A/N: Wrote this one morning last December after years of not writing. I'm sure you'll be able to tell, just figured I'd publish it anyway... Let me know what you think.

Timeline/Spoilers: O13 ; Supernatural S5, up to "Abandon All Hope". Sadly, I do not own any of the characters or universes.

Chapter one: Tricks.

Dean studied the man through the mirror from his perch on the bar stool. Tall, blond, fit, an engaging smile, self-confidence exuding from every pore. He was wearing a light tan suit, expensive by the looks of it - not that Dean was an expert, it just seemed to be. It was coupled with the most offending, shiny bordeaux shirt Dean had ever seen. And that was something, considering the pink-flowered atrocity Sammy liked to wear.

The man's profile was turned to Dean as he expertly dealt the cards. Dean's seemingly distracted eyes moved to the other four occupants of the table: A big, burly and loud southerner, complete with cowboy hat and boots who'd clearly had too much to drink already; an astute old and wiry man who was pretending he'd had too much to drink but was actually following the proceedings with acute intensity; a young, preppy guy, complete with light-colored vest with geometric print over a pastel shirt, slicked-back hair and a wallet bursting with daddy's cash; and finally a tall, dark suave guy in his late forties, early fifties, cool, relaxed, light-brown hair with silver across the temples, dark suit, white open-collared shirt.

Dean's eyes moved back around the classy room until they found his brother Sam, sitting at another table, not winning but not losing too much either, so as to not draw any unwanted attention. He noted his brother's imperceptible shake of the head. The blond was good; Sammy had noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

Unless they caught him cheating, they had to stay on the case. And probably even if they did. Because there was the possibility that Bobby's contact was right, that there really was a case.

Dean heaved a sigh and bid his time. They'd received the call a couple of days earlier.

They were cruising down I-55, AC/DC blasting out of the Impala's speakers, partly because that was the way Dean liked it, partly to drown the heavy silence that had accompanied them since they left Bobby's. Because really, it was Ellen and Jo, and how were they supposed to cope with it? Jo and Ellen were dead, had sacrificed themselves for their cause, to help stop the apocalypse, and all for nothing.

So the phone call was a welcomed distraction and Dean lowered the volume and listened to Sam's end of the conversation.

"He said it was a …? Seriously?" … "Do you know how rare those are?" Dean smirked at Sam's cringe, no doubt the term idgit had figured in part of Bobby's reply. "Alright, alright. Still, shouldn't we be worried about other th-" This time it was Dean who grimaced at the insults audible even through his brother's massive mop of hair covering the device. "Fine. Yeah… Okay, give me the details."

Dean waited while Sam jotted some things down and raised an eyebrow at his brother when he finished the call. "I take it we got a job?" he asked needlessly.

Sam proceeded to fill him in.

So here they were, in this posh bar room in New Orleans, having followed these two around for over a day.

They'd caught up with the pair at a casino the previous night, where they'd watched them do their rounds and collect money out of every table they sat at, every post they visited. They'd watched them move to another casino, never taking too much out of any game, sometimes sitting at the same table, some times each on their own, but always in sight of each other.

If anyone had paid attention, they might have read something different into it. Dean had played the game enough times with his brother to recognize it for what it was: watching each other's backs.

The moment he'd noticed, he and Sam had split up; never tailing them together to avoid the pair to notice that same behavior on Sam and Dean. It came natural to them, and while most people would not see it, it was really hard to disguise from people with the same habits.

He'd arrived at this bar about an hour after Sam, the first time since the previous night he'd been in the same room as his brother.

They'd shared notes over the phone, though.

"They did what?"

"Ordered seven different desserts from room service" Sam replied, exasperated. "I'm telling you, the blond one is worse than you, man. He ate them all by himself, while the other one sipped wine next to him on the couch."

Dean smiled his appreciation; anyone who managed to skim money out of casinos and enjoyed food was at least somewhat okay in his book. "Sweet tooth, huh? Well that fits the profile," he replied mulling it over "but what about the partner? These things aren't usually the partnering kind." He frowned, "Speaking of... what were they doing on the couch all night… and please spare me the details if it's what I think it is."

