Ain't no party like a Pagan party.

Dropping in || Dean Weechester & Trickster

teendeanwinchester:

trickypagan:

The pagan picked up his cards, smirking at the teenager, “don’t think that just because I’m older than you that I’ll go easy on you, Jailbait.”  But his smile dimmed a little when Dean asked about the angels, though it had more to do with confusion than anything else.  ”You didn’t know?”  He asked before shrugging, “yup, angels exist.  Not just angels, but archangels too.  And cupids, who by the way give the best hugs but aren’t too fond of clothing.”  Trickster gave a little shiver, picking up a card before placing a pair of them down onto the bedspread.  ”Lemmie guess, this is about my ‘part of an archangel’ comment, right?”  The pagan looked up at Dean, a knowing glint in his eye and a raised eyebrow.

Dean looked down at his cards a bit sheepishly and shrugged. “I know you don’t wanna talk about it,” he said simply, placing a pair face down himself and then looking back to Trickster. “I just never really believed in angels, I guess. Or, y’know, God, to be honest. It’s kind of weird to know that they exist.” He looked over his cards. “We playing where you ask for a specific card, or just a rank?” he added, seeming determined to change the subject.

Trickster shrugged, “it’s not that I don’t want to talk about it…” he pursed his lips as he thought, “it’s just a little hard to explain.”  Letting out a small laugh, the pagan rolled his eyes, “right, the guy who tangles with Windigos and Werewolves is weirded by the idea by God existing.”  He grinned at the teenager, “kinda funny when you think about it.”  Trickster let out a long breath, he said, “well, I’m not even sure if the big guy Himself is still around, but he did exist.”  Glancing down at his cards, Trickster thought for a moment, “just rank, makes things less infuriating…on that note, have any fours?”


Dropping in || Dean Weechester & Trickster

teendeanwinchester:

trickypagan:

teendeanwinchester:

Part of an archangel? Well, he wasn’t too keen on letting that one go, but he decided to- at least for now. He made a mental note to bring it up again sometime. It seemed like a pretty touchy subject, for some reason.

Dean snapped back to reality at Trickster’s suggestion. He thought for a moment. “Sam has a pack of those somewhere in his bag,” he remembered, turning to dig through Sam’s clothes until he found the pack of cards. He set them on Trickster’s bed and moved to sit cross-legged next to Trickster but facing him. “What d’you wanna play?” He asked, then added, “Just so you know, I’m pretty damn good at most card games, so don’t feel bad if you lose.” He winked, taking the cards out of the box and starting to shuffle them.

Trickster grinned as the teenager started shuffling the cards, pleased that he wouldn’t have to settle for just staring at the terrible wallpaper.  ”Oh, come on Dean-o, I’ve got a few years on you playing card games,” the pagan replied with a smirk.  Watching the cards movements, Trickster decided, “how about we start with an easy game of Go-fish,” he laughed, reaching out to pat Dean on the head, “don’t worry, we’ll get to Poker after I beat you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but grinned, too. He dealt the cards. “Half the money I make comes from playing cards, dude, but you are probably a lot older than me… I dunno. I guess we’ll see who wins.” His mind still lingered on the ‘part of an archangel’ thing, but he tried not to think about it. Trickster didn’t seem too keen on talking about it. Still, though- he’d never actually believed in angels… Pausing briefly, he looked up at the other. “Hey, um… So angels exist, then?” he asked, voice soft and a little hesitant. He didn’t want to push too much, but he couldn’t help asking.

The pagan picked up his cards, smirking at the teenager, “don’t think that just because I’m older than you that I’ll go easy on you, Jailbait.”  But his smile dimmed a little when Dean asked about the angels, though it had more to do with confusion than anything else.  ”You didn’t know?”  He asked before shrugging, “yup, angels exist.  Not just angels, but archangels too.  And cupids, who by the way give the best hugs but aren’t too fond of clothing.”  Trickster gave a little shiver, picking up a card before placing a pair of them down onto the bedspread.  ”Lemmie guess, this is about my ‘part of an archangel’ comment, right?”  The pagan looked up at Dean, a knowing glint in his eye and a raised eyebrow.


