"Trickster? Is that some sort of demon or something?"
Bobby chuckled, relieved that all the fighting had finally ceased. He hated seeing this group at each other's throats - they were a family, his family. It hurt to see them like that. "More like demigods, really. There's Loki in Scandinavia. There's Anansi in West Africa. Dozens of them. They're immortal, and they can create things out of thin air. Things as real as you and me. Make them vanish just as quick."
"You mean like an angry spirit or an alien or an alligator," Dean added, dropping back into his seat. His shoulders relaxed, losing some of their tension. I stifled the urge to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Bobby nodded along with Dean's words. "The victims fit the M.O., too. Tricksters target the high and the mighty, knock them down a peg, usually with a sense of humor – deadly pranks, things like that."
"What do they look like?" I questioned, my voice losing its previous tension but still holding a rasp.
"Lot's of things, but you and me mostly. Human," Bobby answered and pushed himself to his feet. "They've got a nasty sense of humor though - don't know of a single case that hasn't gotten messy. They've got a sweet tooth too, they're like insects. Thrive on sugar."
I stiffened, my lips parting in shock as Bobby continued with his explanation. "Holy shit," I murmured out and leaped away from the couch, scrambling for my jacket draped across a chair at the dining table. "Shit, shit, shit..."
When I spun to face the group, all eyes were on me, startled by my sudden movements. "The janitor!" I exclaimed with a triumphant smile. I reached into the pocket of my leather jacket and withdrew a now crushed red lollipop. "It's the janitor!"
"You kept that thing?" Dean asked with a grimace. I chucked the small candy across the room, narrowly missing him.
"It makes sense! He was always right there, by the crime scenes!" I cheered. We finally had something, we were finally making progress.
"She's right," Bobby replied with a hint of pride. "So far, everything you've told me about that janitor checks out. I'd start there."
---
The Trickster yawned as he opened the door for us, waving us into the building. "Sorry if I'm dragging today, guys. Had quite the night," he continued cheerfully, as he climbed the steps. He paused on the landing and turned to look over his shoulder at us. "Lots of sex, if you catch my drift."
I didn't miss the wink he sent my way.
Dean side-stepped, closing in beside Sam and blocking me from the Trickster's view. "Yeah, hard not to," he replied with a chuckle. It was forced, although anyone who didn't know him wouldn't notice. "We'll be out of your hair soon. Just gotta check a couple offices on three."
"No problem, man. Take all the time you need."
Sam suddenly halted on the steps and I nearly bumped into him. He patted his pockets hurriedly. "Ah, you know I think I forgot something in the truck. I'll catch up with you guys?"
The Trickster shrugged and waved him away before climbing the stairs again. I exhaled slowly, glad Sam's lie was convincing enough. We were not prepared for a confrontation with this thing.
I fell in step for step beside Dean as we climbed the flights and finally stopped at the third floor. The Trickster held the door open for us and offered us a quick wave before disappearing back down the steps.
"What now?" I asked with my back to Dean as the door settled back in the door frame, latching behind the Trickster.
"Now we act busy."
---
Twenty minutes later we were descending the front steps towards Sam who waited for us at the base. The limestone had been freshly power washed, clear of any dirt, debris, and, most importantly, blood.
"So? Anything?" Dean asked as he skidded to a halt beside his brother. I stood a few steps away from their little huddle, bracing against the gentle wind. Sam unrolled a magazine from in his coat and passed it to Dean. Dean flipped carelessly through the pages before passing it over to me.
"Just 'cause he reads the Weekly World News doesn't mean he's our guy. I mean, you read it too," Sam defended, stuffing his hands into his pockets. I scanned each page hurriedly, noting the few headlines that matched our mysterious attacks.
"Yeah, but I don't go around killing people," Dean argued, his eyes on me as I turned the pages. "I'm telling you, it's him. It all adds up."
"I just think we need hard proof, that's all," Sam retaliated and held his hand out. I frowned and rolled the magazine up again before placing it in his hand.
"What more proof do we need Sam? Guy's clearly got a sweet tooth, and some of those articles match the case pretty damn well." Dean looked my way for backup and furrowed his brows when I stayed quiet. "Did you find any sweets? Chocolate? Anything?"
Sam shook his head. "Nothing. No sugar, whatsoever. I'm telling you, Dean, he's clean."
