"'Supernatural' is filmed before a live studio audience."
Dean placed the mustard and cheese spray back in the awkwardly yellow refrigerator in a way that angled it perfectly for product placement. The audience cheered as Dean turned around the admire the gargantuan sandwich he had constructed.
"I'm gonna need a bigger mouth," Dean said.
Sam walked through the door, not entirely sure how long he'd been standing on the other side of it with a look of exaggerated frustration on his face.
"Hey there, Sam," Dean said a little too clearly and loudly, "What's happening?"
Sam said, "Oh nothing, just the end of the world." He put his hands on his hips for emphasis. God, he hated sitcoms.
Dean gave his sarcasm an appreciative smile.
Sam looked at the sandwich on the table, almost genuinely surprised by its size. "You're gonna need a bigger mouth," he said.
Dean gestured broadly, making the audience cheer and laugh. Sam tried not to think about the sheer anger he was bottling up over his whole thing.
"Hey, uh, have you done your research yet?" Sam asked.
Dean got a funny look on his face and turned away, facing the audience with what was probably an even funnier face. "Oh, yeah," he said, "All kinds of research. All night."
"Yeah?" Sam said, feigning some pleasant surprise. He really hated this story line.
A nearly naked woman stepped out from the "motel" bathroom wearing what looked like a bikini but was probably supposed to be lingerie. Fucking sitcoms. "Oh, Dean," she said, "We have some more 'research' to do."
Sam turned to Dean like he was supposed to and folded his arms like he was supposed to. "Dean," he said with a scripted disapproving tone.
Dean turned towards the camera, like he was supposed to, and gave a comically timed, "Son of a bitch."
It was official. Sam Winchester was going to kill the Trickster.
Two days earlier in Wellington, Ohio...
The Trickster had told Sam the night before where to go for their staged case. Dean and Sam showed up in town, booked a room in the local motel, and got to work. It was all going according to plan. Until they were actually going to start working the case.
When Sam came out of the bathroom, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt, Dean was watching TV. That in and of itself wasn't weird, but Dean watching a doctor and a girl in scrubs make out in an elevator was definitely weird. It looked like...a soap opera.
"What are you watching?" Sam asked. He tried not to judge too harshly. He'd need to be on Dean's good side for his plan with the Trickster to work.
"It's a hospital show," Dean said, not taking his eyes away from the TV, "'Dr. Sexy M.D.' I think it's based on a book."
Sam chuckled. Okay, needing Dean to be in a good mood or not, Sam was not passing this one up. "When did you hit menopause?" he asked.
"It's called channel surfing," Dean said. Sam didn't miss the defensive tone in his brother's voice.
"You ready?" Sam asked, grabbing his suit jacket.
Dean got up, turned off the TV, and asked, "Are you?"
Dean gave Sam a threatening "no judgment" look, and all Sam could do was smile, knowing he'd caught his brother watching a hospital drama.
Once at the police station, Sam started to wonder if the Trickster hadn't laid it on a little too thick for this case. He also hoped the Trickster hadn't actually killed anybody to stage it. But seriously, the cops thought a bear chased Mr. Randolph into his house, up the stairs, and killed him in his bedroom. It was so far fetched, it seemed to scream that the Trickster was involved.
But maybe that was just because Sam knew the demigod was involved. He tried his best to keep a strong poker face through the whole thing.
He really did try.
Upon meeting the deceased man's wife, however, it became much, much harder to keep his composure over this case.
"No, it-it must've been a bear," Mrs. Randolph said, "I mean, what else could it have been?"
"Mrs. Randolph," Sam said gently, leaning forward.
The woman looked at Sam with her bright eyes, and for a minute she looked almost happy. Which made no sense since they were interrogating her about her dead husband.
Sam asked, "What did you think it was?"
"No, I-I remember clearly now," she said, "It was definitely a bear."
"We're sure it was," Dean said, "But see, it helps to hear every angle, so just tell us what you thought you saw."
"Well, it's impossible, but...I could've sworn I saw..." she started. She looked at Sam again with those bright eyes. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear she knew him.
"The Incredible Hulk," she finished. She dropped her eyes, and her lip twitched like she found the idea funny. Like she might erupt in a shit-eating grin at any moment. Which would make no sense unless...
Was it...? No, it couldn't be...except it could.
"The Incredible Hulk," Sam said, making sure he'd heard correctly.
"I told you. It's crazy," she said.
"You, umm-" Sam started. He felt something brush up his leg. Mrs. Randolph's foot? Holy shit, he was right. They were interrogating the Trickster. Of course they were. Sam tried his best to control his reaction as her foot moved further up his leg, but he knew he face betrayed everything. Hopefully, Dean took it as his reaction to the Incredible Hulk being their suspect rather than anything else going on.
"Bana or Norton?" Dean asked.
The Trickster withdrew her foot from Sam's leg, resting it on top of his shoe. "Oh, no," she said, "Those movies were terrible. The TV Hulk."
"Lou Ferrigno," Dean said.
"Yes," the Trickster said quickly.
"Spiky haired Lou Ferrigno," Dean said, still clearly not believing what he was hearing.
"Yes," the Trickster said again.
Dean nodded and said, "Huh." He turned towards Sam. Sam was desperately trying to ignore the foot still touching his while he met Dean's gaze with a confused look.
"Oh, you think I'm crazy," the Trickster said, looking down at her hands sadly.
Sam shook his head, trying to reassure her. Or at least make it look to Dean like he was trying to reassure her. All he wanted to do was get the hell out of that interrogation room.
"No, uh," Dean said, "No, it-it's just-is-is there, uh...would there be any reason Lou Ferrigno, the Incredible Hulk, um, would have a grudge against your husband?"
"No," she said, like it was obvious.
Dean said a quiet, "No," as if he'd been expecting any other answer.
"Well, thank you for your time, Mrs. Randolph," Sam said, "I think that's all the questions we have for you right now."
Dean nodded and stood up with Sam. Dean headed for the door. Sam followed, but the Trickster quickly grabbed his hand and gave Sam a small smile. Sam gave her a stern look, because honestly? In front of Dean? Really? The Trickster could've shot their entire plan in the foot before it even got off the ground.
After the precinct, Sam opted to check out the crime scene while Dean dug up some more info about the case. He needed some time to himself to try and regain his composure if he was going to manage to talk Dean into working with the Trickster.
Sam dropped Dean at the motel and headed off towards the Randolph house in the Impala.