Dropping in || Dean Weechester & Trickster

teendeanwinchester:

trickypagan:

teendeanwinchester

Dean moved closer, sitting on the edge of Trickster’s bed and looking at the scribbled-in Bible. He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I’m not religious, dude,” he teased. “I’m almost offended and I’m not even sure I believe in… Well, that God, anyway. I know the Pagans are definitely real.” He looked around the room, wondering if he could find something for Trickster to do. But motel rooms were generally boring; the most interesting thing in the room right now was probably just the TV. “Hmmm… Well, I could go off and get you books or board games or something, if you want. Not much to do when you’re stuck in bed, really,” he shrugged. 

Trickster chuckled, “I was a part of an archangel once, you know,” he said off-handedly as he set the defaced bible back on the nightstand.  ”So I now a thing or two about the big guy…but we’re not going to open up that can of worms today, too much philosophy, not enough alcohol.”  Trickster tried his hardest not to roll his eyes, he knew the teenager was just trying to help, and make sure that the pagan didn’t destroy anything.  

“Hm,” he drummed his fingers on his legs before he spoke up, “how about you find a pack of cards and we can play a bunch of different games?”  It should be easy enough to find, not to mention the fact that Trickster could take the time to see just how good this younger Dean was at poker. 

Part of an archangel? Well, he wasn’t too keen on letting that one go, but he decided to- at least for now. He made a mental note to bring it up again sometime. It seemed like a pretty touchy subject, for some reason.

Dean snapped back to reality at Trickster’s suggestion. He thought for a moment. “Sam has a pack of those somewhere in his bag,” he remembered, turning to dig through Sam’s clothes until he found the pack of cards. He set them on Trickster’s bed and moved to sit cross-legged next to Trickster but facing him. “What d’you wanna play?” He asked, then added, “Just so you know, I’m pretty damn good at most card games, so don’t feel bad if you lose.” He winked, taking the cards out of the box and starting to shuffle them.

Trickster grinned as the teenager started shuffling the cards, pleased that he wouldn’t have to settle for just staring at the terrible wallpaper.  ”Oh, come on Dean-o, I’ve got a few years on you playing card games,” the pagan replied with a smirk.  Watching the cards movements, Trickster decided, “how about we start with an easy game of Go-fish,” he laughed, reaching out to pat Dean on the head, “don’t worry, we’ll get to Poker after I beat you.”


Dropping in || Dean Weechester & Trickster

teendeanwinchester:

trickypagan:

teendeanwinchester:

Dean sighed in something close to ecstasy when the hot water hit his skin. He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes. What was he even doing? Pagans were, in Dean’s experience, always dangerous. Hell, they killed people. So why was he nursing one back to health? In the same room where he- and Sam- slept? Why did he even trust him in the first place?

His thoughts ran around in circles until the hot water ran out. He shut off the shower and sighed, wrapping a towel around his waist as he exited the bathroom. He raised an eyebrow at Trickster’s scribbling in the Bible, but said nothing. Instead, he went about the near-impossible feat of maneuvering on a pair of boxers without letting the towel fall; thankfully, it didn’t, and he dropped it once he was done. He towel-dried his hair for a moment, looking back to Trickster. “You having fun there?” He asked, amused.

When the teenager walked out of the bathroom, clad in only a towel with steam pouring out of the doorway, Trickster had to laugh a little at how ridiculous it seemed.  Like something out of a porno from the 70s or 80s, that level of ridiculousness.  Rolling his eyes at the sight of Dean trying to get into his boxers without dropping his towel, Trickster returned to his scribbles.  

“You bet your Jailbait ass,” the pagan god replied, grinning up at the teenager and flipping the book so that he could see.  ”What was I supposed to do while I waited for your century-long shower to finish?”  Trickster asked, “especially since I have little to no power at my disposal.”  

Dean moved closer, sitting on the edge of Trickster’s bed and looking at the scribbled-in Bible. He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I’m not religious, dude,” he teased. “I’m almost offended and I’m not even sure I believe in… Well, that God, anyway. I know the Pagans are definitely real.” He looked around the room, wondering if he could find something for Trickster to do. But motel rooms were generally boring; the most interesting thing in the room right now was probably just the TV. “Hmmm… Well, I could go off and get you books or board games or something, if you want. Not much to do when you’re stuck in bed, really,” he shrugged. 