I inhaled deeply and lifted my head to meet the brother's gazes. "Look, we don't have anything concrete yet. I say we look for some more-" Dean scoffed. "-proof. What do we have so far, a lollipop and an affinity for magazines?"
"It's not enough to stake someone, Dean," Sam jumped in. "Let's give it some more time-"
"We don't have more time!" he exclaimed, his words rough with irritation. "The more time we waste, the more chance he has to kill someone- to kill us!"
"And if we rush into things, we get an innocent person killed," I snapped back. Dean whirled on me with a fury that I've only ever seen directed at monsters.
"Since when did you care about innocent lives?"
Time seemed to stop for a moment and nobody moved. The tension was palpable, the air stiff. My lungs deflated, a shaky breath leaving my slack jaw as I stared at him with an unfocused gaze. Without another word, I spun on my heel and left.
My chest rose and fell with heaving breaths, occasionally getting stuck in my throat until my gasping changed into a soft whimper. It's just an act, it's just an act. He doesn't mean it. I struggled to reassure myself, part of my mind hoping the performance was enough to get the Trickster off our tail. The other half couldn't let go of his words.
Start a fight, he had said. Get mean, make it look messy. Start a fight, start a fucking fight. My heart thundered in my chest as violently as a penned-in bull.
Start a fight.
Did he really think of me like that? No, no there was no way. Not a monster, he had said it himself so many months ago. I wasn't a monster to him, I was his friend-
Friend.
I almost collapsed at the weight of those words, my chest feeling heavy rather than flighty. I felt as though I suddenly had weights dragging me to the ground; I dropped willingly to my knees and pulled myself to lean against a garden wall. That was all he would ever see me as. A friend.
I hated it.
How far had I walked? I opened my teary eyes to the campus and found my back squashed against a low limestone wall, facing a circular path in between several old buildings. A large maple grew out of the middle of the path, a few benches scattered around it, under its wide branches.
I was at the edge of the campus, a five-minute walk from where I had been. How did I get here so quickly? I reached up to touch my cheeks, flushed with unshed tears. The color contrasted so starkly with the brilliant gold that had filled my irises.
I shook my head, willing the color to die down. It didn't, so I hung my head and stared at the loose pieces of stone beneath my boots. Dean's words, however empty they were, echoed in my mind. I shivered as an image of Clarence's face appeared in my mind.
My uncle always told me that when remembering a person, you always remembered the last time you had seen them. My last images were becoming far too grim for my taste. Clarence's once handsome face, the back of his head shredded by a hungry wraith. My mother's peaceful expression with a bullet hole between her eyes. Clarence's last expression forever frozen in a mix of anger and shock.
I couldn't help but feel like they were all my fault.
I inhaled shakily and held my head in my hands and willed my chest to rise and fall steadily. It felt like my lungs were burning like the very air I was struggling so hard to get was burning me. He didn't mean it, I knew that. He just... in a way confirmed the suspicions I already had.
When I lifted my head, the sky was completely black, swallowed by the inkinesss that was the white wolf's world. I jumped to my feet, my lungs falling still with the lack of air. The limestone wall rippled with darkness under my fingertips, like the surface of a lake. Like a mirage, something that wasn't really there.
What are you doing here? a familiar voice asked. I turned to see the white wolf, his thick brows furrowed and red eyes narrowed in curiosity. You're supposed to be hunting.
I was- I spouted hastily. I am. I didn't mean to... I glanced around at the looming darkness. The towering campus building seemed to curve into the peak of the darkness, like a dome that pulled them towards its center. It all felt off, surreal.
The wolf rumbled lowly in his throat and padded over with a dismissive swish of his tail. What happened? he asked, holding an almost reluctant tone in his voice. He was never quite sure how to address emotions.
It's nothing, I countered just as quickly as before. I didn't want to be a bother - I was bothersome enough, inserting myself into his little world. It was obvious that my being here was never his intention. It seemed he was just making the most of it.
The wolf snorted and sat back on his wide haunches, his fur causing the stone tiles beneath his paws to ripple with darkness. You wouldn't be hiding if it was nothing.
I turned away from him and chewed on the inside of my cheek. The campus looked so warm in this darkness, shrouded in its own little world. I wondered how far the mirage carried. Would I pass these buildings and be left in total darkness again?