"Hey, kiddo." The Trickster popped up in the passenger seat without warning, startling Sam into nearly crashing his brother's car.
Sam recovered from his swerve and said, "Do you always have to show up out of nowhere like that?"
"No, but it's more fun when I do," the Trickster said with a grin, "So, where are we going?"
"I was going to check out the crime scene," Sam said.
"Why would you do that?" the Trickster asked, "You already know I set all of this up."
"Because I have to work this like a regular case, so Dean doesn't get suspicious. Do the Randolphs even exist?" Sam asked.
"Nope, I made 'em up. Implanted memories are so useful that way."
"Is there even a crime scene?"
The Trickster said, "Of course there's a crime scene. There's paper trails, social security numbers, everything. You of all people should know I don't half ass anything." He gave Sam a suggestive grin, and Sam did all he could to fight the blush rising to his cheeks.
The Trickster laughed. They spent the rest of the car ride in comfortable silence with the Trickster occasionally giving Sam directions.
When they arrived, Sam said, "Y'know, you could've snapped us here."
The Trickster smiled and said, "Yeah, but I also like watching your hands work the wheel."
Sam rolled his eyes and got out of the car.
Well, this was definitely the right place. The front of the house had a giant, gaping hole instead of a door.
"You really Hulk-smashed through this house," Sam said.
The Trickster bowed and said, "Thank you, thank you."
Sam grinned. "Now, I just need some proof that you were here that I can show Dean," he said.
The Trickster looked up at Sam and asked, "What signs do you and your brother normally notice in a case where I'm involved?"
Sam shrugged and said, "People getting just desserts, candy, a very handsome demigod."
Something dark flashed behind the Trickster's eyes for a moment. Sam almost commented, but the look passed quickly. The Trickster produced a handful of candy wrappers and dropped them into Sam's hand.
"Here ya go, Sam, proof of a Trickster," the Trickster said.
There was something off about the Trickster's smile. The last time they'd been together, his smile had been bright, beautiful, and genuine. Now, his smile laid flat on his face. Something was wrong.
"Are you okay?" Sam asked, reaching up to stroke the Trickster's cheek.
The Trickster leaned into the touch and closed his eyes for a moment. "Yeah," he said, "I'm fine. You should probably get back to Dean, though."
Sam could tell there was something the Trickster wasn't saying, but he didn't press it. There was always something the Trickster was hiding. This wasn't anything new. Still, Sam worried a bit.
They got back in the car and headed back towards the motel.
Halfway there, the Trickster turned to Sam and said, "I'll give you a sign when I'm ready for you guys. You've got a police radio, right?"
"Yeah," Sam said.
"Okay, good," the Trickster said, "Listen to that, and you'll know where I am."
"Got it," Sam said.
"Oh, and Sam?" the Trickster said.
Sam glanced over at him and said, "Yeah?"
"I love you."
"I love you, too," Sam said, smiling.
The Trickster snapped his fingers, leaving him alone in the car.
Sam drove the rest of the way back to the motel. He opened the door to the room to find Dean on the laptop.
"Hey," Sam said, closing the door behind him.
"Find anything?" Dean asked.
Sam took a breath. This was it. He needed to handle this perfectly. "Well, uh, I saw the house," he said.
"And?"
"And there is a giant, eight-foot-wide hole where the front door used to be. Almost like a..."
"A hulk-size hole," Dean finished.
"Maybe," Sam said, trying not to be too hasty to point Dean in the right direction, "What do you got?"
Dean said, "Well, it turns out Bill Randolph had quite the temper." He turned his attention to the laptop and pulled up a couple of files. "Uh, he's got two counts of spousal battery, bar brawls, and court-ordered anger management sessions," Dean said, "You might say you wouldn't like him when he's angry."
Sam chuckled to himself. So, that's what the Trickster was doing with this weird case. He was laying out his MO. "So, a hothead getting killed by TV's greatest hothead," he said, "Kind of sounds like just desserts, doesn't it?"
That was always the phrase they used with the Trickster. Hopefully, if he coaxed Dean to the right conclusion, this would all go a lot smoother.
Sam said, "It's all starting to make sense."
"How's it all starting to make sense?" Dean asked.
Sam said, "Well, I found something else at the crime scene." He pulled out the wrappers that the Trickster had given him and said, "Candy wrappers. Lots of 'em." He dropped the candy wrappers on the table in front of Dean and hoped he'd make the connection.
Sam walked past Dean to take off his jacket as Dean reached for one of the wrappers. He cast Dean a sideways glance as his brother worked it out for himself.
"Just desserts, sweet tooth, screwing with people before you kill 'em," Dean said, "We're dealing with the Trickster, aren't we?"
Sam made sure to keep his back to Dean to hide whatever his face could betray about this new development. "Sure looks like," he muttered. Dean had no idea who much they were dealing with the Trickster.
"Good," Dean said, "Been wanting to gank that mother since the Mystery Spot."
Sam glanced up at Dean, worried. If Dean wanted to kill the Trickster just like that, there was no way his brother would understand about his friendship with the demigod or relationship or whatever the hell was going on between them. Sure, the main point of this whole case was to be able to work with the Trickster to stop the apocalypse, but Sam had a bit of a bigger end game in the back of his mind. He hoped, through all of this, Sam might be able to tell Dean about the Trickster, about their friendship, about falling in love with him, all of it. None of that would happen if Dean was too trigger happy.
"You sure?" Sam asked softly, hoping Dean wasn't so dead set against the Trickster.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Dean said. He looked at Sam like he'd spoken in tongues or something. Maybe Dean had missed what he was asking.
"No, I mean, are you sure you want to kill him?" Sam asked.
"Son of a bitch didn't think twice about icing me," Dean said, "A thousand times."
"No, I know, I-I mean, I'm just saying," Sam said.
"What are you saying?" Dean asked, incredulous, "If you don't want to kill him, then what?"
Sam paused. He could say any of the answers that readily sprang to mind like kissing him or holding him or studying his bright eyes and beautiful smile. Yeah, none of that would go over very well.
"Talk to him?" Sam said.
"What?" Dean asked.
"Look, think about it, Dean," Sam said, "He's one of the most powerful creatures we've ever met. Maybe we can use him."
"For what?" Dean asked, looking at Sam skeptically.
Sam took a deep breath. Dean had to be on board with this plan. There was no way they'd be able to stop the apocalypse without him.