Trickster chuckled, “I was a part of an archangel once, you know,” he said off-handedly as he set the defaced bible back on the nightstand.  ”So I now a thing or two about the big guy…but we’re not going to open up that can of worms today, too much philosophy, not enough alcohol.”  Trickster tried his hardest not to roll his eyes, he knew the teenager was just trying to help, and make sure that the pagan didn’t destroy anything.  

"Hm," he drummed his fingers on his legs before he spoke up, "how about you find a pack of cards and we can play a bunch of different games?"  It should be easy enough to find, not to mention the fact that Trickster could take the time to see just how good this younger Dean was at poker. 


Dropping in || Dean Weechester & Trickster

teendeanwinchester:

trickypagan:

Trickster huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes as he chewed on the red licorice, “yeah, yeah, tease the poor invalid.”  Even if Trickster was going to jump the teenager, the stake holes in his shoulder and leg really put a dampener on any of those urges.  The pagan god all but full-on pouted when Dean left him alone.  He had just polished off the licorice and he was so bored.  He was going to go mad sitting around for more than a day or two, part of him felt a little sorry for Dean.  If the poor teenager thought taking care of his fussy younger brother was bad, he honestly had never met a stir-crazy and bored pagan.  

Now…just to think of a way to entertain himself while using little to no power.  The only thing within reach was the bedside table.  Shamelessly rummaging through it’s contents, he groaned unhappily when the only things that he found was an old glass marble and a Holy Bible.  Well…best to make use of what he had, Trickster thought as he made one of Sam’s pens appear on the bed beside him.  Uncapping the pen with childish glee, Trickster set about “correcting” the religious text and adding in his own little blurbs and lewd doodles.

Dean sighed in something close to ecstasy when the hot water hit his skin. He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes. What was he even doing? Pagans were, in Dean’s experience, always dangerous. Hell, they killed people. So why was he nursing one back to health? In the same room where he- and Sam- slept? Why did he even trust him in the first place?

His thoughts ran around in circles until the hot water ran out. He shut off the shower and sighed, wrapping a towel around his waist as he exited the bathroom. He raised an eyebrow at Trickster’s scribbling in the Bible, but said nothing. Instead, he went about the near-impossible feat of maneuvering on a pair of boxers without letting the towel fall; thankfully, it didn’t, and he dropped it once he was done. He towel-dried his hair for a moment, looking back to Trickster. “You having fun there?” He asked, amused.

When the teenager walked out of the bathroom, clad in only a towel with steam pouring out of the doorway, Trickster had to laugh a little at how ridiculous it seemed.  Like something out of a porno from the 70s or 80s, that level of ridiculousness.  Rolling his eyes at the sight of Dean trying to get into his boxers without dropping his towel, Trickster returned to his scribbles.  

"You bet your Jailbait ass," the pagan god replied, grinning up at the teenager and flipping the book so that he could see.  "What was I supposed to do while I waited for your century-long shower to finish?"  Trickster asked, "especially since I have little to no power at my disposal."  


Dropping in || Dean Weechester & Trickster

teendeanwinchester:

trickypagan:

teendeanwinchester:

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he murmured, voice a little affectionate. He scooted a little closer to Trickster again and pressed the back of his hand to the other’s forehead, the way he usually checked Sam for a fever since Dad was too cheap to buy a thermometer. “You’re a little warm, but you always are,” he noted. “You should be fine. Just rest, okay? Don’t worry about my dad or anything.” He smiled a little and smoothed down Trickster’s hair again, just because. It was sticking up all over the place, anyway, he told himself, and he was just being nice. Yep. That was it.

