November 27th - November 28th, 2009
Dean and I sat on the bed, waiting for Sam to finish getting ready. We had turned on the TV and flipped to our favorite secret channel.
Dr. Sexy MD was on, and it was an episode that we had missed a few nights before. Dr. Palmer and Dr. Piccolo had been fighting their feelings for each other all season, and we were ready for them to just finally admit it. Dean was sure they weren't going to get together this season, but I had a feeling that it was going to happen regardless of all the drama, and this episode seemed promising. Dr. Palmer and Dr. Piccolo walked into an elevator together, trying to ignore each other, but as soon as the doors closed, they started passionately making out.
I smacked Dean in the arm. "See, I told you."
"Yeah, yeah. I know." Dean smirked. "Just keep it down. Sam can't know we actually watch this."
"But it's so good, though," I said.
Sam walked out of the bathroom and stared at the TV. "What are you two watching?"
"Hospital show." Dean waved it off like it wasn't a big deal. "Dr. Sexy, MD."
I nodded. "Yeah, I think it's based on a book."
Sam laughed. "When did you guys hit menopause?"
"It's called channel surfing," Dean said defensively.
"Um, excuse me, but we were waiting for you to finish fixing your hair. When did you turn into a teenage girl?" I joked.
Dean smirked and gave me a high five. "Nice." He stood up and turned off the TV.
Sam shook his head and then grabbed his suit jacket off the other bed and put it on.
"You ready?" Dean asked.
"Are you?" Sam asked.
Dean grabbed his keys, and Sam walked out in front of him. Dean turned to me and whispered. "Don't watch it without me."
I shrugged. "I'll try."
He glared at me. "Don't."
I laughed. "All right, jeez. I won't. Get out of here."
As I waited for Sam and Dean to get back, I gave Nate a call.
"Hey, so are you gonna come back anytime soon?" he asked.
I laughed. "I don't know. You're really that lonely?"
"No..." He laughed. "It's not that I'm lonely, it's more that I miss... your company."
I blushed and cleared my throat. "Go hang out with Jo or something. She's fun."
"It's not the same." Nate laughed.
Nate and I talked for a while, and then Sam and Dean walked through the door.
"Oh, hey. I've gotta go," I said into the phone as I quickly sat up on the bed.
"Everything okay?" Nate asked.
"Uh, yeah, everything's fine," I said quickly as Dean stared me down.
"They're back, aren't they?" he asked.
"Yup," I said.
He laughed. "All right, I'll text you... is Dean glaring at me through the phone?"
I looked up at Dean, who was, in fact, glaring at my phone. "Yup."
Nate laughed. "Bye, dimples."
"Bye," I said and then hung up. "What?" I asked Dean.
Dean shrugged. "Nothing."
"Really?" I scoffed. "Why were you glaring at me, then?"
He shook his head. "I wasn't. Who were you talking to?"
"Who do you think I was talking to? Clearly, you have someone in mind," I sassed.
Dean shrugged. "I think you were talking to Nate."
"Do you have a problem with him or something?" I laughed.
He shrugged. "No, no problem. I just—"
My phone vibrated, and I ignored what Dean was saying to look at a text.
Nate: Hey dimples. Dean tellin u how he's gonna kill me?
I smiled and shook my head.
"Are you listening to me?" Dean asked.
"What?" I looked up at him.
"Who's texting you?" he asked.
I rolled my eyes. "Nate."
He nodded. "What do you guys talk about anyway?"
I shrugged. "Just stuff."
Dean furrowed his brow. "Stuff, huh? What kind of stuff?"
I shook my head. "Why are you asking so many questions?"
He sighed. "Sammy and me here—"
Sam shook his head. "Don't bring me into this."
Dean sighed and shook his head at Sam, and then turned his attention back to me. "Well, we were your age once. We know what boys your age think about."
I put my head back and groaned. "Oh my god! Can we not do this? We're just friends."
He shook his head. "I don't think that's true."
I rolled my eyes. "Dean."
He shrugged. "I just want you to be careful."
"Dean." I groaned.
"I don't want you to ever feel pressured into doing something you don't want to," he said and sat down on the bed across from me.
"Dean," I growled.
He took a deep breath. "I'm talking about sex. I don't want you to have sex."
"Dean!" I yelled. "We're fifteen!"
"Exactly!" he shouted and stood up out of frustration. "How old do you think I was when I lost my virginity?!"
I shrugged. "I don't know!" I walked over to him and got in his face. "And I don't want to know!"
"Fifteen!" Dean shouted. "I was fifteen!"
"Okay! Thanks for the info!" I yelled back.
"You're welcome!" Dean yelled back at me.
"I wasn't even thinking about sex until you brought it up!" I raised an eyebrow at him.
"Well, that backfired, didn't it?!" Dean shouted.
I nodded. "Yup!"
We glared at each other for a minute.
"You guys done yelling now?" Sam asked.
"No!" Dean yelled and put a finger up to Sam without breaking eye contact with me. "Look, all I'm saying is I will kill him if I have to!"
"Wow!" I yelled. "I already knew that! Thanks, though!"
"You're welcome! Again!" he yelled.
"Can we talk about something else now?!" I asked, still shouting.
"Sure!" he yelled and sat down on the bed.
"Great!" I yelled and sat down on the other bed, right across from him.
We continued to glare at each other.
"You guys done now?" Sam asked, "Could we talk about the case?" he asked and sat down next to Dean.
Dean and I continued to glare at each other, and then I shrugged and looked at Sam. "Yeah, what did you find out?"
