Sam would've been lying if he said closing his eyes that night put him at ease. He was wracked with anxiety that he'd wake up hearing "Heat of the Moment." He couldn't watch Dean die again, he just couldn't. As Sam reluctantly allowed his exhaustion to drag him into slumber, he worried that the Trickster had been right, that there really was no way to save Dean.
Sam's heart raced as he clutched at Dean's dead body. Not again. Not again. He could see the Trickster's smug smile swimming before his eyes. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not again. Not like this. Asia played through Sam's mind. Dean died again and again and again. A bullet, a blade, a poorly timed arrow. It just kept happening again and again and again and again. It was Tuesday. It was always Tuesday. It would never not be Tuesday. There had to be some way to stop this. But there wasn't. There never was.
Suddenly, Dean's body disappeared. Sam blinked away hot tears, trying to process what was happening.
"I didn't mean to do this, I'm sorry," said a voice. Sam turned around to see the Trickster standing over him. Sam quickly got to his feet.
"What's happening?" Sam demanded, "Where's Dean?"
"You're dreaming, Sam. Dean's fine," the Trickster said.
Sam gradually remembered falling asleep. It wasn't Tuesday. It was a dream. The Trickster was telling the truth.
Though he felt relieved, Sam's irritation shone through. "Great," he said, "So, I'm dreaming about the Trickster now. Awesome."
"Wouldn't that be interesting," the Trickster said, grinning, "But no. I'm actually in your head right now."
"How?" Sam asked. He felt more confused than violated, but this was still ten kinds of weird.
"You think I can literally bend reality, but I can't project myself into your subconscious? I'm offended, Sam," the Trickster said with mock hurt in his voice.
"Okay, what are you doing in my head?" Sam asked. He wasn't quite sure if he was in any danger or not, but he braced himself to wake himself up if need be.
"Oh, don't do that, I come in peace," the Trickster said, "I just heard your dream, and I figured we need to talk. What I did at the Mystery Spot, while harsh, wasn't meant to give you nightmares. I was trying to help."
"You were trying to help," Sam said sarcastically, "Right."
"I was," the Trickster defended.
Sam said, "Sorry, I must've missed that when I watched my brother die over a hundred freaking times."
"You're not the easiest person to get through to, Sam," the Trickster said quietly, "And Dean has to go to Hell. There's no way around it."
"That doesn't mean I shouldn't try."
"Yes, it does," the Trickster said, looking at Sam sadly.
Sam didn't know why he was telling him this. It was Dean. Of course he had to try to save him. Why was the Trickster even here?
The Trickster answered as if he could hear Sam's thoughts, "If you try and fail to save your brother, which you will, mind you, you'll blame yourself for his fate. You'll be in worse pain than you'll be if you accept reality and just let Dean go."
"I have to do something," Sam said, "It's my fault that he's going to Hell."
"No," the Trickster said, "It's not."
"He sold his soul for me. Of course it's my fault," Sam snapped, voice cracking, "He can't go to Hell. He can't. He should be able to be happy, to live a full life. I shouldn't even be here."
Sam did not like crying in front of the Trickster. He'd done it far too often, but he couldn't hold the tears back now any more than he could've at the Mystery Spot. None of this should be happening. Dean should be okay. Sam should be dead.
The Trickster wrapped Sam in a hug, making Sam go rigid despite the comfort the Trickster was trying to give. Slowly, Sam let himself relax into the Trickster's arms.
"What Dean did with his soul was his decision," the Trickster said quietly over Sam's shoulder, "You didn't ask him to go to Hell for you. You are not responsible for his choices."
Sam pulled away from the demigod and asked, "Why do you care?" He didn't mean it in an insulting sense, he didn't say it to be mean, Sam was genuinely curious what a Trickster God was doing giving a crap about him.
The Trickster folded his arms across his chest and said defensively, "I don't care."
"You certainly put a lot of effort into a situation you don't care about," Sam said.
"Fine," the Trickster said, losing his smile, "Maybe I wanted to be a friend. Doesn't mean I care."
"You want to be my friend?" Sam asked, skeptical. Oh, yeah, something else was definitely going on.
"Well, you clearly need one," the Trickster said. Maybe friendship with a demigod could prove useful.
Sam quickly met the Trickster's gaze and asked, "Can you save my brother?"
The Trickster laughed and said, "I'm not all powerful, Sammy. I can't just rip up his contract. That's hilarious, Sam, really."
"I know there has to be a way. Could you at least help me figure out how to fix this?" Sam asked, trying desperately not to sound like he was begging.
"There is no way, Sam. Dean is going to Hell. Period. End of story," the Trickster said.
Sam said in a last ditch effort, "I thought you said you wanted to be friends."
The Trickster's eyes flashed as he snapped, "Yeah, we can be friends. But right now, what you're asking for is an enabler. I'm trying to help you, Sam. You need to give this up. Your life is not dependent on Dean's survival. And trust me, being as brutally honest as I am right now makes me the best friend you've got."
Well, it was worth a shot.
"You're right," Sam said, "I should probably give this up."
"But you're not going to."
Sam sighed and said, "I can't. He's my brother."
"There isn't even the smallest part of you that's telling you to listen to the immortal being who's begging you to stop?" the Trickster asked.
"You're not immortal," Sam said, "You're just tricky."
The Trickster smirked and said, "Don't change the subject."
Sam started, "If it all blows up in my face-"
"When," the Trickster corrected.
Sam ignored him and said, "If it all goes to hell, I could probably use a friend."
The Trickster looked at Sam skeptically.
"Then again," Sam said, "I don't even know your name."
The Trickster smiled, and Sam could tell from that plastered on grin that there was a lot he didn't know. A name was just the tip of the iceberg.
"You can call me whatever you'd like, Sammy," the Trickster said playfully.
Sam rolled his eyes and said, "Well 'the Trickster' doesn't exactly roll off the tongue in casual conversation."
"That would be your problem," the Trickster replied.
"How about I call you 'Dick' on account of you being a dick all the time?" Sam asked, irritated that he couldn't get just one simple answer.
The Trickster laughed and said, "If you'd like."
Sam huffed, frustrated. "I'll just call you Trickster," he said, "And if you feel like telling me your real name ever, I'll switch to that."
The Trickster said with a smile, "Fair enough. Trickster it is. See you around, Samsquatch."
The Trickster raised his hand to snap his fingers when Sam asked, "Wait, how do I get a hold of you?"
Sam's new friend grinned and said, "I'll be in touch."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked.
The Trickster bounced his eyebrows and disappeared, shaking Sam out of his dream.
He awoke with a gasp and glanced to his left. Dean was sprawled out over his bed, snoring softly. The Trickster was wrong. There was a way to save Dean. Sam just had to find it. But he would save his brother. He'd save him or die trying.