“Can’t garuntee that I’ll sleep,” Trickster replied, shrugging, “I tend to get stir-crazy after a while.”  He was never meant to sit still in one place, pagans tended to be wild things.  Humming contently as he felt Dean’s hand in his hair once again, Trickster’s eyes started to droop, “aw, Dean-o, you do care,” the pagan god chuckled, “careful or this might turn into a ‘chick-flick’ moment,” he teased.  Rummaging through the bag of candy, Trickster pulled out a red licorice stick for himself and a Snickers bar for Dean.  “‘ere you go,” he placed it in Dean’s hand, “now don’t go around sayin’ that I never did nothin’ for you.”  Trying as hard as he could to stay awake, Trickster tore into the licorice.     

Dean snorted, taking the candy and standing up; he plopped down onto his own bed, looking at the candy bar for a moment. Yeah, he supposed he did kinda care about Trickster, didn’t he? A couple weeks ago he wouldn’t have hesitated to drive that stake right back where it’d missed the first time, and now… Well, now he just had a problem. Trickster had grown on him, despite his infuriating personality. He sighed and unwrapped the chocolate bar, taking a bite of it. “I’m gonna hop in the shower.” he paused, then added, “I’d say ‘feel free to join me’, but you probably should stay in bed.” With this, he set the candy bar on the nightstand and stood, going into the bathroom.

Trickster huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes as he chewed on the red licorice, “yeah, yeah, tease the poor invalid.”  Even if Trickster was going to jump the teenager, the stake holes in his shoulder and leg really put a dampener on any of those urges.  The pagan god all but full-on pouted when Dean left him alone.  He had just polished off the licorice and he was so bored.  He was going to go mad sitting around for more than a day or two, part of him felt a little sorry for Dean.  If the poor teenager thought taking care of his fussy younger brother was bad, he honestly had never met a stir-crazy and bored pagan.  

Now…just to think of a way to entertain himself while using little to no power.  The only thing within reach was the bedside table.  Shamelessly rummaging through it’s contents, he groaned unhappily when the only things that he found was an old glass marble and a Holy Bible.  Well…best to make use of what he had, Trickster thought as he made one of Sam’s pens appear on the bed beside him.  Uncapping the pen with childish glee, Trickster set about “correcting” the religious text and adding in his own little blurbs and lewd doodles.


Dropping in || Dean Weechester & Trickster

teendeanwinchester:

trickypagan:

teendeanwinchester:

Dean frowned a little and set down the can, kneeling beside the bed. He opened the plastic first aid kit and met Trickster’s eyes. “You shouldn’t joke so much, man, you look like shit. If you were human, you’d be dead,” he mumbled. It wasn’t that he was worried for the other. Really, it wasn’t. He just… Okay, yeah, he was worried. Sue him. He reached up and smoothed down Trickster’s hair, though quickly retracted his hand, embarrassed.

He went about quickly changing the bandages, noting aloud that the wounds appeared to be in better condition than they’d been yesterday, but were still serious. “I might have to get my own hotel room or somethin’ and stay back an extra week once Dad gets back. You need more time to heal,” he mused once he was done, looking over his handiwork to make sure the bandages were firmly in place.

“You always know just what to say to make a gal feel pretty,” Trickster replied in a sarcastic, falsetto voice, batting his eyelashes at the teenager mockingly.  The pagan god sighed contently when he felt Dean’s hand in his hair, the motion had always calmed him down.  Rubbing at his eyes, trying to wake himself up more, Trickster mumbled, “I think I’ll be fine after three or four days, the first day is always th’ worst.  Unless your Dad’s coming back before then, we’ll be good.”

Trickster gave Dean’s shoulder an uncoordinated clap, “don’t worry ‘bout getting a hotel room, I can take care of that, because hellooooooooooooooooo,” he motioned to himself with another laugh, “pagan god here.  Better hotel rooms, yeah.”  Blame it on the fever, but Trickster didn’t want the teenager spending his hard-earned money.  Granted, it was money from stealing and hustling but Trickster knew that it was for buying food and essential things for hunts, not for babysitting a sickened pagan.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he murmured, voice a little affectionate. He scooted a little closer to Trickster again and pressed the back of his hand to the other’s forehead, the way he usually checked Sam for a fever since Dad was too cheap to buy a thermometer. “You’re a little warm, but you always are,” he noted. “You should be fine. Just rest, okay? Don’t worry about my dad or anything.” He smiled a little and smoothed down Trickster’s hair again, just because. It was sticking up all over the place, anyway, he told himself, and he was just being nice. Yep. That was it.

