***

In the grand tradition of their family on April Fool’s Day, in the morning Dean expected to have cayenne pepper in his shorts or Superglue on his toothbrush. When he woke Sam was still asleep, flopped like a rag doll on the other bed. He thought about sticking Sam’s hand in a bowl of warm water, but decided to just let the day pass unremarked. There were more important things to think about than one-upping Sam in their ongoing prank war.

Dean shoved himself up and went into the bathroom, wishing he’d thought to get some plastic wrap at Bobby’s to protect his stitches so he could take a shower. He was sick of bathing from the sink. Still, a washcloth and soap were always available, and he could wash his hair under the tap in the bathtub even though kneeling made his leg ache even more than usual.

Once he was cleaned up for the day he shaved and brushed his teeth, and when he came out again Sam was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed and sleepily blinking. “Up and at ‘em, Sammy!” Dean said with as much cheer as he could muster and sat on the bed to pull on his boots.

“If there’s blue dye in the shower I’m shaving off your eyebrows,” Sam muttered and lumbered into the bathroom. Dean just laughed.

“Hey,” he said as they were walking to breakfast, “do you remember that website you showed me a while back, Doors to Hell?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, giving him an odd look.

“Do you think it’s still around? Maybe we could see if they have any doors in Chicago and start . . . trying them,” he finished weakly, as Sam’s odd look only grew odder.

“You want to start trying random doors,” Sam said.

“I’m a little low on ideas,” Dean admitted.

“How long did Dad say he was here, looking for a way in?”

“A couple days.”

Sam frowned at the sidewalk. “See, he probably had more ideas of what to look for than we do. Somebody must have told him about the Hanging Man to begin with and how to find it.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “or he just heard the story and decided to give it a try.” He wished they could turn to Pamela — she might have had connections in the spirit world to explain about the other side. He sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The little coffee shop down the street from their motel didn’t have any cards or Green Man ornaments hanging on the walls, and Dean didn’t bother hiding his disappointment. There’d always been something, but there wasn’t so much as a green postcard or a chess piece to guide them.

“How’d you sleep last night?” he asked Sam quietly after their waitress took their order. “More bad dreams?”

Sam flipped through the laminated menu of desserts, frowning. “I don’t think I slept much.”

Dean sighed, exasperated. “Sam,” he said quietly, “this is a holy object. It’s sacred. It doesn’t have it in for you.”

“Could we talk about something else, please?” Sam said, pushing the menu aside. “Like, anything else? Like finding a door that doesn’t exist?”

“I told you my idea. Doors to Hell.” He nodded.

“How about something real?” Sam said and then frowned and looked up as another patron pulled over a chair to sit at their booth. “Uh, hi?”

“Oh,” the young man said, “don’t tell me you don’t remember.” He beamed at them.

“Trickster,” Sam growled, and Dean frowned too — it had been a long time but he remembered how utterly normal the guy looked except for his superior smirk. “Don’t you have April Fool’s pranks to play? Jerks to kill?”

“That is the irony of my life,” said the Trickster, looking disgruntled. “April Fool’s Day is the day that I’m bound. I have to behave today. Plus somebody asked me to look after you guys. Hey, do they have tater tots here? I like tater tots.”

“They do deep-fried hash browns,” Dean said, starting to smile.

“Who asked you?” Sam said, still suspicious.

“Nobody I’ll say no to, believe me.” He turned around and gestured to the waitress. “Have you guys got cash? I don’t carry money.”

“We can treat you to breakfast,” said Dean.

“Dean,” Sam said and glared at him.

“He’s here to help,” said Dean. “We’re buying him pancakes.”

The Trickster looked smugly at Sam. “Blueberry pancakes,” he said when the waitress came to their table. “And coffee. Keep it coming.”

“So what’s it going to take to get to the Hanged Man?” Dean asked the Trickster after she left. “Is there an herb we take, or a spell? An incantation of some kind? Maybe a key?”

“No.” The Trickster shook his head. “It’s just a matter of opening the right door the right way.”

Series Navigation

PreviousNext