"Okay, Trickster's like a-like a Hugh Hefner type, right? Wine, women, song?" Sam said, "Maybe he doesn't want the party to end? I mean, maybe he hates this 'angels and demons' stuff as much as we do. Maybe he'll help us."
"You're serious?" Dean said, maintaining his judgmental expression.
"Yeah."
"Ally with the Trickster."
"Yeah."
"A bloody, violent monster," Dean said, "And you want to be Facebook friends with him? Nice, Sammy."
Well, that settled that. Sam would never, ever tell Dean what was going on between him and the Trickster. His brother would never look at him the same way again.
But they still needed the Trickster's help with the apocalypse.
"The world is gonna end, Dean. We don't have the luxury of a moral stand," Sam said, "I'm just saying, it's worth a shot, that's all. If it doesn't work...we'll kill him."
As Sam said the words, he realized that he'd sooner fight his brother than let him hurt the Trickster.
Dean shook his head in a way that told Sam he was backing down. "How we gonna find the guy anyway?" he asked.
"Well, he never takes one victim, right?" Sam said, "He'll show."
It was a weak lie considering there had only been two cases directly involving the Trickster, and the Mystery Spot had only had one victim. Dean didn't say anything, though, and the flimsy lie was much better than coming clean to Dean about his plan with the Trickster.
An hour later, Dean sat on the edge of his bed sharpening a stake. Sam hated it, but he didn't say anything. His brother would only feel okay about this arrangement if he was armed.
Sam sat by the police radio waiting for the Trickster's signal pretending like he was just listening for a possible lead.
Finally, the hand radio made noise. "Uh, dispatch? I have a possible 187 out here at the old paper mill on Route 6," a voice said.
"Hey," Sam said, getting Dean's attention.
The officer they'd talked to early replied, saying, "Roger that. What are you lookin' at there, son?"
"Honestly, Walt, I wouldn't even know how to describe what I'm seeing. Just...send everybody."
"Alright, stay calm, stay by your car, help's on the way."
"That sounds weird," Dean said.
"Weird enough to be our guy?" Sam asked. He was sure it was, but it was always easier to get Dean on board with a plan if he thought it was his idea.
Dean gave Sam a look that easily said that they should check it out just in case.
The old paper mill wasn't all that far outside of town. They got there in a matter of minutes. No sign of the Trickster, though.
Getting out of the car, Dean said, "There was a murder here, and there's no police cars, there's nobody. How does that look to you?"
Sam looked around and said, "Crappy." Where the hell was the Trickster? What was going on? Dean was right, it did seem like a trap, but the Trickster was on their side now. What was he doing?
Dean popped the trunk to grab some gear to defend themselves. He handed Sam a blood-tipped stake and flashlight, grabbing the same for himself.
Sam checked to make sure the flashlight worked and fought the urge to throw the stake to the ground. He knew he wouldn't be using it.
They approached the door. Dean opened it, and Sam slipped inside.
Some soft music lilted through the air as Sam and Dean faced what looked like the inside of a hospital.
"What the hell?" Dean said. Sam looked at him. Dean was wearing scrubs. And a doctor's coat. The fuck?
Sam looked down, realizing he was wearing the same. What the hell. He knew the Trickster liked to screw with them, but seriously, what the hell.
Two women in scrubs walked past. "Doctor," one of them said. The second one also said, "Doctor."
"Doctor?" Sam said, confused.
Dean opened the door they'd come in to see two people making out in what was now a supply closet. He quickly closed the door looking just as confused as Sam felt.
A small, brunette woman walked up to Sam and said, "Doctor" before slapping him across the face.
"Ow!" he said, stunned.
"Seriously?" she asked.
"What?" he asked.
"Seriously? You're brilliant, you know that? And a coward. You're a brilliant coward."
"Uh, what are you talking about?"
She smacked him again, hard, and said, "As if you don't know." She quickly walked away.
Sam's face stung, and he stared after her perplexed and not a little bit frustrated. He hoped that that wasn't the Trickster. If it was, then he had absolutely no idea why he'd be pissed at Sam.
Dean got a bright look on his face. "I don't believe this," he said.
"What?" Sam asked, irritated.
"That was Dr. Piccolo," Dean said.
"Who?"
"Dr. Ellen Piccolo. The sexy yet earnest doctor at...Seattle Mercy Hospital."
"Uh, Dean?" Sam said, catching up to his brother, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"The doctor get-ups. The-the-the sexy interns. The 'seriouslys.' It all makes sense," Dean said.
"What makes sense?" Sam asked, "What's going on?"
Dean said, "We're in 'Dr. Sexy M.D.'"
Sam tried to process what Dean said in a rational, not-insane way, but being in a TV show was stretching the imagination a little too far. He looked around for the Trickster. He had to be around here. He couldn't have just stuck them in a TV show for no reason.
Luckily, Sam only had to endure Dean sharing way too much information about a show that he was supposedly not a fan of for a few minutes before Dean slammed Dr. Sexy up against a wall.
Sam was deeply concerned that his older brother was going to scar him for life again by making out with Dr. Sexy, but luckily, Dean said, "You're not Dr. Sexy."
At first, Sam was relieved that he wouldn't be subjected to more of his brother's lack of modesty, but then he was confused. If Dr. Sexy wasn't Dr. Sexy, then he had to be the Trickster. And that meant that the Trickster really did trap them in TV Land. Maybe the Trickster changed their plan to make it fit his style a bit more.
"You're crazy," Dr. Sexy said.
"Really?" Dean asked, "Because I swore part of what makes Dr. Sexy sexy is the fact that he wears cowboy boots, not tennis shoes."
Did those words really come out of Dean's mouth? Sam didn't miss a beat. "Yeah," he said, "You're not a fan."
"It's a guilty pleasure," Dean snapped.
Dr. Sexy looked down the hall and said, "Call security" in the most obnoxiously nonchalant way Sam had ever heard.
"Yeah, go ahead, pal. See, we know what you are," Dean said.
Suddenly, everyone around them in the hospital froze.
Dr. Sexy morphed into the Trickster and said with a false smile, "You guys are getting better."
Sam's heart thudded in his chest. They had to sell this.
"Get us the hell outta here," Dean said.
The Trickster looked around and asked, "Or what?" He wrenched Dean's arms off of him. "Don't see any wooden stakes, big guy," he said.
"That was you on the police scanner, right? This is a trick," Sam said.