Sam smirked. "Well, the police are convinced our vic was attacked by a bear, but his wife said it was the Hulk."
I raised my eyebrows. "The Hulk?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah, exactly."
"Like The Incredible Hulk?" I asked.
"Yup, Lou Ferrigno version," Dean said.
I furrowed my brow. "Uh, okay. She have any idea why the, uh, Hulk would kill her husband?"
Sam shook his head and stood up. "No, but I'm gonna go to their house to see what I can find."
A little while later, Sam walked back into the motel room. "Hey."
Dean looked up from his laptop. "Find anything?"
Sam sighed. "Well, uh, I saw the house."
"And?" I asked.
Sam nodded. "And there is a giant eight-foot-wide hole where the front door used to be. Almost like, uh—"
"A Hulk-sized hole," Dean said.
Sam shrugged. "Maybe. What do you got?"
"Well, it turns out that Bill Randolph had quite the temper," Dean said.
I nodded. "Two counts of spousal battery, bar brawls, and court-ordered anger management sessions."
Dean shrugged. "You might say you wouldn't like him when he's angry."
"So, a hothead getting killed by TV's greatest hothead. Kinda sounds like Just Desserts, doesn't it?" Sam asked. "It's all starting to make sense."
"How is it starting to make sense?" Dean asked.
"Well, I found something else at the crime scene." Sam pulled a handful of plastic wrappers out of his pocket. "Candy wrappers." He dropped them on the table. "Lots of them."
Dean watched as they all fell onto the table. "Just Desserts, sweet tooth, screwing with people before you kill 'em—"
"Trickster?" I asked.
Sam nodded. "Sure looks like it."
"Good. I've wanted to gank that mother since Mystery Spot," Dean said.
"You sure?" Sam asked.
Dean nodded and looked confused. "Yeah, I'm sure."
Sam shook his head. "No, I mean, are you sure you wanna kill him?"
Dean shrugged. "Son of a bitch didn't think twice about icing me a thousand times."
Sam shook his head. "No, I know, I mean." He shrugged. "I'm just saying—"
"What are you saying?" Dean snapped, "If you don't want to kill him, then what?"
"Talk to him?" Sam asked.
I furrowed my brow. "You want to talk to him?"
Sam sighed. "Think about it. He's one of the most powerful creatures we've ever met. Maybe we can use him."
Dean shook his head. "For what?"
"Okay. Trickster's like a Hugh Hefner type, right?" Sam asked. "Wine, women, song... maybe he doesn't want the party to end. Maybe he hates this angels and demons stuff as much as we do. Maybe he'll help us."
Dean raised his eyebrows. "You're serious?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
"Ally with the Trickster?" Dean asked.
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
"A bloody, violent monster, and you wanna be Facebook friends with him?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Nice, Sammy."
"The world is gonna end, Dean." Sam shook his head. "We don't have the luxury of a moral stand." He sighed. "Look, I'm just saying it's worth a shot. That's all. If it doesn't work, we'll kill him."
Dean thought for a second and sighed. "How are we gonna find the guy, anyway?"
Sam shrugged. "Well, he never takes just one victim, right? He'll show."
We basically had to sit around and wait for something to happen. There was really no other way to track the trickster otherwise. So, Sam and I sat and stared at out police scanner while Dean sharpened wooden stakes.
Finally, after three hours, the scanner said something interesting. "Um, Dispatch? I— I got a possible 187 out here at the old paper mill on Route 6?"
"Hey," Sam said and then leaned forward to listen.
Dean stopped working and listened too.
"Roger that." Dispatch answered. "What are you looking at there, son?"
"Honestly, Walt, I— I wouldn't even know how to describe what I'm seeing. Just... send everybody," the police officer said, totally freaked out.
"All right, stay calm, stay by your car. Help's on the way," Dispatch said.
Sam turned off the scanner.
"That sounds weird," Dean said.
Sam nodded. "Weird enough to be our guy."
When we got to the warehouse, there was no one in sight. Something was definitely off.
"What's going on?" I asked as we all got out of the car.
"There was a murder here, and there's no police cars. There's nobody. How's that look to you?" Dean said.
"Crappy," Sam stated, bluntly.
Dean pulled three stakes and three flashlights out of the trunk and handed one of each to Sam and me. He closed the trunk, and then we all walked into the building.
When we walked through the door, it changed immediately from an abandoned building to a brightly lit, working hospital. I looked down and realized we were wearing hospital scrubs and white lab coats.
"Um..." I said, looking around.
"What the hell?" Dean asked, looking around as well.
Two female doctors walked by us. "Doctor." They both nodded, giving each of us a look.
"Doctor?" Sam asked us.
Dean opened the door we just walked through, but it was now a closet with a nurse and a doctor making out inside. He immediately closed the door, and we shared looks of confusion.
We continued walking in awe, and that's when I saw her. I put my hand out in front of Dean.
"That's— That's Dr. Piccolo," I said, completely astonished.
"Holy crap," Dean said, just as amazed as I was.
Dr. Piccolo quickly walked over to me, with excitement on her face. "You know who I am?" She smiled brightly. "I can't believe this. You're the youngest doctor to have ever graduated. At the age of only fifteen, you started your residency. I can't believe you're here."
I reached up and touched one of the perfectly curled ringlets dangling by her face, just to make sure what was happening was real. "You and me both, girl."
She smiled and then quickly turned toward Sam. "Doctor," she said angrily and then slapped him across the face.
Sam grabbed his cheek. "Ow!"
