A/N: This one is for my best friend TheEntireHistoryOfYou :) hope it makes you smile!
This is set in season 6 - after Sam gets his soul back, of course.
Sam could count on one hand the number of times he'd yelled out because of fear: four times. Thanks to Dean, that number was now five.
Sam typically woke up quickly - that is, opening his eyes immediately and sitting upward not long after. Whether it was the hunting instincts that his dad had drilled in to him or a distaste for lounging around in bed after waking, he didn't usually delay getting up.
This morning, however, was different, and it was because he hadn't woken up on his own accord. Extremely soft, warm air was tickling his face, but it was light enough that it could be hardly felt. The slightest feeling of a shadow was on his face, prohibiting the sunlight that should have been filtering through the window from shining through his eyelids.
Someone was certainly standing above him, and it wasn't likely Dean because not only did his older brother always wake up after him, but he would have no interest in loitering by Sam's bed, waiting for him to awaken. And if it wasn't Dean, they were being ambushed by someone who wanted them dead - and there was a wide range people and things on that list.
Sam opened his eyes, and his heart hastily performed a wild somersault in his chest that made him flinch. Owing to impulse, and, admittedly, panic, he yelled - and not just a small sound of surprise, but a humiliatingly loud outcry of alarm.
A pasty clown was hovering over his face. His gloved hand was held in the air as though waving to greet Sam in an ominous manner. His face was cloud white, and his vibrant red hair matched the mocking fake smile painted across his lips and cheeks.
"Not cool, Dean!" Sam shouted, pressing himself against the headrest of the bed so quickly that his head bumped painfully against the wall.
The clown chuckled satirically, wiggling his white fingers at Sam as though challenging him. He lumbered forward, leaning closer, and still sniggering quite vocally, his grin luminous and sinister.
"Dean, that was not funny," Sam said, unnerved, yet still holding himself tightly against the wall. The throbbing at the back of his skull from where he had slammed backwards in abrupt shock was ceasing slightly. Sam averted his eyes slightly, focusing on the wall opposing him, unable to look directly at his brother.
The hair, the paint, the outfit, the fake expression - calling Dean's guise "not funny" was a very dramatic understatement. More fitting would be "terrifyingly unsettling", but there was no way that Sam would admit that.
"Man, I should have recorded that," Dean said, dropping the façade. "You freaked."
"Yeah, I think waking up to a clown staring me down is a bit intimidating!" Sam said defensively, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. "You're lucky I didn't throw a punch at you, or-"
"The look on your face!" Dean interrupted, doubling over. "I might just keep this costume after we're done with this hunt."
"No way," Sam said firmly, shaking his head. "I'm… salting and burning that thing the instant this hunt is over."
"You're no fun, Sammy."
"Oh, because you're a picnic," Sam said, feeling irritated now because of his embarrassing reflex of yelling when faced by a clown. "How long were you standing there, waiting for me to wake up?"
"About twenty minutes. Your scream, though - that was worth every minute of it," Dean responded. "It was worth waking up early, too. I'd been planning it since I picked up the costume the other day."
"I'm glad my torment was so entertaining for you," Sam muttered, still not moving from his position on his bed.
"Whatever. Let's go do our undercover thing and assimilate with the theatre people," Dean said, unperturbed. "I got a costume for your audition. And no, it's not a clown," he said, seeing the look on Sam's face. "It's a vamp costume."
"I'm dressing as a vamp?"
"Yep. Comes with the cape, slicked hair, fangs - the whole Dracula package," Dean confirmed. "Thought it was perfect, since the stories say that vampires don't have souls. You can celebrate your one month anniversary of being reunited with your conscience." He grinned up at Sam, as though pleased with his wit.
Sam was about to retort an insult in return to Dean but bit his lip, not wanting to give his brother any reason to use the clown costume against him again.
Dean seemed to read Sam's mind, and he resumed his clown act, leering and giggling in a manic demeanor. Sam ignored him and slid out of bed, making his way to the fridge to grab his water bottle from the previous day. Dean followed him, walking with a purposeful bounce in his step, and tapped on his shoulder menacingly.
"You're really not funny," Sam told him, turning around despite his desire to look anywhere but at the clown version of Dean.
The clown said nothing but continued to gloat at him unblinkingly. He smoothly and slowly reached his hand into the pocket of his frilled red trousers and pulled out a sharp silver knife.
"That's not scary," Sam said, edging towards the bathroom.
Dean didn't let his gaze nor his smile waver but instead moved towards Sam, holding the knife outwards like some sort of possessed maniac.
"Smiling like that just makes you look stupid," Sam tried again, backing away slightly.
The clown tilted his head slightly, and continued to move forward until he was nearly touching Sam. There was a pregnant pause in which Dean stared at Sam without moving, and Sam tried to keep eye contact and not look away.
"Rah!" Dean yelled suddenly, and Sam startled, recoiling backwards.
That was exactly the reaction Dean had been looking for, and Sam could see the triumphant glee on his brother's face.
"You're so scared of me - don't even deny it," Dean snorted. "You're terrified of me."
Sam ducked into the bathroom, feeling the warmth in his face and hoping that Dean wouldn't notice. Escaping to the bathroom was as good as saying, "You're right, Dean, I am scared of you in your clown costume!" but he didn't much care by now.
"Shut up, you jerk," Sam said loudly through the bathroom door in response to the incessant laughter outside.
"Alright, I'm done. Bitch," Dean responded, his voice clearly light and pleased at his ruse, and Sam couldn't help but smile as well.
He'd take Dean's banter any day over being soulless, or Eve; that was for sure.
The joys of having an older brother.
Anyway, love you lots TheEntireHistoryOfYou! 3