Why did you start talking to me anyway? I asked, focusing on the now steady rhythm of my heart. The whispers, I clarified and glanced over my shoulder at him. He was closer than I expected, almost close enough for his fur to brush against me. Even sitting, he towered over me.
Potential, he answered honestly, his ruby gaze fixed on some distant horizon. You're so full of potential. Potential to be great.
That doesn't answer my question.
The white wolf sighed. No, I suppose it doesn't. His ears swiveled backward as he thought. I suppose... I've grown tired of the way things are. You have the potential to fix it, but you squander it, he spat out, as if my actions physically pained him. My intention was to nudge you in the right direction. So far you want to do anything but-
-You haven't exactly told me what the right direction is, I argued. The wolf drew his lips back, revealing his pearly fangs. Everything about them was perfect - everything about him was perfect. No scars or marks of any sort. Utterly flawless.
The white wolf stood and shook out his fur. I believe your human is looking for you, he grumbled disapprovingly - he had never liked the hunts I ventured out on or the people I hunted with. We will discuss this after your 'hunt.'
I didn't have to look to know he was gone. It was like a weight was lifted, his presence leaving my body. Or maybe it was just him leaving my head. Either way, I felt empty, my stomach curling in on itself at the thought of going back now.
Instead, I closed my eyes once again and pulled at the weight that now permanently rested at the back of my neck. I separated the bonds that sat there, tethering me to them, and picked them apart until I had the one that felt like the tides swelling and sweeping over me. I gave the bond a firm tug, feeling the seaspray and beachy chill cover my body.
'Bout time, Booth's scratchy voice chimed. I opened my eyes and met his blue ones. Behind him, a mirage of towering trees covered in Spanish moss blended with the more solid buildings around me. I was beginning to think you weren't going to give this another go.
I've been a bit busy, I defended, watching as his lips twisted up into a grin.
He hummed in response and stared at something over my shoulder. I glanced behind me, seeing only old architecture. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, unlike mine that remained still.
I like this better, he spoke again, his voice gruff as his eyes flickered over whatever he was watching. None of that meditation nonsense. This is easier.
I furrowed my brows and glanced over my shoulder again. Nothing. What are you watching? I asked and turned back to him. Was this what the white wolf saw when I daydreamed of this place?
It's sparring day. We've got a couple of rings - Gator's holding her own against Caeden, he answered, his lips twitching up in a proud smile once again. He loved it when someone could give Caeden a run for his money.
What about Sasha? I questioned, taking a seat on the ground once more, crossing my legs and watching his expressions with interest.
Sitting out today. She hasn't been feeling well. His thick brows pinched together, his eyes flicking over to where I assumed she watched. Hidalgo's barely left her alone. Like a doting wife, he is, Booth chuckled, his shoulders shaking with the silent sound. They make a good pair.
I hummed in agreement and smiled softly. Did you tell her about- I gestured to the encroaching darkness that I wasn't quite sure he could see, -all this?
Booth paused mid nod to glance up with wide eyes. Had anyone seen him do that? He cleared his throat and shouted something at the sparring monsters, his words silent in the darkness. I did, he finally replied. Vaguely at least. Told her about as much as I know - that we might be able to communicate with, what, telepathy? He chuckled heartily. Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised if she thought I was off my rocker.
I hummed in thought, mulling over his words. Do you think she's well enough for a trip? I asked, watching Booth's silvering brow quirk up in curiosity. I was just thinking... I've got another hunt after this, I'm sure. You both could meet us and maybe we can see how this works out on the field?
Booth chewed on the corner of his lip, his eyes flicking over the scene in front of him. His teeth slipped from his flesh and his lips drew back in a wide grin. He shouted something from his vantage point, although all I got from it was 'Calliope.'
I'll ask her, he finally answered, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Despite his age, his skin seemed rather smooth, aside from the creases around his eyes. Maybe it was just his thick beard that hid everything. I've got no problem with it, but- shit. He shouted something from across the field and it seemed every muscle in his body tensed. Gator's trying to take a chunk out of him, he grumbled.
I laughed, the soft sound swallowed by the darkness. Just tell me what she says. I've got at least the rest of the day here, so that should give her some time. Booth nodded and rubbed his fingers through his beard, tugging loosely at the longer hairs on his chin.