The Trickster looked at Sam over Dean's shoulder. "Helloo, Trickster," he said, pointing to himself.
Sam felt unnerved. The Trickster he knew had stopped looking at him like that a long time ago. But here he was, looking at Sam like he was just another obstacle in his way. Sure, the Trickster was obviously a good actor, but Sam felt the first twinge of fear that this really was a trick.
"C'mon, I heard you two yahoos were in town, how could I resist?" the Trickster said.
Sam tried not to think about the Trickster's hands on his skin, lips and teeth everywhere. This couldn't be a trick. Not a real trick. The Trickster wouldn't hurt him like that.
"Where the hell are we?" Dean asked.
"Like it?" the Trickster said, "It's all homemade." He turned around and rapped his fingers on a window. "My own sets." He gestured to the frozen nurses and doctors around them. "My own actors." He spun around and faced Sam and Dean. "Call it my own little idiot box," he said with a grin.
"How do we get out?" Dean asked.
The Trickster smiled and said, "That, my friend, is the 64 dollar question."
"Whatever," Sam said, trying to get to the point and drown out the thoughts of betrayal buzzing around his head, "We just-we need to talk to you. We need your help." He had to stick to the plan. He had to.
"Hmm, let me guess. You two muttonheads broke the world, and you want me to sweep up your mess," the Trickster said, staring at Sam icily.
"Please," Sam said. Please, let it be a part of the Trickster's act. Please, let it be part of the plan. Please, don't let this be a trick. "Just five minutes," Sam continued, "Hear us out."
The Trickster said a gleeful, "Sure. Tell you what. Survive the next 24 hours. We'll talk."
Sam's stomach dropped. He could hear the darkness behind the Trickster's words. This was a trick.
"Survive what?" Dean asked. Sam didn't care what the answer was. He'd been tricked. Again. But the Trickster was his friend if not something more. What was going on?
"The game," the Trickster said. It was a game. It was all a game to him. Of course it was.
Dean asked, "What game?"
"You're in it," the Trickster said. Sam hoped the Trickster could hear the pain shredding through his chest. He hoped the Trickster knew exactly what this was doing to him.
"How do we play?" Dean asked.
The Trickster said, "You're playing it."
"What are the rules?"
The Trickster bounced his eyebrows in response and disappeared.
Dean said, "Oh, son of a bitch." Honestly, Sam couldn't have agreed more.
Fuck.
To top it all off, the same woman who smacked him earlier tried to smack him again within a few minutes of the Trickster's departure.
"Lady, what the hell?" Sam snapped, dodging her swat at him.
She said, "You are a brilliant, brilliant-"
"Yeah, a coward. You already said that. But I got news for you. I am not a doctor," Sam said.
Dr. Piccolo gasped dramatically and said, "Don't say that. You are the finest cerebrovascular neurosurgeon I have ever met, and I have met plenty."
Great. It was definitely the Trickster. Just replace 'cerebrovascular neurosurgeon' with 'human,' and it was a conversation they'd already had.
"So that girl died on your table," Dr. Piccolo said, "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. Sometimes people just die."
Was he talking about Ruby? Or maybe this wasn't the Trickster. Or maybe it was, and he was just trying to drive Sam absolutely insane.
"I have no idea what you're saying to me," Sam said, trying to get some clue as to who he was dealing with here.
"You're afraid," she said, "You're afraid to operate again, and you're afraid to love." She walked down the hall away from them, crying.
What the fuck? It'd be easier to figure out if this was just soap opera drama, or if it was the Trickster trying to talk to him if his real life weren't so damn dramatic.
"Yeah, we're getting out of here," Sam said.
But they weren't getting out of there. The next thing Sam knew, his brother was shot in the back, and he was standing over Dean, calling for a doctor in the middle of a hospital while wearing a lab coat.
And suddenly, they were in an operating room. They didn't walk there, there wasn't a stretcher. Dean wasn't even under anesthesia. It was just like in television. Everything just faded to black and the next scene started. What the actual fuck.
Nurses were handing him scalpels, which Sam had no experience with, and he sure as hell wasn't going to operate on his brother without knowing full well what he was doing, and that crazy doctor who kept slapping him was watching him through the operating room window and crying and nothing made any goddamn sense.
"Sam, do something. Come on," Dean said.
Sam leaned closer to Dean and said, "I don't know how to use any of this crap."
"Figure it out," Dean snapped.
Sam stood back up and tried to pretend that all the nurses around them weren't judging him for clearly not knowing any medicine at all.
"Sam! Come on. I'm waiting," Dean said.
"Okay, umm," Sam said. He could do this. He'd fixed bullet holes before. Maybe if he had- "I need a penknife, some dental floss, a sewing needle, and a fifth of whiskey."
The nursing staff all just stared at him like he'd asked them to throw him a birthday party in the O.R.
"Stat!" Sam said, hoping they'd realize he was serious.
The nurses started bustling around quickly, getting the things he needed. Honestly, Sam was just glad that they weren't just staring at him anymore.
After a quick surgery montage, it looked like Dean was going to be fine. Sam looked up from Dean's back to see that Dr. Piccolo was still watching him through the window.
She mouthed 'I love you' at him.
Sam paused. Was it the Trickster? If it was, why was he doing this? Why was he crying?
She pressed a hand to the window and cried some more.
Sam didn't know how to take any of this. He turned away from the window and the operating table when some weird music started. And clapping.
Clapping?
Sam and Dean found themselves on a stage strapped into weird looking pedestals. And everyone was speaking a foreign language. Japanese?
Someone came out in a very shiny, silver suit and spoke very fast Japanese before saying, "Let's play Nutcracker!"
Sam looked at the podium he was on and out at the audience. What the hell was going on?
"Sam Winchester," the game show host said. He leaned over towards Sam and started reading off a question card in Japanese.
Completely in Japanese.
Sam had no idea what the guy was saying.
"Countdown," the host said, pointing at a timer on Sam's other side.
"What? Uh," Sam said in confusion. He looked at Dean and asked, "What am I supposed to say?"
"You think I know?" Dean asked.
Sam faced the game show host and said, "Uh, I-I don't-I don't understand, uh, Japanese."
The host replied in another string of very fast Japanese.
Sam chuckled nervously and said, "Is he screwing with me?"
Dean gave a confused gesture.
"I-I-I don't speak Japanese," Sam tried again.
A buzzer sounded.
The game show host sighed. A dull roar came from the audience.
The host spoke some more Japanese before saying, "Ruby."
