Sam has the feeling he's being watched for a long time after he packs up on the Wednesday after six months that didn't happen. He has it all the time, but at night it's particularly bad, a prickling on the back of his neck, the sound of a chuckle with no mirth in it just barely audible in the back of a loud room. He turns around and sees no one, all the time.
He should avoid it, should run from it, and most of the time he does, skulking around back roads and taking sudden turns. It doesn't help, he can't get away from it, but he tries. During the day.
At night he just wants to face it head-on.
He goes out into the parking lot one night, when Dean's in a drunken stupor that can't be disturbed, and faces his palms up to the sky. "What?" he says. "What do you want?"
Nothing. Perhaps a faint echo of laughter.
"Why are you hiding?" Sam shouts. Desperation echoes in his voice.
A single footstep on gravel. "I figured you didn't want to see me," says the Trickster.
Sam turns, gapes, his jaw hanging open. He brushes his hair back from his face. His bangs are starting to grow out now, and they're annoying, always flopping everywhere. "You."
"Yep." The Trickster swings his clasped hands forward. "But you knew that."
"I didn't--" Sam stops. Maybe he did.
The Trickster smiles, tilts his head, stares at him with an expression of casual curiosity. Sam feels like a lab rat. He shifts uncomfortably. "So why?"
"Just seeing if my lesson took," the Trickster says. "Disappointed so far. You really are a numbskull, aren't you, Sam?"
Sam's jaw sets. He frowns, and if he could shoot through the Trickster with the heat of his eyes there'd be a melted demigod dribbling into the gravel right now. "If you mean I should give up on him, forget it. It's never gonna happen."
"It'll be easier for you in the long run."
"Bull." Sam scowls harder.
The Trickster feigns terror. "Whoa, watch those flaring nostrils, kid, you might hit someone."
"You know what?" Sam says. "If you had a brother, you'd understand. That's the thing about all of you sons of bitches. If you had a brother, someone you'd die for, you'd know exactly why I can never give up on him. Never."
The Trickster's face grows red, and his lips turn down. A rare moment when he's without a smile. For a moment Sam thinks he's going to get screamed at.
Then, without a word, the Trickster lowers his eyes and vanishes.
After that, Sam no longer has that feeling he's being watched. If only it felt like a relief.
after mystery spot
He should avoid it, should run from it, and most of the time he does, skulking around back roads and taking sudden turns. It doesn't help, he can't get away from it, but he tries. During the day.
At night he just wants to face it head-on.
He goes out into the parking lot one night, when Dean's in a drunken stupor that can't be disturbed, and faces his palms up to the sky. "What?" he says. "What do you want?"
Nothing. Perhaps a faint echo of laughter.
"Why are you hiding?" Sam shouts. Desperation echoes in his voice.
A single footstep on gravel. "I figured you didn't want to see me," says the Trickster.
Sam turns, gapes, his jaw hanging open. He brushes his hair back from his face. His bangs are starting to grow out now, and they're annoying, always flopping everywhere. "You."
"Yep." The Trickster swings his clasped hands forward. "But you knew that."
"I didn't--" Sam stops. Maybe he did.
The Trickster smiles, tilts his head, stares at him with an expression of casual curiosity. Sam feels like a lab rat. He shifts uncomfortably. "So why?"
"Just seeing if my lesson took," the Trickster says. "Disappointed so far. You really are a numbskull, aren't you, Sam?"
Sam's jaw sets. He frowns, and if he could shoot through the Trickster with the heat of his eyes there'd be a melted demigod dribbling into the gravel right now. "If you mean I should give up on him, forget it. It's never gonna happen."
"It'll be easier for you in the long run."
"Bull." Sam scowls harder.
The Trickster feigns terror. "Whoa, watch those flaring nostrils, kid, you might hit someone."
"You know what?" Sam says. "If you had a brother, you'd understand. That's the thing about all of you sons of bitches. If you had a brother, someone you'd die for, you'd know exactly why I can never give up on him. Never."
The Trickster's face grows red, and his lips turn down. A rare moment when he's without a smile. For a moment Sam thinks he's going to get screamed at.
Then, without a word, the Trickster lowers his eyes and vanishes.
After that, Sam no longer has that feeling he's being watched. If only it felt like a relief.