A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you for reading and following my fic. LitFan2025: Thank you so much for everything. Without you this second chapter would not be possible. And thank you for your wonderful review! The first one on this fic! I loved it and I must have read it ten times by now. I love your fic by the way. DustintheWinchester: Thank you! Bobby is one of my favorite characters and I very much enjoy writing him. I hope they do an episode like this! Oh well, maybe season 11. *sigh*
Since I forgot it on the previous chapter, I will include it here. I do not own Supernatural or it's characters. And Sam, you long-suffering moose, I'm sorry. You knew this chapter was coming.
Thank you again to all my lovely readers!

Chapter 2

As they pulled up in front of the suburban house, Sam was getting increasingly irritated with his hair. No matter what he did with it it seemed determined to go in his face. Finally Dean turned to him, "Here, turn around." Sam glared at him through a curtain of brown, "Why?" His brother grinned and held up a hair twist, "You want that stuff out of the way, don't you? Come on, turn around and let me deal with it."

Ten minutes and a fair amount of cursing later, a relatively neat braid fell down Sam's back. They got out of the car and approached the house, home of one Michael Smith. A young man answered the door, checked their badges and invited them inside.
They followed him through the house, absently noting the neumerous sports trophies and equiptment scattered throughout. Plaques and photos adorned the walls, the latter showing Michael with a variety of others, sometimes playing golf, sometimes baseball, sometimes some other sport. Several even displayed a number of men on horseback, apparently having just played a game of polo. In short, Michael Smith seemed to have been obsessed with sports and fitness, to the exclusion of anything else. They reached the living room, where the young man absently waved toward a couple of armchairs before seating himself, "All right, agents. What is it you wanted to ask me?" Sam spoke first, "Well, first off, if you could just tell us your name?" He seemed slightly annoyed, "James Smith." Dean took the next question, "And what is your relation to the victim?" James stared at them, "I'm his son. And before you ask, I'm here because my father just died. Someone had to deal with the house. Now if you don't mind, I'm very busy." Sam nodded, "We understand this must be hard for you. We just want to get to the bottom of your father's death, so if we could just ask you a few questions." Dean spoke, "Did you notice anything odd in the days or weeks leading up to your father's death?" James shook his head, "Odd like...?"
"Weird noises, cold spots in the house, flickering lights-" James seemed taken aback, "Listen, buddy, I just got here a week ago. And the stuff you're describing? Sounds like a bad horror movie," He muttered under his breath, "Or maybe one of those stupid Carver Edlund books." Dean looked up, "You've read those?"
James stared at him, "Yeah. They were awful. The plotline? Completely implausable. Especially that ending. I mean, who'd be dumb enouph to volunteer for hell? And for what? Dean didn't even get anything out of it. No money, nothing. I mean, come on! Who's actually that stupid? And the Ruby thing, ugh!" The man wittered on, blithly ignorant of his increasingly imminent peril. Sam interrupted him before he could get killed by a furious Dean, "So, not a fan, then."
"No. I read them for my girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. She was a big Supernatural freak. I think we're done here." Dean glanced at him absently, "Yeah, well, we have a few more questions."
James laughed, "I couldn't care less about your dumb questions," then he seemed to get an idea, "I'll tell you what, I'll answer whatever stupid questions you want to ask me on one condition." Dean smiled thinly, "Sure. What's the condition?" James grinned, "Your lovely partner there throws them at me over dinner. I know a good place." Sam stared at him in horror and started sputtering a protest. Dean rushed to his rescue, "Oh, you know, she would love to but she, uh," he laughed, "she can't. She's, you know," They spoke at the same time, "On duty." "Gay."
Sam turned toward his brother, "I'm not gay."
"Right now you are." "No, I'm not."
Dean stared at him unflinchingly, "Do you like guys?"
"What?"
"Do you like guys?"
"No." Dean slapped him on the shoulder, "Then you're gay. Congratulations, Tootsie, you just came out. We'll have some pie later to celebrate." He turned to James, "So, you see, it's absolutely impossible for my partner to take you up on your offer. I'm sorry but-" James spoke, "I don't mind." Dean continued talking for a moment before he realized he'd been interrupted, "Um..." James spoke again, "I didn't ask her to be attracted to me, I asked for dinner. She can be attracted to whoever the hell she pleases." Dean smiled, "Wow, you really are just a chip off the old block, aren't you. Trickster meat. Really?" James nodded. Dean looked at Sam pleadingly.
"No."