Ruby? What the hell did Ruby have to do with-
"I'm sorry, Sam Winchester," the host said.
"Sorry? Sorry for what?" Sam asked, nervous. He looked over at his brother and said, "Dean?"
Suddenly, the ball at the end of the podium Sam was standing on flew up and hit him in the dick.
Sam doubled over, groaning in pain and seeing stars. Yep, he must've done something to piss off the Trickster. What the hell could he have done? More importantly, how were they going to survive the malice of a pissed off Trickster? But he could barely think about that with the throbbing pain running through his crotch and legs.
"Whoa! Nutcracker!" the host shouted.
Sam groaned. If his feet weren't strapped into the podium, he'd be on his knees in pain.
"Sam?" Dean said.
Sam looked over at his brother and managed a strangled, "Yeah?"
One of the girls on stage called the host over. She was holding what looked like a bag of chips.
Sam placed his hand on the button part of the podium in order to give himself some balance. What the hell? Why would this show exist? Why would the Trickster think up this sort of show? The way Sam remembered it, the Trickster really liked his dick. Why he would start aiming spring loaded balls at Sam's penis was beyond him.
"You okay?" Dean asked.
Sam gave Dean an exasperated look. Did he look okay? He was still doubled over after taking a shot to the nuts.
A loud banging sound came from behind them.
"No what?" Dean asked.
Sam forced himself back upright and turned around the face whatever was coming.
Cas walked through the doors behind them.
"Cas?" Dean said, surprised.
"Is this another trick?" Sam asked, hoping the Trickster would come out and answer him himself.
"It's me," Cas said, "Uh, what are you doing here?"
"Us? What are you doing here?" Dean asked.
Cas said, "Looking for you. You've been missing for days."
"So, get us the hell out of here, then," Sam said. It wasn't like they had the time to chat when the Trickster was running the show.
"Let's go," Cas said, raising his hands to teleport them out.
Before he could do anything, though, Cas disappeared in a flash of television static like the Trickster had earlier.
"Cas?" Dean said, staring at the spot their friend had just stood in.
"No, no, no, no," the game show host said, walking back between Sam and Dean, "Mr. Trickster does not like pretty boy angels."
The host started speaking in Japanese again, and Sam prayed he wouldn't get hit in the crotch again.
"Dean Winchester," the host said.
Sam looked at Dean, worried. Crap. Dean was screwed.
The host asked his question in Japanese again before starting the countdown.
"What do I do?" Dean asked Sam, "What do I do? I don't wanna get hit in the nuts."
Sam stumbled around words for an answer. Honestly, he had no idea how Dean could suddenly learn Japanese. Then again, Sam had no idea how he could suddenly learn how to perform surgery either. "Wait," he said.
"What?" Dean asked.
"I played a doctor," Sam said.
"What?" Dean asked again.
Sam said, "In-in Dr. Sexy. I played a doctor. I operated."
"So?" Dean asked.
"So, I played the role the Trickster wanted me to play," Sam said, "Maybe we just have to go along with it."
"Go along with what?"
"The game. I mean, we're on a game show, right? So just answer the question."
"In Japanese?"
"Yeah!"
"I don't know Japanese!"
"Try!"
"Damn it!"
Dean pressed the button on his podium just as the buzzer sounded.
Silence filled the set.
The host looked at Dean.
Dean spoke Japanese.
Holy shit.
The host asked Dean something, and Dean replied in Japanese again. Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean, but Dean looked as shocked and confused as Sam felt.
The host said some more Japanese, and Dean braced himself for the hit to the balls, when the host shouted, "Dean Winchester! Nutcracker champion!" He threw his cue cards to the ground and bowed as lights and music flooded the stage.
"How did you do that?" Sam asked.
Dean smiled and said, "I have no idea."
"So, that's it," Sam said, "We play our roles, we survive."
"Yeah, play our roles for how long?" Dean asked.
Sam swallowed nervously and said, "Good question."
Sam hoped it wouldn't be too long. Now that he knew what the Trickster wanted from them, he hoped this was all just part of the Trickster's plan. He really, truly hoped that this was all just set up to agreeing to help them with the apocalypse. He'd gladly take a hundred more nut-shots if it meant getting some help against the Devil.
After a fade to black, Sam found himself on a basketball court with Dean and a few other guys. He could hear other people talking about genital herpes. He knew his part was coming up. But why? Why would the Trickster make this his part? If the Trickster had given him genital herpes, so help him-
Sam sunk a basket and turned to face where the camera was supposed to be. "Seriously?" he said.
Dean jogged over and said, "Hey, you're the one who said play our roles, so." He pointed towards the camera.
"Yeah, right," Sam said, still very reluctant to do this.
Dean patted Sam's shoulder and resumed playing basketball with the random guys.
Sam said to the camera very, very haltingly, "I've got genital herpes."
The others said lines before Sam had to say, "But now I take twice daily Herpexia to reduce my chances of passing it on."
He was going to kill the Trickster for this. He really was going to kill him. A herpes commercial? Really?
Dean started a voice over, saying, "Patients should always consult with a physician before using Herpexia. Possible side effects include headache, diarrhea, permanent erectile dysfunction, thoughts of suicide, and nausea."
Sam took a deep, irritated breath. He said, "I am doing all I can to slightly lessen the spread of-of...genital herpes. And that's a good thing." He tried to force a smile before heading back to playing basketball.
"We now return to 'Supernatural.'"
Dean turned towards the camera, like he was supposed to, and gave a comically timed, "Son of a bitch."
The audience laughed in the most forced, fake way Sam had ever heard.
Sam gave Dean an emphatically disappointed look before crossing the set to the gorgeous girl who had just stepped out of the bathroom in a bikini and heels. "I am really, really, very sorry," he said, "But we've got some work to do."
"But we did do work," the girl said, smiling at Dean, "In depth."
The audience really seemed to like that one.
The girl left with a wave, and Sam closed the door behind her.
"How long do we have to keep doing this?" Dean asked, still smiling for the audience.
"I don't know," Sam said, facing the audience with a phony grin, "Maybe forever? We might die in here."
The audience laughed.
"How is that funny?" Dean asked, dropping his smile, "Vultures."
Cas walked through the door with a cut and dried blood across his nose and some bruises sprinkled about his face.
"You okay?" Dean asked.
"I don't have much time," Cas said.
Sam asked, "What happened?"
"I got out," Cas said.
