Summary of the chapter for those who did not wish to read it: Sam gets drunk and starts screaming (praying loudly) to various angels in Heaven about how much they suck and how he wishes his life was different. There were mentions of Gabriel by name and how he is alive, someone named Cas (so not necessarily Castiel), Zachariah, and God was referred to as Chuckles McAssbutt.

Lucifer arrived via a vision and creeped on Sam until Gabriel (Loki) showed up and made him leave. Drunken flirting and shenanigans ensued wherein Sam talks a lot, until Gabriel gets him back to Sam's apartment and tucks everyone's favorite moose into bed.

Sam's memory is (mostly) erased and Gabriel tells another trickster present to keep an eye on Sam for him. The trickster agrees.

Book Four

Of Art Supplies and Ungodly Obsessions

Chapter Six

Someone was in his apartment.

Sam came awake all at once and instantly regretted it. The room was a wavering merry-go-round from hell. His bedsheets felt like sandpaper against his skin. Every single part of his body felt like it had been run over by a garbage truck with a personal vendetta. But there was someone in his apartment. He could hear them in the kitchen. Every clatter was a foghorn that made his head pound harder.

Sam shoved himself out of bed and staggered to his feet, or tried to. He ended up, somehow, belly-down on the floor, moaning into carpet. His stomach abruptly flipped over twice and Sam pushed himself up so he could run to the bathroom. He managed to get his arms underneath him before he was vomiting up everything he had ever eaten in his life.

He managed to roll over so he didn't faceplant in his sick and just curled up on the floor, the scent of vomit doing nothing for either his stomach or his head. Screw the burglar in the kitchen. He welcomed death.

Every breath seemed to make the nausea worse. He thought his stomach might have crawled up somewhere in between his lungs. Beneath the smell of vomit, he could detect a whiff of whiskey that made him want to puke some more. He thought it might be on his shirt. He didn't remember much of last night after the liquor store cashier wished him a happy thanksgiving with a pitying smile. He remembered tripping up the stairs at one point, a hand on his arm keeping him from breaking his nose on the steps, and he was pretty sure he'd thrown his shoe at someone at one point. There were golden eyes and something about sword fighting with a mop and bucket, but he wasn't sure that wasn't just dreams or drunken hallucinations. He also remembered something about purple elephants but he thought that was from a Disney movie.

"I'm the Dumbo," he slurred into the carpet.

"That you are."

The thundering of feet against the floor was a jackhammer against his brain. He let out a piteous whine and curled up as tightly as he could, clapping his hands over his ears. His stomach roiled like an angry pot of spaghetti.

"S'loud," he whined.

The thundering stopped and there was a huffed sigh from beside him. "Honestly, if you didn't look so pathetic I'd be tempted to leave you like this. You'd deserve it for being so foolish."

"Sh'up."

"Rude." The smell of vomit vanished abruptly and then a warm hand settled on the back of his neck. "Come on, up you get."

Sam let out a sound very clearly stating his disagreement with that idea. He was laughed at. "Just let me die ."

"Don't be so dramatic." The fingers tightening briefly, digging into sore muscles, and Sam groaned in relief. "Up, Sam. I've something for you."

Sam dared to open his eyes, peering blurrily at whoever was talking to him.

"Rey?"

"I'm afraid so." The young man Sam had first met at The Feckin' Bean wiggled a glass filled with a thick green liquid. "A gift from Kathy. She thought you might need it this morning so you didn't spend the day puking your guts out."

"Wha'sit?"

"I was disinclined to ask."

"Mmph?"

Fingers tugged at his hair lightly. "Use your words, Samuel."

"Talkin' funny."

"Or perhaps I was talking funny before and this time I am feeling more generous with myself. But I don't think you're conscious enough for that conversation." He held the glass out to Sam. "Come on, now. Drink up."

It smelled like oranges and cinnamon. Sam wanted to throw up again. Instead, he gripped the glass in uncoordinated fingers, glad when Rey kept a hold of it so he didn't end up wearing it, and drank it down as fast as he could.