"Can’t garuntee that I’ll sleep," Trickster replied, shrugging, "I tend to get stir-crazy after a while."  He was never meant to sit still in one place, pagans tended to be wild things.  Humming contently as he felt Dean’s hand in his hair once again, Trickster’s eyes started to droop, "aw, Dean-o, you do care,” the pagan god chuckled, “careful or this might turn into a ‘chick-flick’ moment,” he teased.  Rummaging through the bag of candy, Trickster pulled out a red licorice stick for himself and a Snickers bar for Dean.  “‘ere you go,” he placed it in Dean’s hand, “now don’t go around sayin’ that I never did nothin’ for you.”  Trying as hard as he could to stay awake, Trickster tore into the licorice.     


Dropping in || Dean Weechester & Trickster

teendeanwinchester:

trickypagan:

teendeanwinchester:

trickypagan:

Trickster, having made his own personal nest out of the covers and blankets, only grumbled when he heard Dean’s voice.  He felt terrible, like he had a cold plus a flu plus he’d gotten run over by a semi-truck.  Even though Trickster knew it was his magic working to get the blood out of his system, that didn’t mean that he had to enjoy it.  

“Yeah, ‘m awake.  I feel like death wormed over…wormed over,” the pagan god groaned from under the tangled covers.  

A slightly paler than normal hand darted out from the pile of blankets, thumping around the mattress for a few seconds before moving to the nightstand.  Snagging a stray candy bar, the arm darted back under the covers.   

Dean watched, half in amusement and half in worry. “Get that blanket off you so I can check your bandages,” he demanded after a few moments of standing awkwardly between their two beds. He went about changing into jeans again, though didn’t bother with a shirt; no point in it.

He cracked open a can of soda and took a sip. He didn’t drink soda, not often, but he didn’t want to drink beer so early; so soda, it was. He returned his eyes to Gabriel’s bed, still torn between worry and amusement.

“Fine,” Trickster replied, sitting up from his nest of blankets.  As the comforter slipped from the pagan, it revealed a sickly-looking god.  His hair was sleep-mused and sticking up everywhere.  It looked as though Trickster was going through a particularly terrible cold, with his pale face and the dark rings under his eyes.  Half-heartedly nibbling on the chocolate bar, Trickster shrugged off the blankets to reveal the bandages.

“Give it to me straight Doctor Dean,” the pagan god chuckled to the teenager, “will I ever be able to dance again…?”  He knew what he must look like, he hoped that Dean wouldn’t panic.  

Dean frowned a little and set down the can, kneeling beside the bed. He opened the plastic first aid kit and met Trickster’s eyes. “You shouldn’t joke so much, man, you look like shit. If you were human, you’d be dead,” he mumbled. It wasn’t that he was worried for the other. Really, it wasn’t. He just… Okay, yeah, he was worried. Sue him. He reached up and smoothed down Trickster’s hair, though quickly retracted his hand, embarrassed.

He went about quickly changing the bandages, noting aloud that the wounds appeared to be in better condition than they’d been yesterday, but were still serious. “I might have to get my own hotel room or somethin’ and stay back an extra week once Dad gets back. You need more time to heal,” he mused once he was done, looking over his handiwork to make sure the bandages were firmly in place.

"You always know just what to say to make a gal feel pretty," Trickster replied in a sarcastic, falsetto voice, batting his eyelashes at the teenager mockingly.  The pagan god sighed contently when he felt Dean’s hand in his hair, the motion had always calmed him down.  Rubbing at his eyes, trying to wake himself up more, Trickster mumbled, "I think I’ll be fine after three or four days, the first day is always th’ worst.  Unless your Dad’s coming back before then, we’ll be good."

Trickster gave Dean’s shoulder an uncoordinated clap, “don’t worry ‘bout getting a hotel room, I can take care of that, because hellooooooooooooooooo,” he motioned to himself with another laugh, “pagan god here.  Better hotel rooms, yeah.”  Blame it on the fever, but Trickster didn’t want the teenager spending his hard-earned money.  Granted, it was money from stealing and hustling but Trickster knew that it was for buying food and essential things for hunts, not for babysitting a sickened pagan.