"Seriously?" Dr. Piccolo snapped.
"What?" Sam asked.
"Seriously? You're brilliant, you know that? And a coward... you're a brilliant coward," she said, dramatically.
Sam shook his head. "Um. What are you talking about?"
Dr. Piccolo slapped him again. "As if you don't know!" she shouted, and then she stomped off.
I turned to look at Dean. We were both super excited, probably more excited than we should've been.
"I don't believe this," Dean said, smiling after her.
We both walked in the direction she had stormed off, leaving Sam standing behind us, totally confused. We watched her turn the corner and then turned to look at each other with huge smiles on our faces.
"I got to touch one of her ringlets," I said, completely fangirling over what had just happened.
"I know. I can't believe this is happening." Dean put his hand out for me to high-five, which I did excitedly.
"What?" Sam asked, confused.
"That was Dr. Piccolo," Dean said, turning to look at Sam.
"Who?" Sam asked.
"Dr. Ellen Piccolo," I sang her name.
"The sexy yet earnest doctor at..." Dean said and then stared up at something. "Seattle Mercy Hospital."
I followed his gaze, and sure enough, there was the Seattle Mercy Hospital sign hanging on the wall above the nurse's station.
Sam walked over. "What the hell are you guys talking about?"
"The doctor getups. The— The sexy interns," Dean said, gesturing around the room to all the different people.
"The 'seriouslys,'" I added.
Dean nodded. "It all makes sense."
"What makes sense? What's going on?" Sam asked us.
"We're in Dr. Sexy, MD," Dean and I said happily.
We started walking down different hallways, trying to figure out what was going on. Dean and I were still looking around with excitement.
"Dude, what the hell," Dean said.
"I don't know." Sam shook his head.
"No, seriously, what the hell," Dean said again.
"I don't know," Sam said.
"One theory. Any theory," Dean said.
"Uh, the Trickster trapped us in TV Land," Sam said.
"That's your theory? That's stupid," Dean said, frustrated.
"No, it's not stupid. He's done crazier things to us," I said.
"Yeah, and you two said we're on Dr. Sexy, MD," Sam said.
"Yeah, but TV land isn't TV Land. I mean, there's actors and, and lights and crew members, ya know. This looks real," Dean said, gesturing around the hallway.
"It can't be." Sam shook his head. "Dean, how can this possibly be real?"
"I don't know." Dean shook his head.
Dr. Wang walked by and nodded. "Doctors."
I smacked Dean's arm from excitement. "Oh my god, Dean."
"There goes Dr. Wang. The sexy but arrogant heart surgeon," Dean explained to Sam.
We watched her walk down the hallway and pass a man sitting on a gurney in a hospital gown and robe.
"Oh, and there's Johnny Drake." I pointed to the man on the gurney. "He's actually not even alive."
Dean nodded. "He's a ghost in the mind of—"
Another doctor came and sat next to Johnny.
Dean pointed to her. "Of her. The sexy yet neurotic doctor over there."
"So... this show has ghosts? Why?" Sam asked us.
Dean shrugged. "I don't know. It is compelling."
I nodded. "It pulls you in, man. It pulls you in."
"I thought you said you weren't fans," Sam said, clearly judging us.
"We're not," Dean and I said in unison.
I turned my head to see Him walking down the hallway toward us. I gasped, causing Dean to look.
He gasped. "Oh, boy."
"What?" Sam asked, confused.
"It's him," Dean and I sighed in unison.
"Who?" Sam asked.
"It's him, it's Dr. Sexy." Dean turned back to Sam.
"He's coming right toward us," I said, nervously turning to face my brothers.
Dean and I gave each other a nervous but excited look.
"Doctor," Dr. Palmer addressed Dean.
Dean looked down, trying to hide his smile.
"Doctor." Dr. Palmer nodded at Sam.
Sam just nodded, and Dean and I both smacked him in the arm.
Sam rolled his eyes at us and then turned back to Dr. Palmer. "Doctor."
Then he finally looked at me and smiled. "Doctor."
"Doctor." I smiled back, my heart racing with excitement.
Dr. Palmer turned to Dean. "You want to give me one good reason why you defied my direct order to do the experimental face transplant on Mrs. Biehl?"
Dean's expression went from awe to confusion. He glanced at me and then back at Dr. Palmer.
"One reason?" Dean asked.
Dr. Palmer nodded.
"Sure." Dean cleared his throat and looked down.
Suddenly, Dean slammed Dr. Palmer against the wall. "You're not Dr. Sexy."
I gasped. I felt like I was in the drama of the show, and I couldn't get enough of it.
"You're crazy," Dr. Palmer said, angrily.
"Really? 'Cause I swore part of what makes Dr. Sexy, sexy is the fact that he wears cowboy boots... not tennis shoes," Dean said.
I looked down and gasped when I saw the tennis shoes. "Imposter!" I shouted. "Good eye, Dean."
"Yeah." Sam scoffed. "You're not fans."
"It's a guilty pleasure," Dean said, angrily.
"Call security!" Dr. Palmer ordered.
"Yeah, go ahead, pal. See, we know who you are," Dean said.
Then everything went quiet. I looked around and realized everyone was frozen in place except for the four of us. I turned back, and Dr. Palmer started grinning.
He quickly morphed into the trickster. "You guys are getting better!"
"Get us the hell out of here," Dean growled.
"Or what?" The trickster grabbed Dean's arm, twisting it to make him release him and then let go. "Don't see your wooden stakes, big guy."
"That was you on the police scanner, right?" Sam asked. "This is a trick."
