"Sam, that's a dead end," Dean said as he pushed the motel door open. "The guy swears he got abducted by aliens and slow-danced. That's not exactly solid intel."
He stepped inside—and stopped.
Bobby Singer was sitting at the small table, staring at him like he'd been waiting.
"Bobby? Why the sudden visit?" Dean asked, spreading his hands like he expected some kind of greeting.
All he got back was a glare.
"You two are idiots," Bobby said flatly. "You don't even know what you're dealing with."
Dean frowned. "We knew it was some whackjob pulling pranks."
"Dean, it's not that," Sam said immediately, clearly disagreeing. "There's something else going on in this town."
Dean turned to him, frustrated. "What else, Sam? One guy says he was abducted by aliens and forced into a slow dance. The haunted mansion? Dead. No EMF spikes, no cold spots. There is no ghost activity there."
"Aliens?" Bobby repeated slowly.
"Yeah," Dean replied. "Beam of light, probing, slow dancing. Whole package."
Bobby's expression didn't change.
"And that's why I'm saying we should leave," Dean continued. "Someone's been a little cranky since we got here. First he puts itching powder in Henry's bag, then he flattens my baby's tire."
"Dean, I didn't do that," Sam shot back. "You're the one who took my computer."
"No, I didn't."
Bobby let out a long, exhausted sigh and looked at the two of them bickering like an old married couple in the middle of a hunt.
"You boys done?" he asked sharply.
The room went quiet.
Bobby leaned forward slightly, eyes hard. "If you two had bothered to pull your heads out of your asses, it all would've been pretty clear."
Dean frowned. "What?"
"What you're dealing with," Bobby said.
Sam blinked. "Uh…"
"I got nothing," Dean admitted.
Bobby shook his head. "You've got a trickster on your hands."
"That's what I thought," Dean said immediately, pointing at Bobby.
Sam turned to him. "No you didn't."
"But let me tell you something," Bobby cut in before it could escalate. "You two were the biggest clue."
"What do you mean?" Sam asked.
"These things create chaos and mischief as easy as breathing," Bobby explained. "And it's got you so turned around, and at each other's throats, you can't even think straight."
"It knows you're onto it," Bobby said. "And it's been playing you like fiddles."
Dean asked. "So what is it? Spirit? Demon? What?"
"More like demi-gods," Bobby said evenly. "There's dozens of them across cultures. Loki in Scandinavia. Anansi in West Africa. Coyote in Native American lore. "
"Different names, same type. Immortal. Powerful. They can create things out of thin air—things as real as you and me—and make them vanish just as quick."
"You mean like an angry spirit, or an alien," Dean said, connecting the dots.
"The victims fit the MO too," Bobby continued. "Tricksters target the high and the mighty. Knock 'em down a peg. Usually with a sense of humor. Deadly pranks. Public humiliation. Psychological games."
Dean and Sam exchanged a look, the realization settling in.
"But why did it target me?" Henry asked, pushing off the wall. "I'm innocent. Not like you two."
Dean's head snapped toward him. "What's that supposed to mean, 'not like us'?"
Henry gestured vaguely. "You two walk into towns with reputations. I just wanted a decent bath and ended up with itching powder."
Before Dean could fire back, Bobby's eyes shifted to Henry more carefully.
"You must be Henry," Bobby said, studying him.
"Yeah?" Henry replied.
Bobby exhaled slowly. "John really didn't want your family involved in this mess. But you two just had to drag him into it."
Dean frowned. "You knew about him?"
They told him they had a cousin, but they hadn't shared the full story about their family.
Bobby gave them a look. "Your dad kept tabs. On his brother's family. Quietly."
Dean's expression hardened. "Why didn't we know?"
"Because he didn't want you to," Bobby said bluntly. "John didn't want this life touching them. He thought if he stayed away, if he kept distance, maybe the fire wouldn't spread."
"But it seems fate had other plans," Bobby added quietly.
The room settled for a second.
Bobby shifted his attention back to Henry. "So. How you holding up? Hunting this stuff ain't easy."
Henry shrugged lightly. "Still breathing."
"He's doing fine," Dean cut in before Henry could say more. "Actually, he's better than fine. He's got a good head for it."
Bobby grunted. "Good. Otherwise he'd be dead already."
Henry didn't argue with that.
Sam leaned forward, getting back to the point. "So how do we kill a trickster?"
Bobby didn't hesitate. "Wooden stake. Through the heart. That'll do it."
Dean nodded slowly, mind already moving. "So it bleeds."
"Oh, it bleeds," Bobby replied. "It just doesn't die easy."
"So how do we find one?" Sam asked.
Bobby leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "These things have a metabolism. They eat. They drink. They like sugar—sweet stuff, candy, junk food. Keeps their juice up. They're not floating around invisible. They walk among people."
Dean frowned. "So we're looking for a sugar addict?"
"We're looking for someone who never misses the show," Bobby corrected. "They always stick close to their victims. They set up the prank, then hang around to enjoy it. First-row seat every time."
*****
🔥 For Advanced Chapters Join My Patreon 🔥
👉 patreon.com/DeathNote4455
🚀 Get early access to future chapters currently updated upto chapter 32