Dropping in || Dean Weechester & Trickster

teendeanwinchester:

trickypagan:

Trickster, having made his own personal nest out of the covers and blankets, only grumbled when he heard Dean’s voice.  He felt terrible, like he had a cold plus a flu plus he’d gotten run over by a semi-truck.  Even though Trickster knew it was his magic working to get the blood out of his system, that didn’t mean that he had to enjoy it.  

“Yeah, ‘m awake.  I feel like death wormed over…wormed over,” the pagan god groaned from under the tangled covers.  

A slightly paler than normal hand darted out from the pile of blankets, thumping around the mattress for a few seconds before moving to the nightstand.  Snagging a stray candy bar, the arm darted back under the covers.   

Dean watched, half in amusement and half in worry. “Get that blanket off you so I can check your bandages,” he demanded after a few moments of standing awkwardly between their two beds. He went about changing into jeans again, though didn’t bother with a shirt; no point in it.

He cracked open a can of soda and took a sip. He didn’t drink soda, not often, but he didn’t want to drink beer so early; so soda, it was. He returned his eyes to Gabriel’s bed, still torn between worry and amusement.

"Fine," Trickster replied, sitting up from his nest of blankets.  As the comforter slipped from the pagan, it revealed a sickly-looking god.  His hair was sleep-mused and sticking up everywhere.  It looked as though Trickster was going through a particularly terrible cold, with his pale face and the dark rings under his eyes.  Half-heartedly nibbling on the chocolate bar, Trickster shrugged off the blankets to reveal the bandages.

"Give it to me straight Doctor Dean," the pagan god chuckled to the teenager, "will I ever be able to dance again…?"  He knew what he must look like, he hoped that Dean wouldn’t panic.  


Dropping in || Dean Weechester & Trickster

teendeanwinchester:

trickypagan:

Trickster rolled his eye behind Dean’s back.  Did the poor kid really think that he was going to jump him the moment that he wasn’t looking?  The pagan god had much more class than that, even if some of his fellows did not.  Popping a few M&Ms in his mouth, he grinned at the sight of the teenager’s blush, far more amused that he should have been.  

He gave Dean a shrug, hissing quietly as the action sent a bolt of pain through his shoulder.  ”I think I’ll be able to survive the night without your help,” Trickster replied, placing the bag of assorted candies onto the nightstand between the two motel beds.  As carefully as he dared, the pagan god somehow managed to work himself under the covers without much pain from his leg or shoulder.  

“Sleep tight, Jailbait,” Trickster said, trying to get comfortable on the bed.  It was going to feel like an eternity before he healed enough to leave, especially with the fact that he would only be able to use a minimal amount of energy.  But soon enough, Trickster fell asleep, snoring lightly on the bed.

Dean huffed. “I told you to stop calling me that,” he mumbled half-heartedly. He got into bed next to Sam, though, shoving his younger brother over a little. Bed hog. Finally, though, Dean fell asleep, shortly after Trickster started snoring.

When he awoke the next morning, Sam was already gone; he’d chosen to walk to school instead of waking Dean, it seemed. Whatever, he’s fifteen, he thought to himself. He sat up and stretched, then looked over to Trickster in the next bed. ”You awake?” he asked, voice scratchy with sleep. He glanced over at the clock; it was just past ten. He’d slept in longer than he’d intended. Ah, well- not like he had much to do today, anyways.

Trickster, having made his own personal nest out of the covers and blankets, only grumbled when he heard Dean’s voice.  He felt terrible, like he had a cold plus a flu plus he’d gotten run over by a semi-truck.  Even though Trickster knew it was his magic working to get the blood out of his system, that didn’t mean that he had to enjoy it.  

"Yeah, ‘m awake.  I feel like death wormed over…wormed over," the pagan god groaned from under the tangled covers.  

A slightly paler than normal hand darted out from the pile of blankets, thumping around the mattress for a few seconds before moving to the nightstand.  Snagging a stray candy bar, the arm darted back under the covers.