The trickster pointed to himself. "Hello? Trickster. Come on! I heard you three yahoos were in town. How could I resist?"
"Where the hell are we?" Dean asked.
"Like it? It's all homemade. My own sets..." The trickster tapped on a nearby window. "My own actors..." He smiled proudly. "Call it my own little idiot box."
"How do we get out?" Dean asked.
"That, my friend, is the sixty-four-dollar question," the trickster said.
"Whatever... we just— we need to talk to you. We need your help," Sam said.
The trickster raised his eyebrows. "Hmm, let me guess." He pointed to Sam and Dean. "You two muttonheads broke the world, and you want me to sweep up your mess." Then he smiled at me. "Sweetheart, why do you stick around for the ride? They're gonna end up getting you killed."
I scratched my head, feeling awkward.
Sam sighed. "Please. Just five minutes. Hear us out."
"Sure. Tell you what. Survive the next twenty-four hours, we'll talk," the trickster said.
"Survive what?" Dean asked.
The trickster put his hands out and spun. "The game!"
Dean shook his head. "What game?"
"You're in it," the trickster said.
"How do we play?" Dean asked.
"You're playing it." The trickster smiled.
Dean rolled his eyes. "What are the rules?"
The trickster raised his eyebrows, grinned, and vanished in a burst of static. Everyone around us unfroze.
"Oh, son of a bitch!" Dean shouted.
A blonde doctor walked by, looking around. "Dr. Sexy? Dr. Sexy?"
The three of us followed behind her, trying to figure out how to play the trickster's game.
"Oh, by the way. Talking with monsters? Hell of a plan." Dean shook his head.
"Just—" Sam sighed. "What do we do now?"
"You know what I'm doing?" Dean asked. "Leaving."
"How are you gonna do that?" I asked.
Suddenly, Dr. Piccolo came around the corner and went to slap Sam again, but he ducked.
"Lady, what the hell?" Sam asked, annoyed.
"You are a brilliant... brilliant..." she said, holding back tears.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah. A coward. You already said that. But I got news for you. I am not a doctor."
Dr. Piccolo looked up at Sam dramatically, with tears fully formed in her eyes. "Don't say that. You are the finest cerebrovascular neurosurgeon I have ever met, and I have met plenty." She shook her head. "So, that girl died on your table. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. Sometimes people just die."
Sam shook his head. "I have no idea what you're saying to me."
"You're afraid. You're afraid to operate again. And you're afraid to love." Dr. Piccolo walked away, sobbing.
"Jeez, what did you do to her?" I joked.
Sam sighed. "Yeah, we're getting out of here."
A man walked right up to Dean. "Hey. Doctor."
"Yeah," Dean said.
"My wife needs that face transplant," the man said, desperately.
"Okay. Ya know what, pal? None of this is real, and your wife doesn't need jack squat. Okay?" Dean asked, and then we continued walking.
"Hey, Doctor," the man said again, and then a gunshot went off.
We all turned around to see the man running away, and then Dean dropped to his knees.
Dean grabbed his back. "Real... it's real..." He fell to the ground.
"Oh, my god! Dean!" I gasped and dropped to my knees next to him. He had blood pouring out of a hole in his back.
"No, no, no... hey! We need a doctor!" Sam yelled.
Suddenly, we appeared in an operating room. Dean was placed face down on the table. Sam and I were standing across from each other on either side of Dean, completely surrounded by other people dressed in surgical garb. Dr. Piccolo was watching Sam through the window, proudly crying. Sam held gauze against Dean's gunshot wound with a pair of tweezers.
"BP is eighty over fifty and dropping," a woman said.
"Doctor," Dr. Wang said, holding a scalpel out to Sam.
Sam and I made eye contact, completely scared to touch our brother with that thing.
"What?" Sam asked, looking back at Dr. Wang.
Dr. Wang and the blonde woman exchanged glances.
"Guys. Do something. Come on," Dean said, not under anesthesia for some reason.
Sam leaned down to Dean's ear. "I don't know how to use any of this crap."
"Figure it out." Dean huffed, still bleeding on the table.
Sam grinned awkwardly at the other doctors and then nodded for me to take the scalpel.
I shook my head and put my hands up. "No, that's all you."
"Come on. I'm waiting." Dean groaned.
Sam sighed. "Okay. Um. I need a penknife, some dental floss... a sewing needle, and a fifth of whiskey."
The women looked at both of us and then each other, confused. No one moved.
"Stat!" I commanded, and then everyone started doing what he asked.
They quickly brought Sam everything he asked for, and then I helped him get the bullet out and sew up Dean. He finally snipped the extra floss off of Dean's stitches, and we both stepped away from the table, relieved that it was finally over.
"We okay? How's it looking?" Dean asked.
"Yup. You'll be fine," Sam said.
Sam looked up and stared out of the window, taken aback by something. I turned quickly to see what he was looking at. Dr. Piccolo was still watching, but this time she was mouthing, 'I love you' to him with tears in her eyes.
Suddenly, the lights began to flash, and the sound of a crowd cheering filled the room.
We appeared on the stage of some sort of game show. We were back in our regular clothes, but Sam and Dean were standing on two different platforms. Their feet were hooked into place by brightly colored plastic boots. In front of them were decent sized balls attached to metal poles, placed in the floor.
There were two girls on stage dressed in skimpy devil costumes, and then the doors behind us opened. Smoke came billowing out, followed by a very enthusiastic Japanese man wearing a silver suit. The crowd went wild.