When Sam finally returned to the motel, Dean was nowhere to be found. His best guess was that his brother had found a bar. His phone rang, "Dean?"
"Hey Sammy! How'd the date go?" Yep, a bar. Sam sat down on his bed, "Awful. Never do that to me again."
"Yeah, well, at least you got some information. Listen! I have something that might cheer you up."
"I just went out on a date with a guy and he was all hands. What could possibly cheer me up?"
"Well I met this girl, right? Angela. I mean, she is hot, dude," he whistled, "smoking." Sam smiled slightly, "Yeah, well, you go do what you gotta do. See you in the morning. Have fun."
"No. You don't get it. She isn't interested in me. She said I was hot and asked if I had a sister." Suddunly Sam realized what his brother was getting at, "Oh, dude. That's just gross."
"Come on Sammy! You don't enjoy yourself enouph. You know, if I was in your shoes-"
"Yeah. I know what you'd do in my shoes and I'm trying not to think about it. Listen, I'm going to bed. See you in the morning." Dean hissed into the phone, "Sam. Sam!" Sam hung up and collapsed on the bed, to exhausted by the day's events to bother getting undressed.

Dean still wasn't there when Sam awoke the next morning, nor did the prodigal appear until he was halfway through his breakfast. That's when he came through the motel door, whistling. Sam looked up from his laptop, "Have a good night?" Dean dug another burger out of the bag from the day before and sat down at the table, "Oh yeah. Pitty about Angela though." Sam didn't bother looking away from his research to answer, "Yeah, well, she wasn't really my type. So! Listen, I've been working, and I think I might've figured out the trickster's next victim." Dean took another bite before answering, "Really? Who?"
"James Smith."
Dean chuckled, "Wow, man. That must've been one bad date."
Sam flipped his laptop around in response, "Yeah, well, look at this."
Dean glanced over the research, "That's a lot of girls. What is this?" Sam spoke, "Online stalking victims. And get this, three of his exes have restraining orders out on him. Guy's a dick."
Dean looked over the top of the laptop, "You speaking from personal experience or just, you know, what you saw on here?" Sam gave him a bitchface, "Both. Anyway, I'd say it's our best shot at finding the trickster." Dean nodded, "So, follow Dick here around til the trickster takes a shot at him, then jump it. Sounds like a plan. When do we go?"
"Whenever you're ready, I guess. We need some stakes." Dean put down his burger and stood up, "Right, stakes. Better get to work then," He started toward the bedroom, "Don't want this thing to gank him before we can get in on the action."

They parked the Impala on the opposite side of the street from the house and watched with binoculars. Hours passed. Sam stared at the floor, lost in thought. Dean studied him worredly, "Hey! You ok?" Sam looked up, "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Gee, I don't know Sammy. You just got turned into a girl. Something like that, it could shake things up. I mean, what if it- you know." He stopped talking, obviously unwilling to say the next words. Sam finished his sentence, "Scratched the wall? That's what you're worried about? Dean, I promise, everything's fine."
Dean nodded, "Ok. If that's the truth."
Sam shot him a look, "Dude, I think you would know if it broke. Will you give it a rest? I don't remember anything."
His brother stared at him, "Yeah, well, you had your thinking face on. When you just sit there staring at your hands, I think maybe there's something going on. Sorry if I'm conserned about you. You know what Death said. If that thing breaks-" Sam glared at the floor, "I die. I know. I heard the first hundred times. Look, I'm not a moron, Dean. I'm not going to mess with it. Believe it or not, I don't want to remember Hell. Now will you just shut up about it?" Dean stared at him for a few more seconds, as if trying to decide wiether he believed him. Then he turned back toward the window and brought the binoculars up to his eyes, "Yeah, all right."
Sam studied the floor a bit longer before speaking, "It's just, there's something I can't figure out."
"Yeah, what's that?" Sam looked up at Dean, "Why did the trickster do this? I mean, the douchebags I get, sure. But me? Why do this to me?" Dean looked over at him, "Seriously? For fun! Because he's a dick! Since when do monsters need reasons?"
Sam shook his head, "It just- It doesn't fit with the rest of his MO. It doesn't make sense."
"Wow. You're way overthinking this, dude. They're called monsters for a reason. And you know what? I really don't care about the why. We find this thing, we gank it, we go home. End of story."
Sam looked back at the floor, "Yeah. I guess."