Reading Between The Lines (Sabriel)

Chapter 24

"You sure this is gonna work?" Sam asks. He still can't see a damn thing so he's got no idea how Dean's doing right now.

"No," Dean admits, "but I got no other ideas."

Well. That's comforting.

"Alright, you son of a bitch!" Dean yells. "Uncle! We'll do it!"

Nothing.

"Should I honk?" Sam asks. He would kind of like to try out the horn if he's being completely honest. If he has to be a car anyway, he might as well try out the fun stuff.

"Woah, Sam! Get a load of the rims on you!"

Sam would recognize that voice anywhere, and, for the first time ever, he's glad he can't see the face that comes with it. He would run the guy down if he had the chance.

Instead, all he says is, "Eat me."

The Trickster lets out a flirtatious whistle, but then he's serious again and Sam's not sure which is worse. "Okay, boys. Ready to go quietly?"

"Not so fast," Dean says. "Nobody's going anywhere until Sam has opposable thumbs!"

That was Sam's only demand as Dean was coming up with this plan. He refuses to get stuck in car form forever, and Dean will have more bargaining power now than he will in a minute or two when they inevitably realize the Trickster is not, in fact, an angel.

"What's the difference?" the Trickster asks. "Satan's gonna ride his ass one way or another."

That brings him very, very close to blaring on the horn.

Fortunately, the Trickster changes his tune, and, in an instant, Sam finds himself back in his body and sitting inside the Impala. As he steps out, his eyes immediately find the Trickster's, and he holds on to them with a glare.

"Happy?" the Trickster asks, though it's very clear that they're not.

"Just tell me one thing," Dean says. "Why didn't the stake kill you?"

He shrugs. "I am the Trickster."

"But maybe you're not," Dean says.

Sam flicks the lighter on and tosses it on the ground. Instantly, a circle of fire pops up around the Trickster, boxing him in. He follows the fire with his eyes as it pops up, surrounding him. Sam takes a step back, standing by his brother's side, so he sees the puzzled look the Trickster gives them.

"Maybe you've always been an angel," Dean says.

The Trickster laughs, as if this is the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. It probably is. "A what? Somebody slip a mickey in your power shake, kid?"

"I'll tell you what," Dean says, a small smile playing at his lips. "You just step out of the holy fire, we'll call it our mistake."

And the Trickster just laughs.

And laughs.

And laughs.

And it occurs to Sam that if they're wrong, they're out of options. This is going to be the last straw. With every passing moment, it looks more and more like they just completely missed their shot.

But then the Trickster's face falls abruptly, and their surroundings fade out into that abandoned warehouse once more. So they were right. He's not a trickster. He never was. He's just another winged asshole trying to bring on the apocalypse.

The Trickster gives them a series of slow, sarcastic claps. "Well played, boys. Well played." He eyes the fire at his feet. "Where'd you get the holy oil?"