"Let's play Nutcracker!" the host yelled in a thick accent.
The crowd cheered and applauded. I looked at our set up and out into the crowd and realized whatever was about to happen could not be good.
The host looked at me. "Maddison Winchester." Then he started reading from a card... in Japanese.
After he finished speaking, he looked at me, clearly waiting for me to answer a question, and then a clock started ticking down from twenty seconds.
"Uh... um..." I smiled uncomfortably, looking from Sam to Dean, not knowing what to do. "I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're saying."
The host smiled, devilishly at me and repeated his question, still in Japanese.
"Dude, I don't know what you want me to say," I said, frustrated.
I looked at my brothers for help, but they just shrugged, not knowing what to do either.
The countdown clock hit 0 and buzzed loudly.
"Oh." The host groaned and frowned as if he felt bad for me.
He repeated the question, and then he and the crowd shouted, "Meg!"
He turned to Sam. "I'm sorry, Sam Winchester."
Sam looked confused. "Sorry? Sir? For what?"
The host mimed hiding laughter.
"Guys?" Sam asked.
Dean and I just shrugged.
The pole on Sam's platform came up so that the ball whacked him right in the crotch. Sam hunched over in pain, and the crowd cheered with excitement.
I gasped. "Sammy! I'm so sorry!"
"Nutcracker!" The host yelled, and the crowd cheered and laughed.
"Sam?" Dean asked, concerned.
One of the girls said something to the host in Japanese while holding up a bag of what looked like potato chips. The host went over to her, and they did a little advertisement spiel about the snack.
"You okay?" Dean asked.
Sam just gave him an 'are you kidding me' look, and then Dean looked down at his own platform and cringed. Suddenly the lights on the floor started flashing.
"Oh, now what?" Dean asked, worried.
The doors opened to reveal Cass, and the crowd cheered.
"Cass?" Dean asked.
"Is this another trick?" Sam asked, still breathing heavily.
"It's me. Uh, what are you doing here?" Cass asked.
"Us?" Dean asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you. You've been missing for days," Cass said.
"Days?" I asked. To us, it only felt like maybe two hours.
Cass nodded.
"So, can you get us the hell out of here?!" I yelled.
Cass walked forward and raised his arms. "Let's go." Just as he finished speaking, he vanished into a blur of static.
"Cass?" Dean asked.
The host walked back over, waving his finger at us. "No, no, no. Mr. Trickster does not like pretty boy angels." He pulled out another card and looked at me. "Maddison Winchester."
I rolled my eyes. "Ugh, what now?"
The host smirked and asked me another question in Japanese, then the clock started ticking again.
"Okay, the trickster said we have to play his game." I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. "Ask me again," I demanded.
Sam shook his head, still in pain. "Maddison, what is that gonna—"
"Please, don't let that thing hit me," Dean pleaded.
"Hey." I put a finger up to each of them. "Zip it." I looked at the host. "Ask me again." I closed my eyes and waited.
The host started speaking again, but this time I could actually understand what he was saying. "What is the name of the demon that Sam chose over you and Dean?"
I opened my eyes. "Ruby!" I shouted.
The host looked at me with wide eyes. "Ruby?"
I nodded. "Yes."
He looked down at his cards dramatically and then threw them in the air and cheered. The lights started flashing, confetti started falling from the ceiling, and the crowd went wild.
"How did you do that?" Sam asked.
I looked up at him. "I literally... have no idea."
"So, that's it." Sam shrugged. "We play our roles, we survive."
"Yeah, but play our roles for how long?" Dean asked.
Sam nodded. "Good question."
Without warning, I appeared alone in a dark room, and soothing music started to play.
"Uh, guys, can you hear me?!" I called out.
Dean's voice echoed around me, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Maddi? Where are you?"
"Honestly, I don't know," I said, looking around, but I literally couldn't see my own hand in front of my face.
Then a woman's voice echoed throughout the darkness, "I've got genital herpes."
Then an older man's voice echoed, "I've got genital herpes."
Then I could hear the bouncing of a basketball and squeaking of sneakers. I looked around but still could only see black.
"Seriously?" Sam's voice echoed.
"Hey, you're the one who said play our roles." Dean laughed.
"Yeah. Right." Sam scoffed and then sighed. "I've got... genital... herpes."
"I try to be responsible," the woman said.
"Did I try," the older man said.
"But now I take twice-daily Herpexia to reduce my chances of... passing it on," Sam said reluctantly.
"Ask your doctor about using Herpexia," the woman said.
The music started playing a little louder, and words started flashing in front of me. Read the following aloud, it instructed.
"Um, okay," I said confused, and then started reading the words as they went by, "'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 sighed. "I am doing all I can to slightly lessen the spread of— of... genital herpes." He cleared his throat. "And that's a good thing."
I heard the sound of squeaking sneakers, and the music grew louder once again. Then static lit up the room.
Dean and I appeared in our motel room, but this time it was extremely bright and colorful. I was sitting at a table in front of a sandwich that was at least a foot tall, and Dean was putting something in the fridge.
Dean's voice boomed through the room. "Supernatural is filmed before a live studio audience."
He turned around and looked at me, confused, and then looked at the sandwich with wide eyes. "I'm gonna need a bigger mouth."
Laugh track.
"I currently hate my life," I said with a fake smile.
Laugh track.
Sam entered the room.
Clapping!
"Hey there, Sam. What's happening?" Dean asked with a smile.
Sam sighed and shrugged. "Oh, nothing, um, just the end of the world."
Laugh track.
