Reading Between The Lines (Sabriel)

Chapter 21

Crime scenes are essentially a weekly thing for a hunter. Every body that drops on a hunt after they pick up the case warrants a visit to the other side of the yellow caution tape line. It helps to get a better idea of what's happening and what to do next when you see the body in its unnatural habitat.

But, when the Trickster puts you in the crime scene, it doesn't have quite the same appeal.

"Oh, come on," Dean groans.

Sam's inclined to agree with him. Is this really the best the Trickster could come up with? A cop show? They've played FBI more times than he can count. This has to be the easiest one yet, and yet, somehow, the most obnoxious. Maybe it's not the show itself that's pissing him off, though. Maybe it's just that the Trickster put them here. That lying, traitorous son of a bitch...

"So." A forensic scientist ducks under the yellow tape towards the boys. "What do you think?"

"What do I think?" Dean repeats incredulously. "I think 'go screw yourself,' that's what I think."

"Uh..." Sam fakes a smile for the forensic scientist. "Can you give us a moment, please?"

The guy backs off, and Sam immediately turns on Dean. He has to shut him down, now. If the Trickster's not playing nice anymore, Sam's that much more determined to get these roles right.

"You got to calm down," Sam hisses.

"'Calm down'?" Dean scoffs. "I am wearing sunglasses at night!" He whips the shades off in a single angry movement. "You know who does that? No-talent douchebags!"

Sam can't argue with that logic.

"I hate this game," Dean says. "I hate that we're in a procedural cop show, and you wanna know why? Because I hate procedural cop shows!"

Sam raises his eyebrows. He can't really blame the guy, but...

"There's, like, 300 of them on tv; they're all the freakin' same," Dean continues. "It's, 'ooh, a plane crashed here.' Oh, shut up!"

Sam would give that a half-hearted chuckle, but something catches his attention first. "Hey."

"What?" Dean snaps.

Sam gestures with his sunglasses to the forensic scientist they'd just spoken to. "Check out sweet tooth over there."

Dean looks over his shoulder. This seems to calm him down a little, maybe because he's no longer focused on the fact that they're stuck in a procedural cop show. They have a tangible goal now, and he's standing just a few feet away. "You think that's him?"

"Just, uh... follow my lead." He knows the Trickster better than Dean does — and, more importantly, the Trickster knows him, too. He knows their relationship. He may have turned on Sam without a second thought, but there's no way in hell he'd expect Sam to do the same.

So they're back in character. They put their sunglasses on and dramatically walk across the crime scene, and, had this been a TV show, they would definitely be in slow motion right now.

"You, uh..." The forensic scientist gestures to them vaguely with his lollipop. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Dean says in a dramatically gravelly voice. "What've we got?"

"Well," the forensic scientist says, crouching by the body. "Well, aside from the ligature wounds around the neck, he has what appears to be a roll of quarters jammed down his throat."

Sam takes his sunglasses off dramatically. "Well, I say... jackpot." He puts his sunglasses back on dramatically. This is a lot like the soap opera: it's all in the dramatics.

"Mm," the forensic scientist hums. "Also, there was a stab wound to the lower abdomen here."

Because why would the likely cause of death be the first thing he would point out, right?

Crouching by the body, Dean prods at the wound with a long stick. After a moment, he puts it down and stands up again. "Well, I say..." He slides his sunglasses on. "No guts, no glory."

"Get that guy a..." Sam puts his sunglasses back on. "Tums."

"Gutterball," Dean adds.

The forensic scientist laughs. "Good one, guys."

And then, without warning, Dean stabs him with a stake. The forensic scientist groans and falls to the ground, blood pouring out of his body in a way that only a proper stab to the heart would do.

But he's still alive. He's grunting and gasping for air, but he's not dead. A trickster would have been dead by now.

There's a quiet chuckle from behind them, and Sam ducks out of the way. He waits, just to be sure. They only have one shot at this, so if this isn't the Trickster...

But then he changes, ever so slightly, and Sam recognizes him even before he says, "You got the wrong guy, idiots!"

"Did we?" Dean asks with a smirk.

And this is it.

This is his chance.

Sam shoves the stake through the Trickster's heart, and he's never been so relieved to be standing behind someone when he killed them. The Trickster has to be the first monster Sam isn't sure he could have killed if he was looking at his face. Not with their history.

It's hard to call him a monster. They've been friends — or more than friends — for almost two years now. Logically, Sam knows this whole thing was a fib. He was just buttering him up to throw him to the wolves. But, subconsciously, it's harder to wrap his head around this.

The Trickster falls to the ground, and, after a long few seconds of uncertainty, they're back in the warehouse they should have been in the whole time.

Dean takes the time to look around. It makes sense. They've just been in a whole bunch of fake worlds. Sam should want to make sure this is real, too. They don't want to have to suffer through any more tricks if they can spot something out of the ordinary now.

But Sam can't bring himself to look around for long. He just keeps looking down at the Trickster, lying on the ground in that police uniform. He deserves what he got and Sam knows that. But he just keeps expecting him to get up, or to peer around the corner, and show them that he's not really dead. He's done it so many times before.

But he's actually dead.

They actually killed the Trickster.

He actually killed the Trickster.

Sam lets out a deep breath. It's over. The good and the bad, it's all over.