"From where?" Dean asked.
"Listen to me," Cas said, "Something is not right. This thing is way more powerful than it should be."
"What thing?" Dean asked, "The Trickster?"
"If it is a Trickster," Cas said.
Sam asked quickly, "What do you mean?"
Before Cas could say anything, he got flung back against the wall by an invisible force.
The door swung open, and the Trickster hopped through with a bright, "Hello!"
This had to be it. This had to be the end of the trick. This was when the Trickster would agree to help them stop the Devil.
The audience erupted in cheers and applause.
"Thank you," the Trickster said, waving to the audience he'd created, "Thank you. Please, stop."
Cas turned towards the Trickster with duct tape magically covering his mouth.
"Hi, Castiel!" the Trickster said with a grin.
Cas looked from the Trickster to Sam and to Dean.
The Trickster waved his hand and made Cas disappear again.
Sam quickly asked, "You know him?" to cover for the fact that they weren't supposed to have run into the Trickster since the Mystery Spot, which was long before Castiel came into their lives.
Not that Dean noticed anyway. Dean angrily asked, "Where did you just send him?"
The Trickster said, "Relax. He'll live. Maybe."
The audience thought that was hilarious, which only served to make Dean more angry and Sam a bit more wary.
"Alright, you know what?" Dean said, stepping around Sam and moving between him and the Trickster, "I'm done with the monkey dance, 'kay? We get it."
"Yeah? Get what, hotshot?" the Trickster asked.
"Playing our roles, right? That's your game?" Dean said.
"That's half the game," the Trickster said.
Sam asked, "What's the other half?"
"Play your roles out there," the Trickster said, looking at Sam.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.
"You know," the Trickster said, "Sam starring as Lucifer, Dean starring as Michael. Your celebrity death match. Play your roles."
Sam's heart thudded painfully in his chest. "You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?" he asked.
"Hells yeah, let's light this candle," the Trickster said, grinning.
"We do that, the world will end," Sam said.
The Trickster fixed Sam with an icy gaze and a bright smile, "Yeah? And whose fault is that?"
Sam swallowed and looked at his friend, confused and hurt. He couldn't mean that. Not after all they'd been through. He couldn't.
"Who popped Lucifer out of the box, hmm?" the Trickster said, "Look, it's started. You started it. It can't be stopped, so let's get it over with."
Sam clenched his jaw. This was just like with Ruby all over again. When would he learn to stop trusting these supernatural assholes? Demon? Demigod? It didn't matter. They all just wanted to use and manipulate him to end the freaking world. This was the last straw.
"Heaven or Hell, which side you on?" Dean asked.
"I'm not on either side," the Trickster said.
"Yeah, right," Dean said, "You're grabbing ankle for Michael or Lucifer. Which one is it?"
"You listen to me you arrogant dick," the Trickster said, stepping closer to Dean, "I don't work for either of those SOBs, believe me."
"Hmm. Oh, you're somebody's bitch," Dean said.
The Trickster dropped his smile and grabbed Dean shirt roughly, slamming him into the wall. "Don't you ever, ever presume to know what I am," he hissed.
Sam faltered. There was pain in those words, a pain Sam desperately wanted to help heal. But that didn't excuse the pain the Trickster had caused. It didn't do anything to soothe the ache of betrayal Sam felt in his chest.
The Trickster turned to Sam and said, "Now, listen to me very closely. Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and play the roles that destiny has chosen for you."
"And if we don't?" Sam asked.
"Then, you'll stay here in TV Land," the Trickster said, "Forever."
Sam looked at the Trickster knowing full well that all the hurt he felt was written all over his face. He'd trusted the Trickster. He'd talked with him. He'd been friends with him, lovers. He'd opened up to him, told him things he'd never told anyone else. And this is what he got in return. Really, why had Sam expected anything more?
The Trickster didn't reply to the thoughts Sam knew he'd heard. Instead, the demigod said, "300 channels and, uh, nothing's on." He snapped his fingers.
Sam and Dean were outside. It was dark. Cameras flashed over the dried blood of a corpse. Cops and a medical examiner's team swarmed a new crime scene. Sam and Dean were wearing suits. Dramatic music played in the background.
Dean and Sam turned away from the police tape.
"Oh, come on," Dean said.
"So," a guy said, coming up to them, "What do you think?"
"What do I think?" Dean asked, "I think go screw yourself. That's what I think."
"Uh, could you give us a sec, please? Thanks," Sam said. He turned to Dean and said quietly, "You need to calm down."
"Calm down?" Dean snapped, "I am wearing sunglasses at night. You know who does that? No-talent douchebags. I hate this game. I hate that we're in a procedural cop show. And you wanna know why? Because I hate procedural cop shows. There's like 300 of em on television. They're all the freakin' same. It's 'ooh, a plane crashed here' oh, shut up!"
Sam looked over at the crime scene to make sure that Dean's little rant didn't draw too much attention, and sure enough, the guy he'd just sent away was sucking on a lollipop. Bingo.
"Hey," Sam said, stopping Dean from continuing his tirade about procedural cop dramas.
"What?" Dean asked.
Sam nodded towards the crime scene and said, "Check out sweet tooth over there."
Dean asked, "Think that's him?"
Sam wasn't at all sure, but he had kind of spelled out the Trickster giveaways to the guy earlier. The Trickster wouldn't be so careless as to give himself away so easily. But maybe, if he was lucky enough, he'd be able to trick the Trickster.
"Just, uh, follow my lead," Sam said to Dean.
Sam headed towards the crime scene slowly, strutting over like he knew exactly what he was doing. Dean followed suit. They put their sunglasses back on and walked up to the corpse like two of the coolest detectives that ever graced a television.
Mr. Sweet Tooth stood by the body when Sam and Dean approached. "You, uh, you okay?"
Dean said in a gravelly, aloof voice, "Yeah. What do we got?" He looked away dramatically.
"Well, aside from the ligature marks around his neck, he has what appears to be a roll of quarters jammed down his throat," the guy said.
Sam removed his sunglasses with an exaggerated motion. "Well, I say," he said in a low voice, "Jackpot."
The guy chuckled and said, "Also, there was a stab wound to the lower abdomen there."
Dean grabbed a large stick and lifted up the bloody part of the shirt with it. Sam was glad they were on the same page.
Dean said, "Well, I say...no guts, no glory." He put his sunglasses back on and looked off into the distance.
Sam said, "Get that guy a...tums."
