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Chapter 3

It had been about two days now since they started following James Smith, and Dean was getting frustrated.
"Are you sure about that research you did? 'Cause it's been two days and bupkis. I mean, come on. This guy's boring."
Sam lowered his binoculars, "Yeah, well, it seemed pretty conclusive. Trickster's going to hit him, I garantee it." Dean stared at him for a moment before turning back to the window then looking back at Sam a second later, "It's just- there have gotta be easier ways to catch this thing. Hey! What about mapping the deaths and drawing a circle?"
"I told you, Dean, I did that. There is no circle. He's striking all over the place. The only pattern there seems to be location-wise is that he's staying in this town. I'm sorry but this is as good as it gets." Dean grumbled to himself as he looked back out the window.
Sam's phone rang, "Hey Bobby."
"Hey. Listen, I've been doing a little research, trying to figure out the limit of these things' power-"
Sam interrupted him, "Have you found anything about a way to contain them? Salt, iron, warding simbles, anything like that?"
"Well, let me see. Oh, yes. I've heard Loki doesn't like holy oil very much," he said sarcasticly. "Look, there isn't a whole lot I've been able to dig up. Most things are, shockingly, a little vague. All the lore seems to agree on is that Loki is by far the most powerful. He's the main one there is lore on, unfortunately."
"Well, at least it's we know we're not going up against something with full-blown archangel powers. Thanks Bobby. That's really good to know. Anything else you can give us?"
"Yeah. You boys had better be careful. These things are tough. They can't zap away, that's the other thing I learned, but they can do just about anything but. They're probably about the most powerful monsters you'll ever meet. Probably why Gabriel decided to imitate one. Their purpose, best I can tell, is to keep the pagan gods in check. Knock them down when they get to big." Sam smiled in realization, "That's why they go after authoritarian jerks. They're not hungry, they're carrying their natural duty over into the mortal world."
"Plus they think it's fun, but yeah, pretty much."
Sam paused, "Hey, Bobby? What about the tricks? I mean, how do you undo them?"
"Look, boy, don't worry. You kill it, that little problem of yours should go away. Anyway, you take care of yourselves out there."
"Sure Bobby."
"I wish I was covering your asses. I have a bad feeling about this."
"Yeah, me to. Ok. Bye." He closed the phone. Dean spoke, "What'd Bobby say?"
Sam raised his binoculars, "Nothing we didn't already know."
"How do we get you fixed?"
"Same as usual. Kill the trickster. Hey! Who's that coming up the sidewalk?"
Dean looked where he pointed, "Looks like a hooker. What about it?"
Sam looked at his brother, "If you were a trickster going after a womanizing jerk, how would you choose to attack?"
Dean smiled, "Son of a bitch."