It was syrup-thick and the harsh bite of ginger burned his throat, mixed with the Christmasy taste of cinnamon and cloves. Sam swallowed a few times, then let himself collapse back to the floor. Rey huffed at him but Sam merely whined in response.

"Children," Rey muttered, and the boy pushed himself to his feet. "I am making breakfast. Any preferences?"

Sam's stomach curdled at the thought of food. He clapped a hand over his mouth.

Rey snorted. "Let that settle a bit. You'll feel better shortly." Sam heard him walk away, feet still pounding the floor. He groaned and buried his face in the carpet. What even happened last night?

As he laid there, breathing in what smelled like dirt and dog hair from the carpet, his head actually began to clear. After a few minutes, the nausea even settled and the aching in his limbs vanished. Sam managed to push himself to his feet, his head aching only mildly, and stumble his way to the bathroom.

He relieved himself with immense satisfaction, brushed the taste of alcoholic death from his teeth, and splashed water on his face. By the time he exited the bathroom, he felt almost human.

His apartment was filled with the smell of bacon and he was beyond grateful that his nausea was gone. He was halfway out of his bedroom when he remembered that he had thrown up at some point, only… it was gone. Sam frowned at the carpet. There was no way that Rey had come in here and cleaned up while he was in the bathroom and successfully made breakfast. For one thing, Sam had been forced to clean up Dean's vomit more than once and it didn't come easy out of carpet and there was very little in the world more repulsive than someone else's sick.

With a frown, he grabbed a clean shirt to replace the one he was wearing, which, yes, did smell like he had dumped whiskey on it at some point the previous night. He pulled on a pair of jeans he had worn a few nights ago. They were worn and splattered in paint from Drake's class, but among the most comfortable of his things. He decided to forgo socks and just headed into the kitchen barefoot.

Rey had his back to Sam as he entered, standing in front of a stove that was littered with pans. Sam's sink was filled with dishes and there were plates on the small table already piled high with pancakes. Sam stared at them for a long moment. There was more food here than he could possibly eat in a week.

"Are we feeding an army?"

"You've never seen me eat." There was a sizzling sound as Rey flipped bacon in the pan. "Take a seat and dig in, Sam. You've got about two minutes before I come over there and wolf down everything in sight."

Sam took a cautious seat at the table and eyed the spread before him. Rey had already put out silverware. There was a pile of pancakes on a central dish and, as he lifted the lid of a platter he didn't even know he owned, he found scrambled eggs and link sausages. There was an actual restaurant-grade syrup dispenser and he only stared at it a moment. He'd never even seen one outside of diners.

"I… where did all this food come from?"

"God bless grocery stores."

"You bought all of this?" Sam frowned at the food. He didn't think he'd even had any eggs. This was a lot of food for Rey to just go out and buy.

"Sure."

Sam frowned at the boy's back. He had his hair pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck while he cooked. He was dancing lightly from foot to foot, just idly, like he didn't even notice he was doing it. But Sam's frown deepened as he glanced at the clock on the wall. It was only eight in the morning. His drunk ass hadn't even managed to sleep in.

"When?"

"Last night," Rey said matter-of-factly, sliding strips of bacon onto a plate.

"Stores were closed last night," Sam said quietly. "It was Thanksgiving."

Rey stilled. "So it was," he said, and went back to transferring bacon. "I'd forgotten. I don't celebrate, you see."

He turned around and carried the plate of bacon to the table, sliding it into a spare place at the edge before sitting down. He was wearing a light blue button-up shirt, Sam noticed, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He eyed Sam curiously over the tabletop before giving him a fast grin. "Eat up, Sam. I wasn't kidding that I could devour everything here no problem."

He stabbed a fork through a couple pancakes and pulled them over onto his plate. Sam followed suit, though he was more interested in the eggs and a couple strips of bacon. We was halfway through his scrambled eggs when he realized that Rey was still preparing his pancakes. There were slathered in chocolate sauce and powdered sugar, and he had pulled a bag of chocolate chips from somewhere and was sprinkling them over top.