Sure thing, he murmured his mind somewhere else entirely. I nodded at his agreement and released the bond from my hold, letting the connection between us dissipate. Booth faded with it, disappearing much like a mirage when you get too close.
I opened my eyes to see the sun dipping behind the brick buildings around the campus. It barely peaked over the top, its rays waning and casting the sky in a warm pink and golden glow. My heart jolted as I glanced frantically around the courtyard. The milling students paid me little mind - in fact, a few others had found their own napping spots against the limestone.
I rolled my shoulders and stretched my stiff muscles. My legs wobbled as I pulled myself to my feet, readjusting the sudden blood flow and releasing the tension in my muscles. My heart thundered in my chest, picking up the pace the more I thought about having to return to Dean.
By now, Sam would be gone, off looking for more 'evidence' of the janitor being the Trickster. Soon Dean would be going in to take on the Trickster himself - at least, that was what we would make him think.
I jogged through the campus, twisting between crowds of students leaving their evening classes or dashing down narrow alleys between buildings. I was glad for my decent sense of direction, and the mental map I had created even in my panicked state. The sun had fully disappeared between the old buildings by the time I reached the Hall that the Trickster hid in.
I froze at the sight of Dean leaning against the tall limestone sides of the staircase outside of the Hall. His ankles were crossed, leaning relaxed against the old stone. His shoulders betrayed his nerves, one hand raised to his lips as he chewed on his nails. In the light, his hair looked almost golden, like a damn halo.
I swallowed dryly, my heart fluttering at the sight. Why did he always have to look so damn good?
His head snapped up instantly at the sound of my approaching footsteps. He deflated a bit, letting out an audible sigh of relief before pushing off the column and standing to his full height. "Hey," he muttered out weakly.
"Did he buy it?" I asked, leaning against the opposite column. My voice cracked as I spoke and I turned away from Dean, instead of facing the broad campus grounds.
"I hope so." Dean fell silent and turned his gaze forward. He bounced his heel against the cement, something he only did when he was lost in thought. I watched with curiosity out of the corner of my eye, wondering just what he was thinking about.
I shut my eyes and turned my face up towards the sun, soaking up its last few rays. I kept my focus on anything but the man just a few feet away from me. Anything but the anxious tapping of his heel, the rustling of his shirt when he checked his watch every few minutes, and certainly not the scent of a particularly sweet fruit that rolled off him in waves.
"Screw this," Dean exclaimed out of nowhere, his boots thundering against the limestone as he raced up the steps. My eyes flew open and spun to face him, only to see him wrench the door open and dash inside.
"Dean, wait!" I shouted as the door slammed shut behind him and ran up the steps, taking them two at a time. I pulled the door rougher than I had expected it to, the old mahogany smacking against the wall as the hinges shook. "Dean, that's not part of the plan! We're supposed to wait!"
Dean stopped in the middle of the hallway, now several yards away, to face me with his arms thrown in the air in resignation. "I'm getting tired of waiting! You're already here, might as well come with."
I exhaled sharply as he turned around and marched back down the hallway. "Dean!" I called after him, nearing no response. I raked my nails through my hair as he disappeared around the corner, likely to scope out the rest of this floor before moving to the next.
This wasn't part of the plan - it was too early for him to be distracting the Trickster. He was deviating from the plan, and it had my heart thundering in my chest with fear. Should I follow him, or go find Sam and Bobby?
I snarled and gave my hair one last tug before jogging down the hallway after Dean. He couldn't possibly have gotten very far-
When I rounded the corner of the hall, I didn't see Dean. Instead, I found myself on the broad stage of a dimly lit bar, old bulbs hanging from strings and the sounds of a few string instruments behind me playing quiet jazz. I glanced down to find myself no longer in my denim and flannel clothes, but instead in what looked to be a floor-length evening gown, beads and all.
"What the fuck?"
---
Dean waited just around the corner, hoping and praying that she would follow. His heart skipped when he heard her footsteps coming down the hall. He waited for what felt like forever for her to come bursting around the corner, but instead-
- he peeked around the corner and was met with an empty hallway.
Dean hated the disappointment that crashed over him in waves. Of course, she wasn't going to go with him - this wasn't the plan. It was always about the plan with her. He huffed and stormed back down the hallway, his fingers wrapped tightly around a wooden stake and ready for a fight.