"Gutter ball," Dean said.
The guy took the lollipop out of his mouth and laughed. "That's a good one guys," he said.
The guy turned around to face Dean who jammed the blood-tipped stick through the guy's chest and straight into his still-beating heart.
Dean pulled out the makeshift stake. Blood oozed out of the gaping hole.
The guy fell to the ground, choking on his own blood. Sam used the cover of the guy gagging to follow through the second part of his plan. It was always good to have some insurance. Walking a few feet off, he grabbed a jagged, broken log that he'd seen while looking off dramatically as per his role.
A man behind Dean started laughing. Sam slipped behind the crime scene and got around behind the guy.
Dean turned around as the guy morphed into the Trickster they knew.
"You got the wrong guy, idiot," the Trickster said.
Dean asked, "Did we?"
Sam came up behind the Trickster and slammed the jagged log through the Trickster's chest. He didn't even hesitate. Part of him ached with the thought of having killed the Trickster, but that part was in so much pain from knowing the Trickster was trying to start the apocalypse that Sam didn't pay much notice to it.
The Trickster dropped to the ground, dead. Suddenly, Sam and Dean were back in the warehouse that they thought they'd entered to begin with. It must've worked. It must've been over. The Trickster must have actually died.
Sam tried not to think about it too much, he was just happy to get out of TV Land.
The next morning in the motel, Sam wasn't quite sure where he was. Everything was dark. Was he dreaming? He heard the sound of the Impala's door open and close.
"Where did you go?" Dean was saying.
Sam asked, "Dean?"
"Sam?" Dean asked, "Where are you?"
"I don't know," Sam said. His voice sounded metallic, sounded like...a radio. "Oh crap," he said, "I don't think we killed the Trickster." Of all the things the Trickster had done to him, turning him into a car? His brother's car specifically? Seriously, what the hell?
After a fun Knight Rider montage where Sam really didn't know how to feel about being Kit, Dean said, "Okay, stake didn't work. So, what? This another trick?"
"I don't know," Sam said, "Maybe the stake didn't work, because it's not a Trickster?"
"What do you mean?" Dean asked.
"I mean, you heard Cas. He said this thing was too powerful to be a Trickster," Sam said.
"Yeah," Dean said, "And did you notice the way he looked at Cas? Almost like he knew him."
The Trickster knew Cas through Sam, but what if the Trickster knew him from before? Maybe there was another reason the Trickster was so afraid of angels.
"And how pissed he got when you brought up Michael and Lucifer," Sam said.
"Son of a bitch," Dean said.
Sam asked, "What?"
"I think I know what we're dealing with," Dean said.
They continued down the road through another short Knight Rider themed scene transition.
They were parked at the Centennial Point Wilderness Area. Dean rummaged around in the trunk, putting the holy oil back in its place.
"Dean?" Sam said.
Dean asked, "What?"
"That, um, feels really uncomfortable," Sam said. He couldn't actually feel what Dean was doing, but the idea of Dean being anywhere near his back end while he was car or not was more nauseating than anything.
Dean slammed the trunk, and it actually kind of hurt.
"Ow," Sam said. How had that hurt? He was a car. The Impala didn't have nerve endings. God, this was too weird. "You sure this is gonna work?" he asked Dean.
Dean said, "No, but I have no other ideas." He shouted out, "Alright you son of a bitch. Uncle! We'll do it."
"Should I honk?" Sam asked.
The Tricksters voice reached Sam's ears. Did he even have ears while he was like this? "Wow. Sam, get a load of the rims on you," the Trickster said.
"Eat me," Sam said quickly.
The Trickster whistled before saying, "Okay, boys. Ready to go quietly?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast," Dean said, "Nobody's going anywhere until Sam has opposable thumbs."
"What's the difference? Satan's gonna ride his ass one way or another," the Trickster said.
Sam heard a sigh and a snap before he was sitting shotgun in the Impala back to being his normal self. He got out of the car and fixed the Trickster with a pained stare. It didn't matter that they were out of TV Land. It didn't matter that Sam wasn't a car anymore. The Trickster still betrayed Sam's trust in the worst way.
"Happy?" the Trickster asked.
Sam didn't bother saying a damn thing. He closed the door to the Impala.
"Tell me one thing," Dean said, "Why didn't the stake kill you?"
"I am the Trickster," the Trickster said like that explained anything.
Sam flicked open his lighter.
"But maybe you're not," Dean said.
Sam dropped the flame on the circle of holy oil Dean had poured. The flames encircled the Trickster immediately.
"Maybe you've always been an angel," Dean said.
The Trickster laughed. "A what?!" he asked. He said it like it was the most ridiculous, idiotic suggestion he'd ever heard. "Somebody slip a mickey in your power shake, kid?" he asked.
"I'll tell you what," Dean said, "Just jump out of the holy fire, and we'll call it our mistake."
Sam just stared down the Trickster. How could he have lied to him for so long? This was why letting people close was a bad idea. There was always a catch. He'd been worried about the Trickster getting hurt if they got too close. He'd been worried about his feelings for the Trickster getting the guy killed. But this? This wasn't something Sam had seen coming. After Ruby, Sam should've known better.
The Trickster laughed and looked away. He laughed like he was going to say something to shrug off the angel thing again.
But he stopped. He looked at Sam and the facade dropped. The Trickster's ever present smile vanished. The Trickster looked at Sam in a way that Sam had only seen a few times, and that was when the Trickster was being very serious and deadly honest. It was the way that he'd looked at Sam when he told him he was in love with him.
And if that didn't hurt like hell...
The Trickster shifted their surroundings, leaving the three of them standing in the actual warehouse from the beginning of this whole nightmare.
The Trickster clapped his hands together, applauding them slowly. He said, "Well played, boys. Well played. Where'd you get the holy oil?"
Sam stared at the Trickster. The Trickster was an angel. Holy fuck.
Dean said, "Oh, you might say we pulled it out of Sam's ass."
Sam glanced at Dean. Really? Now was the time for that shit? Really?
"Where'd I screw up?" the Trickster asked.
"You didn't," Sam said, "But nobody gets the jump on Cas like you did."
Dean said, "Mostly, it was the way you talked about Armageddon."
"Meaning?" the Trickster asked.
"Well, call it personal experience," Dean said, "Nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family."
Sam said, "So, which one are you? Grumpy, Sneezey, or Douchey?" Sass aside, Sam had wanted to know the Trickster's name for a long time. He didn't think it would take a ring of holy fire to figure it out, and he never wanted to have it be under any of these circumstances, but Sam still really wanted to know.