Sam spotted the sandwich. "You're gonna need a bigger mouth."
Laugh track.
"Hey, uh, have you done your research yet?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.
Dean made an expression as if he was caught doing something. "Oh, yeah. All kinds of research. All night."
"Yeah? Hmm." Sam looked suspicious.
The bathroom door opened, and a woman in a bikini came out.
Whistling!
"Oh, Dean..." the woman said seductively, "We have some more research to do."
Sam folded his arms. "Dean."
I face-palmed.
Laugh track.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted as if he were in trouble.
Laugh track.
Sam walked over to the woman and started to escort her to the door. "Uh, I am really, really, very sorry, but, uh, we've got some work to do."
"But we did do work!" She looked back at Dean and winked. "In depth."
Laugh track.
"Oh, god. Really?" I said, completely disgusted.
Laugh track.
Dean waved at her as she left. Sam shut the door and shook his head.
"How long do we have to keep doing this?" Dean asked through a fake smile.
"I don't know." Sam shrugged, also fake smiling. "Maybe forever?"
Laugh track.
I leaned forward and pulled the sandwich over to me. "I don't know boys, but we should probably live it up." I kicked my feet up on the table and started picking apart the sandwich and ate it. "This is probably the nicest place we get to deal with in this hell."
Laugh track.
"We might die in here," Sam said.
Laugh track.
"How was that funny?" Dean asked and then scowled at the non-existent audience. "Vultures."
Laugh track.
The door opened, and Cass walked in, with bruises and cuts on his face.
Applause!
I put the sandwich down and stood up.
"You okay?" Dean asked Cass.
"I don't have much time," Cass said, breathing heavily.
"What happened?" Sam asked.
"I got out," Cass said.
"From where?" Dean asked.
"Listen to me. Something is not right. This thing is much more powerful than it should be," Cass said ominously.
"What thing... the trickster?" I asked.
"If it is a trickster," Cass said.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked.
Cass was then pulled back into the wall, and the trickster appeared at the door.
"Hello!" He walked in with his arms held out.
Applause and cheers!
Cass stood up. His mouth had been duct-taped shut.
The trickster bowed. "Thank you. Thank you, ladies."
Cass glared at the trickster.
"Hi, Cass!" the trickster shouted and then gestured to Cass, who vanished into another burst of static.
"You know him?" Sam asked.
"Where did you just send him?" Dean asked.
The trickster smiled. "Relax, he'll live..." He shrugged. "Maybe."
Laugh track.
Dean walked toward the trickster. "All right, ya know what? I am done with the monkey dance, okay? We get it."
"Yeah? Get what, hotshot?" the trickster taunted.
Dean raised his voice, "Playing our roles, right? That's your game?"
"That's half the game." The trickster smiled.
"What's the other half?" Sam asked, also annoyed.
"Play your roles out there." The trickster put his arms out.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.
"Oh, ya know. Sam starring as Lucifer." The trickster pointed to Sam dramatically and then to Dean. "Dean starring as Michael. Your celebrity deathmatch. Play your roles."
"You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?" Sam growled.
The trickster smiled. "Hells, yeah. Let's light this candle!"
"We do that, the world will end," Sam said.
"Yeah...? And whose fault is that? Who popped Lucifer out of the box? Hmm? Look, it's started..." The trickster pointed to Sam. "You started it. It can't be stopped. So, let's get it over with!"
"Heaven or Hell, which side you on?" Dean asked.
The trickster shook his head. "I'm not on either side."
Dean laughed. "Yeah, right. You're grabbing ankle for Michael or Lucifer. Which one is it?"
The trickster smirked. "You listen to me... you arrogant dick. I don't work for either of those SOBs. Believe me."
Dean nodded. "Oh, you're somebody's bitch."
The trickster's smile vanished. He grabbed Dean by the collar and slammed him into the wall.
I glared at him. "Wasn't killing him like a hundred times enough?"
The trickster turned to look at me. "Listen, sweetheart... I like you. Honestly, we're like two peas in a pod. I think with different circumstances, we could be like BFFs or something, but you're gonna have to learn the hard way to step back and let your brothers have it out with each other."
I furrowed my brow and shook my head, not sure how I should respond to that.
The trickster then turned his attention back to Dean. "Don't you ever. Ever presume to know what I am. Now listen 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. Forever. Three hundred channels and, uh, nothing's on." Then the trickster snapped his fingers.
We appeared in front of a crime scene, surrounded by police tape and officers walking all over the area. It was night out, and there was a body lying in the center of all the commotion. I was wearing a black pantsuit with heels. The boys were both wearing an electric blue shirt and a black suit, and they both were wearing sunglasses.
"Oh, come on," Dean growled as he looked down at himself.
A police officer ducked under the tape and walked over to us. "So, what do you think?"
"What do I think?" Dean snapped, "I think go screw yourself, that's what I think."
"Uh, could you give us a sec, please? Thanks." Sam smiled awkwardly.
The man nodded, eyeing Dean, and then walked away.
"You gotta calm down," Sam said, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder.
"Calm down? I am wearing sunglasses at night," Dean said, yanking the sunglasses off. "You know who does that? No-talent douchebags."
Sam and I nodded in agreement.
Dean shook his head. "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 three hundred of them on television, and they're all the friggin' same. It's oh, plane crashed here—" He rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."
The same police officer walked back over. He now had a lollipop in his mouth. "We need the coroner over there."
None of us moved, and then the officer just stared at me.
"What? Me?" I asked.
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, you're the coroner."
