It was early 2010 and the grass in my back garden was covered in frost. I wore a light jacket; I was used to this weather. Some drunken idiots had thrown a load of their beer cans in the garden and I was the one who had to clean it, the joys of living down the road from a supermarket. As I put the last can in the bag I tied it up and headed towards the bin at the bottom of the garden. There was a man standing there just looking at me. I nodded to him politely. He kept watching me. After a few minutes I decided to approach him.

"Can I help you?" I asked as I walked towards him. If he was a stalker he'd probably just walk away. Or attack me. I kept my distance to be safe. He was a young looking guy; he could have been anything from early to late 30s. His brown hair was brushed back so it didn't cover his face. He was almost good looking, except for the fact that he'd been spying on me. Creepy was never attractive.

"Do you believe in god?" He had an American accent. Suddenly his lack of coat made very little sense, unless he came from one of the colder states. His question confused me slightly. Why would that be the first thing he concerned himself with? I knew Americans were a little more serious when it came to religion, but I didn't think it would be the first topic of conversation.

"I'm open-minded." I replied. He smiled and I was instantly concerned.

"Care to hear a story?" He invited me to sit down with him on the pavement. I accepted, clutching the keys in my pocket like a weapon, just in case.

I listened to him as he explained, cynical and wary at first. He eventually convinced me that what he was saying was true. I let go of the keys and shifted slightly close to him. Sat closer I could see more of his face. His eyes looked different slightly, like the eyes of a man who had seen conflict. He laughed at jokes he made to himself as he told me about what was going on. I even made some suggestions for his situation. He turned them all down. Eventually the time came when he had to leave. He asked me something before he left, and I agreed.

There was the sound of flapping wings and he was gone.

Sam and Dean arrived in one of their usual cheap, ever-so-slightly seedy motels. Their room had two queen sized beds, and unlike some other motels it didn't have some gaudy theme that distracted them for a few moments. Dean dumped his bag on the floor and fell back onto a bed while Sam placed his carefully on a table and began to unpack.

"So what are our options here?" Dean asked. Sam looked at his brother.

"I saw a bar on the way in, we could ask for information there." Sam replied. There had been reports of some weird accidents in the area. No-one had been killed, but plenty had been put in hospital. Both of them had figured it was worth a look and seemed like a nice break from rescuing virgins from dragons.

"Or we could go directly to the hospital. Break out the suits." Dean sat up. There was a moment of silence as the brothers weighed up the cost and benefit of each of their ideas.

"Always with the scissors."

"Scissors wins 1/3 of the time, dude."

"Not when you always play against the same guy, Dean." Sam muttered as they entered the bar. Dean left his side instantly; there was a Ms Pacman machine on the other side of the bar. Sam bought a couple of beers, placed one on the machine which his brother was already placing quarters into, and returned to the bar to sit down.

Dean angrily smacked the side of the machine.

"Women problems?" A voice laughed from beside him. Dean looked to see it was a young girl. Well, he assumed it was a girl. With her short brown hair and complete lack of chest, she could have passed for a guy if it wasn't for her voice. He half-laughed and resumed playing. Out of the corner of his eye his saw the girl reach for his beer.

"What are you doing?" he asked, trying to sound as threatening as possible while still focusing on the game.

"Having a drink." She replied. Dean knew the girl knew he wouldn't abandon his game to stop her as she continued to lift the beer and take a swig. She made a weird face.

"No beer for you then." Dean laughed. The girl glared at him. Ms Pacman was being pursued by two ghosts.

"Shut it, Dean-O." she replied harshly. Dean turned to look at her, but she was gone. He quickly turned away from the game as the death tune played. There was no sign of her. He quickly rushed to the bar. "Sammy. I know what these accidents are." Sam turned to look at Dean smiling, but his face instantly dropped when he saw the look of urgency on his brother's face.

"What is it?"

"It's the Trickster."