The Trickster's gaze flicked to Sam. There was a tired, sad sort of defeat behind his stoic expression. "Gabriel, okay?" he said, "They call me Gabriel."
Sam said, "Gabriel. The archangel?"
"Guilty," Gabriel said.
Sam didn't know what to think. He wasn't entirely sure what his brain was doing at that moment. Gabriel. The Trickster was one of the most famous archangels ever. How? Why? What? God, he'd had sex with an archangel.
"Okay, Gabriel. How does an archangel become a Trickster?" Dean asked.
"My own private witness protection," Gabriel said, "I skipped out of Heaven, had a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world...till you two screwed it all up."
"And what did Daddy say when ran off and joined the pagans?" Dean asked.
Gabriel said quickly, "Daddy doesn't say anything about anything."
"Then, what happened?" Sam asked, "Why'd you ditch?"
"Well, do you blame him?" Dean asked, "I mean, his brothers are heavyweight douche-nozzles."
Gabriel snapped, "Shut your cake hole. You don't know anything about my family. I loved my father, my brothers. Loved them. But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other's throats? I couldn't bear it, okay?!"
Sam was pissed as hell at Gabriel. If he ever saw that archangel again, it would be too soon. But right then, hearing Gabriel's voice crack ever so slightly over his words, realizing just how much pain he was in...all Sam really wanted to do was hold him.
"So I left," Gabriel said, "And now it's happening all over again."
"Then help us stop it," Sam said.
Gabriel faced Sam and said evenly, "It can't be stopped."
"You want to see the end of the world?" Dean asked.
Gabriel shouted at Dean, "I want it to be over! I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to you two. Heaven, Hell, I don't care who wins. I just want it to be over!"
"Well, it doesn't have to be like that," Sam tried, "There has to be some way to-to pull the plug."
Gabriel laughed and said, "Oh, you do not know my family. What you guys call the apocalypse, I used to call Sunday dinner. That's why there's no stopping this, because this isn't about a war. It's about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other. You think you'd be able to relate."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.
Gabriel looked between Sam and Dean. He clicked his tongue and whistled. "You sorry sons of bitches," he said, "Why do you think you two are the vessels? Think about it. Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father. And Lucifer, the little brother, rebellious of daddy's plan."
Sam nearly flinched. He hated this. He hated all of this. But seeing Gabriel looking at him like that, practically addressing him as Lucifer, it was too much.
Gabriel continued, "You were born to this, boys! It's your destiny! It was always you! As it is in Heaven, so it must be on earth. One brother has to kill the other."
"What the hell are you saying?" Dean asked.
"Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you?" Gabriel asked, looking at Sam for a long moment before returning to Dean, "Because from the moment Dad flipped on the light around here, we knew it was always gonna end with you."
Sam closed his eyes for a moment before staring back at Gabriel.
Gabriel met his gaze and said softly, "Always."
Sam looked away. Gabriel had known all along that there was no way out. He knew from the second they'd met at that college in Crawford Hall that Sam and Dean were going to start the end of the world. He knew this whole time and said nothing, did nothing to stop any of it. Sam wished he'd never met the Trickster to begin with.
Dean took a deep breath before saying, "No."
Gabriel's intense stare was dragged away from Sam's face.
"That's not gonna happen," Dean said.
"I'm sorry," Gabriel said, "But it is." The archangel looked away for a moment, and his expression softened. For a split second, Sam thought Gabriel might cry. Gabriel faced Sam. "Guys, I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, ending wrapped up in a bow, but this is real, and it's gonna end bloody for all of us. That's just how it's gotta be."
Sam looked at Dean. There had to be a way out of this. But an archangel, a freaking archangel, was telling them what everyone else was telling them. There was no stopping this. But there had to be.
What the hell were they going to do?
"So, boys," Gabriel said, "Now what? Stare at each other for the rest of eternity?"
"Well, first of all, you're gonna bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him," Dean said.
"Oh, am I?" Gabriel said, challenge dripping from every word.
"Yeah," Dean said, "Or we are gonna dunk you in some holy oil and deep fry ourselves an archangel."
Gabriel looked over at Sam as if to see who he would side with. Sam's eyebrows knit together. What kind of question was that? Sam obviously would side with the guy who hadn't lied to him about everything for years.
Gabriel looked back at Dean and angrily snapped his fingers.
Cas appeared behind them, panting.
"Cas, you okay?" Dean asked.
"I'm fine," Cas said, "Hello, Gabriel."
"Hey, bro," Gabriel said with a grin, "How's the search for Daddy going? Let me guess, awful."
Cas looked at Gabriel like he'd smacked him.
After Gabriel made a couple of faces at Cas, Dean said, "Okay, we're out of here."
Sam didn't move. He had so many things to say to Gabriel. He had so many things to yell and scream at him.
"Come on, Sam," Dean said, backing away from the holy fire.
Sam looked at Gabriel and hoped the archangel felt every single pained, angry thought in his head. He hoped Gabriel could hear the never ending loop of "how could you" that flew screaming through his mind.
Sam took a step backwards to follow Dean and Cas.
Gabriel said, "Um, okay. Hey. Guys? So-so what? Huh? You're just gonna-you're gonna leave me here forever?"
"No, we're not," Dean said, "'Cause we don't screw with people the way you do." He faced Gabriel head on and took a step away from the door. He said, "And for the record, this isn't about some prizefight between your brothers or some destiny that can't be stopped. This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family!"
Gabriel looked like he'd been slapped across the face. At this point, Sam really didn't think he deserved any better.
Dean broke some safety glass and pulled the fire alarm. Water rained down fro the sprinkler system onto Gabriel and the holy fire around him.
"Don't say I never did anything for you," Dean said.
Sam regarded the archangel being slowly drenched. How could he have done this? How could he have meant so much to Sam so recently and still done this? Part of Sam wanted to kill him. There was also a very substantial part of Sam that wanted to walk right through that holy fire and hold onto the angel. He wanted to kiss him and beg him to help them anyway, to put all the other stuff aside and just be with him before the world ended.
Sam knew right then that he still loved Gabriel. But it didn't matter. Gabriel had chosen which side he was on, and it wasn't Sam's. It didn't matter how Sam felt or how Gabriel had claimed he felt.
Sam followed Dean out of the warehouse without hesitation.