The bacon turned to ash in Sam's mouth. For a moment, he could smell strawberry syrup. He put his fork down.

Rey was still looking down at his plate, attention focused on his pancakes. What color were his eyes again? Were they gold?

Had this whole thing been a trick?

Rey sighed and put down his fork. "I'm not going to get to eat my breakfast, am I?" He looked at Sam. His eyes were a deep clementine orange and Sam flinched away from them.

"Right. I told him this was a terrible idea but does anyone listen to the fox? No, of course not." Rey dropped the half-empty bag of chocolate chips on the table and leaned back in the chair, scowling. His eyes narrowed into slits and it made him look dangerous. Sam felt himself tense in his chair.

"So… what's the plan, then, Winchester? I know who you are. What you are. And you at least have suspicions about me, so... out with them."

Sam licked his lips, hesitating. Then, more softly than he had intended, he asked, "Loki?"

Rey snorted. "Wow. Apparently it goes both ways. No, Sam. I'm not Loki, though I think I should probably be either flattered or insulted that you thought I was." He studied Sam's face for a long moment. "You have the… specialization right, though, I suppose, going from a D&D perspective." His lips curled up in a smirk. "What's that fun thing Loki always loves to say? Oh, yes. Helloooo, trickster."

Sam only stared at him. After a moment, Rey's right eyebrow quirked up. "I am detecting a significant lack of stabbing."

"Are you… do you want me to stab you?"

Rey looked down at his chest. "Not particularly. Though if the urge arises, let me know. I'm rather fond of this shirt and would prefer not to get blood on it."

"You'd be dead, though."

Rey snorted and nodded. "Sure, right. I'd be dead. But my shirt would be safe and that's what counts."

"You… why are you still here?" Sam asked. When they'd confronted Loki that first time, there had been chainsaws and strippers and all manner of attempts to distract them. Not hurt them, Sam understood now, but definitely to keep them from interfering. And, he realized later, to make them understand that nonhuman did not mean monster.

Rey pointed at his plate. "Do you see this masterpiece? This has my name written all over it. And if you're not going to start trying to stick me with sharp things, then I am going to stuff my face." He picked up his fork and eyed Sam curiously as he began to cut his pancakes.

"I'm not going to stab you," Sam said quietly. Rey hadn't done anything to hurt him. He had been an almost constant presence at The Feckin' Bean. Often quiet, sitting in the background reading a book or making sarcastic comments. A friend, Sam had thought, if one that he didn't see as often as Kathy or speak to as often as he might have…

Oh.

He hadn't wanted to get close to people. It was easier not to be hurt when he inevitably lost them if he didn't care for them from the start. Didn't let himself feel, but… but Sam had never been able to do that. He never been able to not feel . Dean could go out and have one night stands with girls that he would never see again but Sam couldn't even hang out with someone at a coffee shop without getting attached.

He had been lost to these people before he even met them.

"Good to know," Rey said softly. "Now eat your breakfast. I didn't slave all morning over the stove for these to go to waste. And for Loki's sake, put something sugary on your plate before I hurl ."

Sam eyed Rey for a moment, then put some sausages on his plate and drizzled syrup over him. Rey made an accepting noise in the back of his throat. The two of them turned to their breakfasts and for a while there was silence between them as they ate, but Sam's mind kept whirling in place. Why was Rey here? Why had he made Sam breakfast? Why had he, knowing who Sam was, knowing he was a hunter as Sam suspected he had meant, revealed that he was a trickster? What was his endgame here? What was he planning?

"You know, I'm not telepathic by any means, but I can tell your hamster is running wild."

"Hamster?"

Rey smirked at him, forkful of chocolate-drenched pancakes hovering before his mouth. "Your mind's running circles, Sam. Hamster on the wheel? It's clocking overtime." He shoved the bite of pancake in his mouth and chewed with obvious relish. "How about, when we're finished with our breakfast, we sit down and have a long overdue chat. You can ask me questions and I'll answer honestly, so long as you return the favor. Sound fair?"