They watched as the woman made her way up the stairs and into the house, then quietly exited the Impala. Dean opened the trunk and grabbed their stakes, handing one to Sam as he surveyed the house. He closed the trunk and started away from the car, "What if we're wrong?"
Sam inclined his head, "We'd better hope we're not." Dean nodded and sighed, "Right," then they continued toward the house, both carefully watching for security systems. They climbed up on the porch and circled the house until Sam located the burglar alarm. Dean disabled it, long practice making short work of the thin wires. A cry for help pierced the night, and both predators leaped up, adriniline spiking and every nerve on alert. Running to the door, they kicked it in, then, splitting up, they began the search for their quarry.
Dean was the first to find something, his flashlight beam landing on at least twenty candy wrappers scattered on the floor. He raised his flashlight and waved it about the room, uncertain of where to go next.
"Dean!" The shout came from elsewhere in the house. He quickly pinpointed the sound and followed it to its source, a guest bedroom in the back of the house. There he found Sam, holding his stake threateningly toward a scantily clad young woman, who looked remarkably unconcerned about her current predicament. James cowered, blanching, in the corner of the room. Dean nodded a greeting, "Hello, James. How you doing?" He turned toward Sam, keeping his eyes trained on the creature as he did so, "You ok Sammy?" Sam's gaze didn't shift as he responded, "Yeah, I'm fine."
The woman gave a look of mock awe, "My goodness, Sam and Dean Winchester. Well, I knew hunters would show up but this- this is quality. Wow. The best of the best, all for little old me," She frowned, "Although, one of you seems to be having a bit of trouble. I'm sorry, Sammy, that really is to bad."
Sam glared at her, "Bite me."
Dean looked the trickster up and down, "And what's your name?"
She smiled flirtatiously, "Oh, I have many names, most of them unpronoucible. I think the most common one, though, would have to be... Brer Fox probably."
Dean grinned, "Well, you certainly are a foxy one, I'll give you that. Heh-heh." His grin abruptly vanished as Sam gave him a sharp look. He cleared his throught, "Anyway, this has been fun, but, uh, we have places to be." Her eyes went wide, "Oh, do you need to get down to buisiness now? Well, don't let me bother you." She waved a hand and a massive grizzly appeared behind Sam, forcing him to turn and defend himself. Dean rushed over to the trickster and swiped with his stake, to cut through nothing, the beautiful girl having been replaced by a fly. She then changed into a large hawk and beat at his face with her wings, causing him to drop the stake as his hands reflexively rose to sheild him from the razor-like feathers. "Dean!" Sam called. He was making a brave showing, but the grizzly had a distict size advantage and his stake had little effect on the trickster-made beast. Dean was, by now, kneeling, head bowed and arms raised in a desperate attempt to ward off talons, beak and feathers.
The bird retreated a couple of yards, before morphing to a lion in preparation for the death blow. Dean stared in horror from his place on the floor, watching as its legs gathered under it, its tail swept as it coiled for the final spring. Dean tried to block out Sam's screams as everything went into slow motion. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he thought, glancing at his brother's wide eyes and horrified gaze. Then he prepared himself for death.
Which didn't come. James rose from his place in the corner, crawling to grasp Dean's stake. The lion screamed in agony as he jammed the weapon between its shoulder blades, then it sank to the ground, where it lay, unmoving. The bear disappeared, and the brothers stared about in slight bewilderment as James sank to the ground, shock and adriniline finally taking its toll. The Winchesters approached the body, slightly hesitent as though worried it might come back to life.
Dean lightly kicked the beast, and shook his head, "Well, at least that's over." He turned to James, "That was beautiful. Excellent work, buddy." James nodded, seemingly more interested in regulating his breathing and staving off shock then responding to Dean's praise. Dean looked around, "Wow, this place is a mess. Hey, James. Don't suppose you could deal with this on your own, could you? We're kind of busy. We'll, uh, we'll take care of the throw rug." He looked at Sam, who was glaring daggers, "What?"
"I don't feel any different."
It was then that Dean remembered Sam's problem, "You don't look any different. 'Course, it's hardly a change, what with all that girly hair of yours. Was Bobby sure about that research?"
Sam nodded, "He seemed pretty sure." Dean sighed and walked over to the body, throwing it over his shoulder before addressing James, who had not moved the entire time, "Take care of yourself, James. Uh, see you around sometime, maybe." He adjusted the lion, "Man this thing's heavy!" He started toward the door, "Okay, Sammy, let's go."

They put the carcass in the back seat, then started toward the edge of town. Dean took out his phone and scrolled through his contact list before selecting one, "Hey Bobby."
"Hey Dean. What happened?" He glanced at Sam, "Well, we killed the trickster..."
"And? How's Sam?"
Dean felt extremely frustrated, "How do you think? It didn't work! Are you sure about that research you did?"
"Yeah. Killing it should have gotten rid of the problem. Unless- how sure are you you actually killed the trickster?"
"Oh, come on! We are not playing this game again. We're pretty sure, Bobby. We have the body in the backseat. We're on our way to burn it."
Bobby sounded skeptical, "Okay, just remember, these things are tricky bastards. So make sure you didn't miss something."
"Yeah, Bobby. Bye." He hung up and they drove in silence. Sam stared out the window, going over the case in his head, trying to determine what went wrong.
Dean white-knuckled the steering wheel and contemplated ways to slowly kill a trickster. Very slowly. Preferably days.

They finally arrived at a large field outside of town. Sam dug a shallow grave while Dean carried the body from the car. He laid it in the dirt, salted, and burned it. In all honesty, he wasn't entirely certain the salt was really necessary, but he wasn't taking any chances. They stood, watching the flames die down, then Dean buried the ashes. They didn't say a word all the way back to the motel, and they went to bed, thoroughly exhausted, in silence.