He scowled as he prowled the hallway, holding the stake at the ready. He could worry about her later. After this, they'd talk. He'd finally understand why she was angry with him, why she was avoiding him - his gut wrenched at the thought, and he was quick to shove the emotion down. She was family, and family should never avoid each other.
They'd make up. They always did.
Despite the difficulty of it, he pushed her out of his mind and focused on the task at hand. He needed to find that damn Trickster and distract him long enough for Sam, Bobby, and now Y/N to find him. He shook his head at the thought of her golden eyes, on the verge of shifting and ready to tear into someone. He would never admit it to her, but it had quickly become his favorite color - he had even lied to her about it, just once, claiming his favorite color was black.
Dean halted beside the entrance to the theater where music blasted and lights flashed from underneath the door. His brows furrowed in curiosity as he tucked the stake back into his jacket. The Trickster had to be in there.
The heavy mahogany creaked under Dean's weight as he forced the old door open. The auditorium was dimly lit, with a few dim, red strobes flashing over the stage. He froze mouth agape and stared in awe at the scene before him.
On the stage was a massive bed, bigger than he had ever slept in. It was heavily decorated with rose petals and plush lace pillows. But it wasn't the bed Dean was focused on. No, it was the two scantily clad women that beckoned him forward that he couldn't take his eyes off of.
He hadn't even realized he was moving before he found himself at the base of the stage. "We've been waiting for you, Dean," the brunette crowed. Dean chuckled awkwardly and glanced behind him at the empty auditorium.
"Y-You guys aren't real," he answered with a dry swallow, looking anywhere but the two women. Both laughed and leaned forward seductively on the bed.
"Trust me, sugar, it's going to feel real."
He chuckled again and tugged at his collar. "You know, I'm a – I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Really, I am, but... I-I'm gonna have to pass."
"Really? Porn stars aren't your thing, huh?" a voice called from the audience. Dean spun to face the Trickster, an amused smirk on his face and a large chocolate bar in his hand. "Wait, I've got it!" he snapped his fingers and a tingling energy filled the room before dissipating as quickly as it came.
When Dean turned back to the stage he choked and sputtered, his cheeks and ears becoming a vibrant red. In the place of the two women stood Y/N, just as scantily clad as the others. Her features looked softer, her hair was silky and in soft curls, lacking the frizz and subtle mess that it usually held. Dean looked away so quickly that he nearly gave himself whiplash.
"Huh, I would've figured you'd like that better," the Trickster cheered with a raucous laugh. He snapped his fingers once more and the illusion of Y/N disappeared before she could even say a word, replaced with the two giggling women from before. "They're a peace offering, Dean-o! I know exactly what you and your brother do, figured I'd stop you before it can all come to a head-" the girls on stage giggled.
"I... can't just let you keep hurting people," Dean grumbled through gritted teeth, the flush on his cheeks dying out to leave the tips of his ears a deep red. "Look, I really dig your style man. That slow dancing alien-"
"- One of my personal favorites," the Trickster replied, taking another gleeful bite of his chocolate bar.
"- But I can't let you go," Dean finished with a grimace. The Trickster paused mid-bite before pulling the chocolate away from his lips revealing a deep scowl.
"That's too bad Dean, I really liked you. Sam was right - you shouldn't've come alone."
Dean's face broke into a grin as he withdrew the stake from his coat once again. His eyes flickered to the back of the theater where the two exit doors opened quietly. Sam and Bobby sidestepped into the dark room, equally as deadly-looking stakes in their hands. "Then I guess it's a good thing I didn't."
The Trickster jumped and twisted in his seat to look at Sam and Bobby, glaring down at him with their stakes at the ready. When he turned back to Dean, a proud, excited grin had broken his lips, revealing pearly teeth. "So that fight you had outside - was that a trick?" The cocky smirk Dean flashed him was all the answer he needed. The Trickster nodded in respect. "Not bad. But do you want to see a real trick?"
---
My gloved fingers wrapped around the tall microphone stand as I stared out at the crowd, their faces obscured by the bright lights trained on me. Behind me, the jazz band played what sounded like Frank Sinatra, although the dress I wore didn't at all match the period the song was written.
"What the hell is this?" I called out into the crowd, the microphone picking up and amplifying my words. My gloved fingertips plucked at the black evening gown, decorated with sequins and a pattern that was classic in the 1920s.