"No tricks?" Sam asked.

Rey grinned. "I'm a trickster, Sam. Wouldn't be one if the tricks weren't a constant thing." He nodded his head. "But I can tone down the constant urge to dye your hair green for a couple hours, and I promise I won't lie. Acceptable?"

Sam was briefly stymied by the comment about turning his hair green, but he nodded.

"Good, then. Now eat your breakfast."

It was a good breakfast. Sam was a big guy and it took a lot of food to fill him up. Buying enough food to feed himself to full every meal was expensive. He'd learned to get used to the feeling of hunger like a constant hum in the background, enjoying a full stomach on the rare moments when he was able. Being able to eat until he was full without concerns about money was a relief, and he was still a little flummoxed by the amount of food left over.

Rey swiped up the last bit of chocolate sauce on his plate with a final bite of pancake and licked his lips. "I am a fantastic chef. This is the best breakfast I've had in years. I may have to name my first restaurant Sammy's Kitchen ."

Sam snorted and picked up his plate, carrying it over to the sink. He heard a snap behind him and the plate vanished from his hands. Along with every dish in the sink and on the counter.

Sam spun around to find the table clear and Rey leaning back in his chair with a sly grin on his face, one hand still held in the air. Sam stared at him for a moment. "Is that a… trickster thing?"

"Hm?"

"Snapping."

"Oh." Rey lowered his hand and crossed one leg over the other. "Yes, I suppose it is. I hadn't noticed before, to be honest." He thought a moment. "Though now that I think about it, Laverna seems to prelude every action by making some part of her body disappear. Let me tell you, after the first four hundred times you hear the story of her swindling the priest and the lord, you start running when you see her.

"And then there's Kokopelli who, of course, plays a note on his flute. Trust me when I tell you that you do not want to incite him using that around the ladies. It creates all manner of discord and then Eris shows up and there's contests for who's the best trickster." He shook his head. "I usually will a wisp and get out of there as fast as I can. Less mess."

"So… that story about Kokopelli…"

"Impregnating an entire village of women and dashing off into the sunset? Absolutely true. There's a whole host of his descendents mucking about on Earth, no idea that they're one eightieth trickster god. Trust me, if you knew how many people on this campus are descended from deities who simply can't keep it in their pants, you would piss yourself right here laughing. Nevermind the actual summer camp for demigods not far from here."

The wealth of possibilities for knowledge right in front of briefly sent Sam's mind reeling. He had so many questions about stories, whether they were true, how much was metaphor and aesop wrapped up under a well-known name. For a moment, he couldn't think of a single thing to ask, a pantheon alone to even focus on. His mind blanked under the sheer amount of knowledge he could gain simply by asking .

"So how's the coffee at The Camelot Rift?"

"Hm?" Sam looked up at Rey to find the trickster watching him with a small smile and an arched eyebrow.

"You asked your question, Sam, now it's my turn." He leaned back in the chair. "So… coffee at The Rift. How do you like it?"

Sam made a face and it was apparently answer enough because Rey started laughing. "I miss Kathy's Hazelnut Mocha." He looked away from Rey's face, down at the cracked linoleum. After he'd had that vision of Lucifer, after the flashback, Sam couldn't bring himself to go back to The Feckin' Bean. Not because he feared the atmosphere would bring another visit from the devil, but because he didn't want to see the looks of pity on the faces of the people he had come to care about, or worse, hear the quiet excuses as they listed reasons they couldn't stand around and talk to him. And, in the end, he'd just been embarrassed at having made a scene, not only in front of friends but also strangers - random patrons of the coffeeshop who had been there to witness his weakness by sheer chance. It had been safer to make the decision himself to stay away, but… "I miss everyone."

"We miss you, too. I could tell you in great detail my adventures protecting you from Kathy, if you want. She has been incredibly determined to check on you and make sure you're all right. I've been trying to give you space but last night forced my hand."

Sam winced. He was very tempted to ask about last night but part of him was sure he did not want to know. Instead, he asked, "Kathy was worried?"