"How do I keep getting these roles? I'm fifteen, how am I a coroner?" I asked, annoyed.
The officer sighed, tossing his lollipop around in his mouth. "Look, I know you like to hear about your achievements at such a young age, but we don't have time for your ego. A man is dead."
I scowled at him and stepped forward. I pulled his lollipop out of his mouth and dropped it on the ground in front of me.
"What was that for?" he asked, shocked.
I walked around him, toward the caution tape. "Maybe if you weren't so rude to people, things like that wouldn't happen to you."
I turned back to face him. I saw both Sam and Dean holding back laughter.
"Dude let's go. Now I'm waiting on you." I snapped my fingers.
The officer rushed over and under the caution tape to the body, now patiently waiting for me.
I turned back to my brothers and smirked. "I'm not going over there without you, so come on." I waved them to follow.
We all walked under the caution tape and toward the body, then I stepped in mud, and my heel slid off.
I looked down and groaned. "Ugh, you would think for being smart enough to be a coroner at fifteen, I would know not to wear heels and a pantsuit when going to look at a dead body."
I fake smiled at my brothers. I was completely over this entire situation. I bent over and took the heels off and threw them behind me.
"Much better." I sighed with relief.
Sam and Dean looked at me, raised their eyebrows, and chuckled softly.
"What?" I shrugged. "I don't do heels."
"Hey," Sam said, looking over at the police officer who was badgering me.
He had another lollipop in his mouth, and some candy wrappers were falling out of his pocket.
"What?" Dean asked.
"Check out sweet tooth over there," Sam said.
"Think that's him?" Dean asked.
"Just, um, follow my lead," Sam said.
They put their sunglasses on, and we all continued over to the dead body.
"You, uh, you okay?" the officer said, looking at my feet.
"Yeah, I'm great. Move over." I shooed him out of the way so I could kneel next to the body.
The man's mouth was opened slightly.
"Gloves," I said, motioning to the officer to hand me gloves.
He reached over to a box of gloves and fumbled them onto the ground.
I snapped my fingers. "Chop-chop, bucko."
He picked them up quickly and handed me a pair. Then I put them on and leaned over the body so I could look closer.
"What do we got?" Dean asked, with a gravelly voice.
I looked up at Dean, and he was looking away dramatically. "Well, aside from the, uh— the... ligature marks around his neck, he has what appears to be a roll of quarters jammed down his throat," I said, trying to sound as professional as possible.
Dean took off his sunglasses, got out a flashlight, and took a closer look.
Sam also took off his sunglasses. "Well, I say... jackpot."
The officer looked up, snorting in amusement. Sam put his sunglasses back on.
"Also, it looks like he has a stab wound on his stom—" I cleared my throat. "Uh, lower abdomen."
Dean grabbed a stick and poked at the hole in the shirt with it, getting blood on the stick, then put his sunglasses back on.
He stood up slowly. "Well, I say... no guts, no glory."
The officer laughed again.
Sam pulled his sunglasses off. "Get that guy a... Tums."
"Gutter ball," Dean said, dramatically.
I stood up, and the officer kept laughing.
"Good one, guys." The officer laughed.
Dean came around behind him with the stick. The officer turned toward Dean, who then stabbed him in the chest with the stick. No one else noticed or cared as their fellow officer groaned and bled out. Dean removed the stick, and the officer slowly dropped to the ground.
One of the other officers started laughing and approached us. Then he morphed into the trickster. "You've got the wrong guy, idiots."
"Did we?" Dean asked.
Sam walked behind the trickster and staked him. The trickster fell to the ground, and the whole scene burst into static.
Then we appeared back in the warehouse wearing the clothes we had left the motel in. The trickster was still lying on the ground at our feet.
We drove back to the motel to get some sleep, and the next morning, we got ready to get going.
Dean and I were brushing our teeth while Sam got dressed in the main area.
Dean spit in the sink. "I'm worried, man. What that SOB did to Cass. Ya know? Where is he?"
There was no response, and Dean and I looked at each other.
"Sam?" Dean asked and walked out.
I followed after, but the room was empty.
"Where are you?" he asked and looked down at me.
We walked out to the Impala while Dean tried to call Sam multiple times, but there was no answer.
So Dean left a voicemail. "Sam. It's me. Where the hell did you go?"
Dean snapped the phone shut, and we got into the car.
"Dean?" Sam asked.
We looked around, but Sam wasn't in the car, and his voice sounded strange. Almost like he was on the phone, but he definitely wasn't.
"Sam?" I asked.
"Where are you?" Dean asked.
"I don't know," Sam said.
Dean pointed to a red light that was flashing on his dashboard, and we both realized that every time Sam spoke, it flashed with each word.
"Oh, crap. I don't think we killed the trickster," Sam said, causing the light to flash.
Dean groaned and shook his head, and then started the car to head back to the warehouse. As soon as we started driving, the Knight Rider theme song started playing.
"Okay, stake didn't work. So, what, this is another trick?" Dean asked.
"I don't know," Sam said, "Maybe the stake didn't work because it's not a trickster."
"What?" I asked.
"You heard Cass. He said this thing was too powerful to be a trickster," Sam said.
"And did you notice the way he looked at Cass?" Dean asked. "Almost like he knew him."
"And how pissed he got when you brought up Michael and Lucifer," Sam said.
Dean smacked his steering wheel. "Son of a bitch."
"What?" Sam asked.
"I think I know what we're dealing with," Dean said and pulled over. We got out, and he started rummaging through Sam's trunk.
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
"Holy oil," Dean said.