The crowd only cheered at my words and the band played louder than ever. I growled and stepped off the stage, dropping a good four feet into the crowd below. They parted for me like the red sea, glassy eyes trained on the empty stage.
"I know you're here!" I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted over the roar of the crowd. "Where the hell are you!?"
I flinched as a strong arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me into a dizzying spin. A familiarly rough hand slipped into my own, a foreign arm drawing me closer to them. By the time my dizziness passed, I stood face to face with-
"Dean?"
His lips cracked into a wry smile, and his green eyes held a hint of mischief. I flushed at the way his arm held me pinned against his body, his breath mingling with mine. "You know it, sweetheart."
I huffed out a sigh of relief and dropped my head on his shoulder, allowing him to lead as we swayed to the music. "You shouldn't've run off like that. Now we're both stuck here," I grumbled and smacked his chest lightly with my free hand. "Who's going to kill the bastard now?"
His calloused hand cupped my jaw and lifted my head to meet his gaze. I recoiled slightly at how close his face was to mine. "I don't really care, honestly," he replied, his thumb swiping arcs across my cheek. I frowned at his words. "Sam can take care of it on his own."
"Dean-"
"You look great in that dress," he continued, a cheesy grin plastered on his face. I scowled, wondering just what he was getting at.
I jumped the moment his lips brushed against mine, leaving a ghost of a tingle across my flesh. I pulled my head back as his hand threaded into my hair at the back of my head, wide-eyed and utterly shocked. He grinned and leaned in once more, his lips brushing mine for a second time.
My heart hammered in my chest, my mind struggling to understand just what was happening. This was everything I had been trying to avoid. And yet here he was making the first move. My eyelids fluttered, falling halfway as I waited for his next move.
A movement from across the room that was unlike anyone else in the crowd caught my eye. I wrenched my head back in an instant, twisting to look over his shoulder between the huddled figures all swaying to Louis Armstrong. Dean's expression dropped as he tugged lightly at my hair, urging me to come back to him.
"Get off," I mumbled quietly, my free hand tugging at his arm around my waist. Dean blanched, recoiling in shock. "Get off!" I finally shouted, pushing him away. He stumbled backward under the force of my shove, though I didn't care. My eyes remained trained on the figure I had just seen amongst the crowd.
I stormed across the open room, Dean calling my name behind me. This time, the crowd refused to part and I found myself shoving people aside, throwing them into others, or simply knocking them aside.
"It's not real!" I shouted amid the crowd. "I know it's a trick! You can come out, asshat!" I spun in circles, waiting for him to appear. None of this was real, not the band, or the crowd, or Dean.
I spun once more and suddenly the crowd was gone. Instead of a band on the stage, a record player sat alone, playing the same Louis Armstrong song as before. I scowled and turned back towards the center of the room, where a single chair sat, occupied by the Trickster.
He was relaxed, leaning back in his chair with his hands splayed over his stomach, fingers spread. "I was really hoping it would take you longer to figure it out. This takes the fun out of it," he pouted.
"Right, it was all very funny," I snapped, my skin prickling with rage, lips tingling from a lost sensation I had been craving for months. "What the fuck do you want?"
The Trickster threw his head back and laughed. "You know, out of the four of you little shits, I think you're my favorite!" he exclaimed with a wide grin. "I mean, you make this so easy - I don't even have to come up with anything, you've given me all the material I need!" He flung his arms open wide, gesturing to the entirety of the speakeasy.
"What material?" I asked cautiously, my voice dropping an octave.
"Everything up here," the Trickster answered, tapping his temple with a single finger. "It's rich, you know, everything going on up there. The things you're seeing, that thing you're talking to, and of course Dean-o-"
"Thing?" I spat, crossing the room in several strides. I took a fistful of his shirt and dragged him to his feet. "What thing? The wolf?" He laughed as I snarled, his once neat hair falling in his face. "What do you know about him?"
"A lot more than you, clearly," he teased. His hand found mine, gripping my thumb and wrenching it in the opposite direction until the rest of my hand had no choice but to follow. "He's a funny guy, choosing you of all people to be his acolyte." His palm snapped forward to shove against my sternum, pushing me backward. "But that's beside the point.
"You know, I think this is the most fun I've had in a long time," he continued, matching each step that I took backward. "You're just torturing yourself! All this brooding bullshit, all this avoiding your problems and your feelings-" he laughed, "-That's art, right there! You're screwing yourself over!"