"Lean down here a sec, Sam, so I can smack you." Sam blinked at him, confused. "Dear Loki on his golden arse, you're serious, aren't you? Sam." Rey shook his head and stood. "You know what, I'm not doing this in the kitchen. I need somewhere with cushions before I end up with a crick in my tails." He snagged the back of Sam's collar and tugged, pulling the taller student behind him as he headed toward the small sitting room in the apartment, which was really nothing more than a couch shoved up against the wall and a small chair next to a rickety bookshelf.

Rey pushed him toward the couch. "Take a seat, Kit. I've got some things to straighten in that skull of yours."

Kit, Sam mouthed in confusion, walking over and sitting down on the couch. He watched Rey fling himself into the dark blue chair, legs dangling over one arm and grin tamped down beneath a serious expression that didn't match up with his posture. He crossed his ankles and stared at Sam for a long moment.

"I don't know what your life was like before you came to Stanford and I'm not asking - your personal life is your business and you've got no obligation to share. I will tell you, though, that we aren't unaware of some of the things that have been going on. And by we, I mean me, Alice, and Kathy."

Sam hunched his shoulders and looked away from Rey. "There's nothing to be aware of."

"Mmhm." Those red-orange eyes were fixedly him in a gaze Sam had trouble avoiding. "How long have you had visions, Sam?"

Sam stood up abruptly and headed for the kitchen.

And found himself right back on the couch.

He froze, eyeing Rey, who had a hand in the air and a grimace on his face.

"All right, I'm a bastard for doing that and I apologize. I won't repeat it. If you want to get up and leave, you're perfectly capable. I won't stop you." He lowered his hand. "But please listen, Sam. I'm trying to tell you that you're not alone. We're here for you if you want us to be."

He pulled his legs down and sat in the chair properly, facing Sam, who had remained where he was even though his muscles were tensed to run.

"Thing is, Sam, I'm not a human. I'm not even a witch. I'm a god." He shrugged. "You'll forgive the dramatics of the statement. I'm aware that you have powers. I understand that you're concerned, and perhaps about more than just that - fine. Keep your secrets. But wanting your privacy and to not have everything carried out into the open like some sale of your personal life does not mean that you need to lone wolf it through Stanford." Rey closed his eyes. "I have tried that, Sam. I have tried to go it alone and I promise you, it will protect you from people and it might even protect people from you, but it means there is no one around to save you from yourself."

He opened his eyes and looked at Sam. "In the end, it's your decision. If you want us there, we'll be there. If you want Kathy and Alice but you'd prefer not to have tricksters messing up your life, then say the word and I am gone." He studied Sam for a moment, like he was trying to read something about him he couldn't find. Sam wondered what it was. "Just… don't try to do it alone. For your sake, please. Find someone to be there for you, even if it isn't us." He reaches out like he was going to put a hand on Sam's knee, then stopped. "Anyway. We're offering. That's all."

Rey stood up, turning away from him and heading for the door. "I'll let you think on it. You know where to find us."

Sam sat on the couch and listened as the trickster made his way out of the apartment through the door and down the stairs. He stared at the empty chair Rey had left behind and wondered.

After a moment, he rose and moved to the window, peering outside. He waited only a few moments before Rey appeared, exiting the apartment complex through the door like a normal person. Only once he felt his own surprise did Sam realize he had forgotten to ask Rey which trickster he was. He'd failed to ask any of the million questions that had come to his mind.

He wondered if he had lost his chance?

But Rey had been very up-front about being there for Sam. Or, he had said, about leaving if that was what Sam needed. If he would feel better about the trickster not being there, because Rey knew who he was. Sam was beginning to think that most everyone knew who he was. John had certainly given the Winchester name a reputation, though it was definitely not one that would help them at all in the future. It hadn't the last time, that was for sure.