"Dude, get your mind off the gutter," Sam prissed, "they were watching TV. And no, before you ask, I don't think it was porn. Something in black and white, though the angle was wrong for me to see through the window."

"You telling me these guys stayed there together, drinking wine and not watching porn for four hours?"

"And eating dessert, don't forget the eating. But 'sright" Sam replied, the shrug apparent in his voice. "Then the blond one got up, grabbed something out of the minibar and left. Saw him get to his own room, write some things down in some sort of blueprints and go to bed. Stayed watching for a while, but they both seemed asleep to me." His brother finished.

"Why Sammy, if I'd known watching guys sleep was your thing, I'd have got a better pair of binoculars for you." Dean smiled at his brother's response. "Whoa, no need to get nasty. You're the one who's always all for diversity and shit."

"So what are they up to now?" Sam asked, ignoring him completely. The jerk.

"Blondie is devouring everything on the restaurant's menu while the other one is watching him amusedly, eating a salad and drinking coffee. A lunch won by being the 10000th customer to enter the place." Dean said, bemused. "Oh, and this is after they somehow got the manager of the hotel to throw in their stay for free this morning, as they checked out. Plus a limo ride to whatever destination they wanted." Dean shook his head. "And did I mention the stop at the Fair Grounds track on the way here? Where they proceeded to win at every race they bet on? I'm telling ya, Sammy, if they were cheating, it was the slickest, most perfect past posting I've ever seen. I never noticed anything. Plus, if they were communicating they must have used some sort of telepathy 'cause I was watching and not even a twitch of the lips." Dean frowned again.

"I didn't want to believe it, not after the whole Gabriel fiasco. But this much luck? It just isn't possible." Sam said and Dean heard him sigh on the other end. "I'll check the names of the casino owners from last night. You check anyone who lost something big at the tracks." Dean nodded even though Sam couldn't see him. It just made sense; these things had their own sense of right and wrong, a unique code of sorts that they adhered to. Checking the victims might help determine if they were following one. "Let me know when they move." Sam added before hanging up, the keys on his computer already clicking away.

A conversation later had further convinced them they were on the right track: Sam had watched them con a loan-shark out of his entire cash load, while simultaneously incriminating him with a hot piece they'd lifted out of a common street thug who'd found himself without it when trying to rob a liquor store.

Both the thug – overpowered by a furious store owner and three customers – and the loan shark – after an anonymous tip to the police – had been arrested with enough evidence to put them away for a while.

So here they were in the posh bar, watching their marks going after marks of their own. Sam had watched them case them. Cowboy-hat was a known heavyweight in Orleans' corrupt circles, having skimmed money out of Katrina relief funds though it had never been proved.

Preppy had a reputation for harassing freshmen girls at his school and getting away with it under daddy's clout.

Old and wiry had just been unlucky enough to sit at the table, but from the looks of it, he'd already noticed this was not a table he wanted to stay at; Blondie having made sure he got enough signs when he thought only the man was watching.

Yup, as much as Sam and Dean did not believe this could be happening, it was starting to seem awfully clear: They ate a lot, specially sweet things and junk food – at least one of them did; They only went after people who deserved it and had fun at those people's expenses – they were definitively having a great time and enjoying themselves; And they had an inexplicable run of good luck going their way.

Everything fit, and while there were still some questions in Sam and Dean's minds, at least one of them perfectly fit the definition of a Trickster.

Dean had really disliked the last one of these they'd encountered, but it'd turned out to not really be a Trickster. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't really fault their logic and philosophy per se… he actually agreed with most of it. Still, it was Dean's job, his responsibility, to hunt these things.

He sighed deeply and casually patted the stake inside his jacket pocket as he moved towards the table.

A/N2: Yes, it's a crossover. And it's finished. I'll upload the next chapters soon.