"You think I don't know that!?" I shouted, glaring at him with so much fury and malice that I was sure any other being would be wilting under the wrathful gaze. "It's a hell of a lot better than facing what happens if I do acknowledge it!"
"And that is what I love about you hunters!" he cheered, an excited smile gracing his lips. "You all just love to hate yourselves. It's all just self-pity and hatred. He doesn't want you and you know it!"
I was moving before I could even think to stop myself. The sound my fist made against his face was sickening, enough to have my stomach curling in disgust. The Trickster huffed out a laugh and tipped his head back, showing off the split lip and slow trickle of blood from his nose. He lifted one hand to snap his fingers, and suddenly the blood was gone.
"Look, as much as I'd like to stay and chat about how much you hate yourself, I gotta jet," he joked, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Someone's gotta kill those idiots. Raincheck?"
And with that, he was gone.
I stood alone in the empty speakeasy, covered in glitter that refused to stick to the evening gown, the sounds of Louis Armstrong's most famous songs fading into the background. Panic seized my chest as I raced for the edge of the room, running my hands and scraping my nails against the brick wall in the hopes of finding some escape. There had to be a way out.
I choked back a gasping breath, my chest pained with the implications of his words that I didn't have enough time to think about. If we were really going to kill them, I needed to get out. My knuckles throbbed from where they had connected with his jaw, the skin crackled and oozed some blood in a few spots.
I slammed my closed fist against the brick wall in anger, the seemingly solid object not budging under my weight. How much time had passed since the Trickster put me in here? I snarled and whirled to face the stage, the only piece of this set I hadn't inspected.
I climbed the steps hurriedly, bunching the evening gown in my hands so I could see just where I was putting my feet. Upon reaching the top of the stage, I stared out at the empty room with malice - I felt as though I could, and would, tear this place apart.
I reached for the red velvety curtain that served as a backdrop and yanked. Despite my force behind it, the fabric didn't give. I pulled again, feeling my skin prickle and my eyes filled with molten gold. My nails dug into the fabric as I pulled, feeling it rip beneath my grip. One hole slowly became two, then three and four until I shredded them enough that they became one again.
I reached behind the curtain into the darkness that it seemed to hide, finding nothing but coarse fabric beneath my fingertips. I snarled and ripped and clawed and shredded until the hole was big enough that I could pull myself through. The velvet seemed to close in around me, suffocatingly warm and driving me to the edge of panic. I tore at the fabric in front of me, pulling myself through the shreds. There had to be something back here eventually.
Finally, my hand burst out into the open. Cushioning and fabric decorated my hands, caught under my nails or between my fingers, and still, I clawed at it and dragged myself through. My arms grew tired, sore with the viciousness of my attack on the fabric.
And then I heard voices. Shouting.
My free hand reached back down into the fabric, pulling apart whatever was keeping me penned in while the other one worked to pull me forward. Eventually, my other hand burst through the fabric and into the chilly air.
A familiar hand gripped mine. I snarled one final time, arching my back, and dragged myself forward with the added aid of a familiar presence. The person on the other end pulled at the fabric and at my hand until I thought they might wrench my shoulder from its socket.
And then my head burst forth from a now shredded theater chair, the cushion maimed, stuffing, and fabric tossed aimlessly everywhere. I gasped in the cold air, a welcome change from the stagnant, suffocating air of my prison. I gripped my rescuer's arm, heaving one last push before I fell face-first onto the floor.
Dean hoisted me upwards just enough for me to pull the rest of my body out of the chair, his arms wrapping around my waist and ribs. The moment I was free, I collapsed to the ground with him, my hands on his shoulders.
I panted with exertion and dropped my head to his shoulder. I could smell blood on him, his own, and others. I reached one hand up, pressing it delicately to his cheek before I lifted my head to meet his gaze. He too had a split lip, his nose bloodied and battered. A few scratches adorned his cheeks, blood welling up in the thin grooves.
"Did you kill him?" I finally managed to sputter out, practically laying on him in my exhaustion.
"Yeah," Dean mumbled, nodding his head as he gazed at something behind me - what I hoped to be the body of the Trickster. "Yeah, we got him."
"Good."
6573 words.
Edited 05/18/22.