"You think he's an angel?" I asked
Dean nodded. "Hell yeah, I do."
"Dean..." Sam said.
"What?" Dean asked.
"That, uh, feels really uncomfortable," Sam said.
Dean rolled his eyes and slammed the trunk shut.
"Ow," Sam said. "You sure that's gonna work?"
Dean shook his head. "No, but I have no other ideas." He walked around to the front of the car, poured the holy oil in a circle right in front of us, and then looked up at the sky. "All right, you son of a bitch! Uncle! We'll do it!"
We waited a moment, but the trickster didn't show up.
"Should I honk?" Sam asked.
Then the trickster appeared out of nowhere. "Wow. Sam. Get a load of the rims on you."
"Eat me," Sam said.
"Okay, boys. Ready to go quietly?" the trickster asked.
Dean shook his head. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast. Nobody's going anywhere until Sam has opposable thumbs."
"What's the difference?" the trickster asked. "Satan's going to ride his ass one way or another."
Dean glared at him. The trickster rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. Sam stepped out of the car and joined us.
"Happy?" the trickster asked.
"Tell me one thing. Why didn't the stake kill you?" Dean asked.
The trickster shrugged. "I am the trickster."
"Or maybe you're not," Dean said.
Sam held up a cigarette lighter that was glowing orange and tossed it toward the trickster. A ring of fire lit up and surrounded him.
Dean shrugged. "Maybe you've always been an angel."
The trickster smirked and then laughed. "A what? Somebody slip a mickey in your power shake, kid?"
Dean shrugged. "I'll tell you what. You just jump out of the holy fire, and we'll call it our mistake."
The trickster laughed and then stopped, and a burst of static surrounded us, and we appeared back in the warehouse. He clapped. "Well played, kids. Well played. Where'd you get the holy oil?"
"Well, you might say we pulled it out of Sam's ass," Dean said.
"Where'd I screw up?" the trickster asked.
Sam shook his head. "You didn't. Nobody gets the jump on Cass like you did."
Dean shrugged. "Mostly, it was the way you talked about Armageddon."
The trickster furrowed his brow. "Meaning?"
"Well, call it personal experience, but nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family," Dean said.
"So, which one are you?" Sam asked, "Grumpy, Sneezy, or Douchey?"
"Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel," he said.
"Gabriel?" Sam asked.
I raised my eyebrows. "The archangel?"
Gabriel pointed and winked at me. "Good, little one." He shrugged. "Guilty."
Dean nodded. "Okay, Gabriel. How does an archangel become a trickster?"
Gabriel shrugged. "My own private witness protection. I skipped out of Heaven, had a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world. 'Til you two screwed it all up."
"What did Daddy say when you ran off and joined the pagans?" Dean asked.
Gabriel shook his head. "Daddy doesn't say anything about anything."
"Then what happened?" Sam asked, "Why'd you ditch?"
"Do you blame him?" Dean asked. "I mean, his brothers are heavyweight douche-nozzles."
Gabriel glared at Dean. "Shut your cakehole. You don't know anything about my family. I love my father, my brothers. Love them. But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other's throats? I couldn't bear it! Okay? So I left. And now it's happening all over again."
"Then help us stop it," Sam said.
Gabriel shook his head. "It can't be stopped."
"You wanna see the end of the world?" Dean asked.
"I want it to be over!" Gabriel shouted, "I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to you two!" He glared at Sam and Dean. "Heaven, Hell, I don't care who wins, I just want it to be over."
I finally understood why he said we were alike. We had both been placed in something that we didn't want to be a part of, but our family was one of the most important things in our lives. He knew how it felt to watch people you love tear each other apart without being able to do anything.
Sam shook his head. "It doesn't have to be like that. There has to be some way to— to pull the plug."
Gabriel laughed. "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'd think you'd be able to relate."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.
Gabriel shook his head. "You sorry sons of bitches. 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. 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.
Gabriel shook his head. "Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you? Because from the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gonna end with you. Always."
Sam and Dean exchanged glances.
Dean shook his head. "No. That's not gonna happen."
"I'm sorry. But it is." Gabriel sighed. "Guys. I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, endings 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." He shrugged. "So. Boys. Now what? We stare at each other for the rest of eternity?"
"Well, first of all, you're gonna bring Cass back from wherever you stashed him," Dean said.
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "Oh, am I."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Or we're going to dunk you in some holy oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel."
Gabriel rolled his eyes, snapped his fingers, and then Cass appeared.
"Cass, you okay?" Dean asked.
Cass nodded. "I'm fine." He turned to Gabriel. "Hello, Gabriel."
Gabriel smiled. "Hey, bro. How's the search for Daddy going? Let me guess. Awful."
Cass glared at him.
"Okay, we're out of here. Come on." Dean turned and waved for me and Sam to follow.
"Uh. Okay. Guys?" Gabriel asked, "So— So what? Huh?" He sounded distraught. "You're just gonna— You're gonna leave me here forever?"
Dean stopped at the door and looked back. "No. We're not, 'cause we don't screw with people the way you do. 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." He pulled the fire alarm and triggered the sprinklers. "Don't say I never did anything for you."
Gabriel glared at us, and we walked out.
We walked over to the Impala, but Dean paused before opening his door.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"All that stuff he was spouting in there, you think it was the truth?" Dean asked.
Sam shrugged. "I think he believes it."
Dean nodded. "So, what do we do?"
Sam shook his head. "I don't know."
"Well, I'll tell you one thing. Right about now, I wish I was back in a TV show," Dean said.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, me too."