It would have been easier if he had used a different name when he came to Stanford, but the truth was, he wanted Dean to be able to find him if he ever tried, and taking a new name… that was good for short stints, but for long endeavors? It made things difficult. It was also dangerous to try and carry a false identity while staying in the same place. Too many ways that it could come out as a lie. So he had used Sam Winchester, because he hadn't wanted to be anyone else, and the first time around, Sam hadn't realized just how well-known the name was to the creatures who roamed on the supernatural side of things.

So Rey had probably known from the very start who he was. But, Rey hadn't kept his own identity any sort of secret. In fact, Sam realized, as he recounted that morning's event, the clues had been all but blatant .

Not just the pancakes. That had been the final clue. Running it back through his head, Sam put the others into place. After he'd been sick, the sudden disappearance of the smell of vomit and his later confusion at his floor being clean. The fact that his kitchen was filled to the brim with food he knew he hadn't had and which Rey could not have purchased with all of the stores closed for the holiday. The hangover cure was a toss-up. He and Dean had a similar cure, though it usually left them feeling a different kind of miserable once the hangover itself had faded. Instead, he felt fine. As though he hadn't drunk a drop, in fact.

He was sure there had been other clues. The fact that someone was in his apartment was questionable, although Sam actually wasn't sure how he had gotten home last night. He searched his mind but he simply couldn't remember what had occurred the previous night, and that disturbed him. He could have put himself in significant danger, or worse, hurt someone.

Sam breathed out a sigh, his mind whirling.

The thing was, Sam liked Rey. They didn't talk much and besides today, the only time Sam ever saw the other boy was in The Feckin' Bean, but if Rey had known who he was from the start, then that probably explained why they didn't hang out much at all. He had even commented on the lack of stabbing once Sam had figured out he was a trickster, because he had expected it .

And Sam didn't want to be the person people expected to kill them. Years working with angels and demons and tricksters against humans and angels and monsters alike had taught him what he had already known, but with certainty. That they were just as good and just as evil and just as flawed as humans.

The difference was, supernatural creatures existed in the same world as Sam. He had tried living in the real world, living a normal life, but the simple fact was that he didn't belong there. That had never been his world.

And yes, sometimes that was a bitter pill to swallow. The choice of which world to dwell in had never been Sam's. He'd been pulled there, over and over, by the will of others. It was cruel, but it was also simply the way it was . Sam could either continue to fight it and lose until it eventually destroyed him, or he could accept it and live the life he had been given.

And the truth was, Sam didn't like being alone. He could do it when he needed to, of course, but being a hunter and being part of a world that didn't include most other humans was lonely enough. The first time he'd gone through Stanford, it had been hell at first. Sam had always had Dean in his life, and suddenly his brother wasn't there and Sam was surrounded by people who were worrying foremost about school and grades and relationships, not about the threat of attack around every corner. He had tried shutting off the part of himself that saw the monsters in dark corners and the eyes that peered out of shadows, and for a while, he had managed it. Falling into a relationship with Jess had helped. He'd made friends in Brady and some other students and he'd quietly ignored the thoughts that whispered that he could never tell them everything. That they could never know who he really was.

This time, he had no intention of becoming close with Brady. He'd deal with the demon when it became an issue, but he couldn't bring himself to befriend the boy who had been a demon for most of their acquaintance.

As for Jess… he had loved her once, but that was more than two lifetimes in the past. Sam was so different now, even newly nineteen again, and the love he had once had for her was a memory he would cherish but not cling to. He hadn't even intended to seek her out, concerned that seeing her would bring him pain, but they had crossed paths nonetheless. He was not entirely sure what to do with the fact that he now knew her in this life, and she him.

The fact was, though, that Sam didn't want to be alone , and he could ignore the draw of Brady and Jess, both of them human and outside the world he knew best. But Rey? Rey was offering the friendship of a trickster, a creature who lived in the world that Sam had accepted as his, and who could take care of himself. Sam wouldn't need to constantly worry because Sam had been at the mercy of a trickster in the past - granted, an archangel turned trickster - but he knew well the power they held. He didn't need to fear for Rey's safety just being associated with him, and if Rey was offering, then he clearly didn't care .

Maybe, for once in his life, Sam should shut up and listen to the trickster.