your mother. She wears a simple, yet graceful, dress and her (Y/M/E/C) are gleaming with cheer and pride. Behind you, the Trickster effortlessly conjures up a Lazy Boy chair and rocks back and forth, popcorn at hand and childishly intrigued.

However, the figure of your mom draws you nearer with despairing eyes and you don't notice the Trickster watching the scene like a movie.

"Hello, (Y/N)," she calmly welcomes.

You stop proceeding towards her and turn your head to look back at the despicable woman. You notice her state of observation with questioning features. The Trickster waves her hand for you to check out the deal with your mom as she plops more popcorn into her mouth.

"Stop this," you boldly command her. "Enough with the simulations and bull crap! Get Dean outta Hell and let us be," you exclaim.

"What'ya mean 'be?'" she counters and munches on another piece. "You guys came here for me. I may as well have I tiny bit o' fun while you're here. I mean, I've barely even started the fun and I have the legendary Winchesters with their, erm, sidekick. Sorry, hon, I don't know your name," she apologizes falsely.

You feel violated, offended, First off, how dare she summon an illusion of your dead mother. Then she disregards your title with the boys. You aren't their puny sidekick. You're family.

Your hand prepares to pull out the stake as you begin to stand up to the Trickster.

"Names (Y/F/N) by the way," you strongly remark, "and I really don't have time for your shi--" You are cut off as you are suddenly popped into a living room.

"What the..." you breathe as you gaze around. You're in a shabby apartment, the one you lived in when you were ten.

Your hand is still ready to pull out the weapon as you search for the Trickster. Your eyebrows are pressed together in confusion, curiosity, and a hit of dread. You of course assume she blasted you into this place, and you also have an idea as to why. You notice a pattern with this monster. She's basing her tricks on fear, you think. Maybe not our worst fears, but fears nonetheless...

You well know Dean is afraid of Hell, Sam: clowns, and you obviously know a fear of yours is seeing your mother again.

This was one of the places where you lived with her. Your dad was gone; always on a hunt. He never took you with him for you were always a young girl. Always left you with your crazy abusive mother. You still don't know why nothing was ever done about her back then.

"Hello?" you call throughout the small place. Nothing and no one.

Suddenly you hear a noise around you, echoing. You look around and spot a vent in the ceiling and guess that's where it's coming from. The sound grows louder and faster, like a million bugs are crawling in the vents. You pull out your shotgun out of instinct, ready to even pull out the angel blade if need be. You aim the gun at the vent and suppress a shiver, hoping there really aren't any insects in there.

The scuttling noises sound more like a roar at this point as they grow to their climax. The vent bursts open as hundreds of tiny black creatures drop like a waterfall in one huge mass. Black widows. They explode over the walls and fall from the ceiling, quickly filling the carpeted floor and spreading like a flood. Obviously this Trickster knows you have arachnophobia.

No time to put up with the spider shenanigans as you run for the door, completely forgetting you have weapons. What good will a little blade and a shotgun do against a buhmillion spiders? Your body slams against the door as you hastily twist the knob. Locked. No keyhole or place for locking. You behold the black scuttling mass before you try to kick the door open. It won't budge.