Let it never be said that I held any love for John Winchester.
While the boys gave John the Hunter's Funeral, I stood a ways behind them. A respectful distance, I told myself.
But in truth it was because I didn't want the smoke of him in my lungs.
Yeah I hated John Winchester- with passion that went beyond this body.
Cause even after all the pain he put Dean through, I'm standing here watching Dean physically hold back his own anger towards John. Not even a few hours ago, he was ordering that if he couldn't save his brother- the one person that Dean would always go above and beyond for since John put Sam in his arms to save him from the fire- then Dean should kill him.
Asshole.
What father orders that?
The asshole fathers, that's who.
Mary must be turning over in the- wherever she ended up.
She never wanted this life for her sons.
Fuck you, John, for making it worse.
==GMB==
One Week Later
All of us mourned John in our own ways.
Sam was taking advantage of all the books of Bobby's house. He used whatever time not spent silent with grief working on reading any book he could.
Dean threw himself into fixing up the Impala. It was rare to ever see him away from the black beauty.
Myself? I worked on schematics for other projects. Focusing on other projects was easier than anything. Even ignoring the boys to the point of not leaving my guest room.
How do you mourn a man you hated that died for you?
==GMB==
Sam found us a case. Well not so much a case as a connection to a case.
John's phone had a voicemail on it. Ellen Harvelle, calling with an offer to help.
We searched for her in John's journal. It was easy work to find the Roadhouse.
Just like walking into Bobby's house, I treated the place with the reverence it deserved.
A reverence I'd never give John Winchester.
There's not doubt in my mind he told Dean to murder us.
How could I mourn someone that wanted me dead, even when he was saving my life?
==GMB==
We left the Roadhouse too soon.
Sam snagged the case.
We were on the way.
Then Dean found out the villain we were supposed to be fighting.
"You've gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?" Dean questioned.
I was fighting giggles.
"Yeah. He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually." Sam explained to us.
"The paper said they visited a carnival? Does it say which?" I asked.
"Right, right." He looked over the paper. "The, uh, Cooper Carnivals."
"So how do you know we're not dealing with some psycho carnie in a clown suit?" Dean questioned.
"Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course." Sam explained.
"Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?" Dean stated.
I snickered.
Sam shook his head. "Oh, give me a break."
Dean (laughs) "You didn't think I'd remember, did you?" Dean mocked. He leaned back towards me. "Get this, Raven, this guy still busts out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on the television."
"I noticed." I chuckled. "Figured it out months ago, boy was it funny."
"Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying or spiders." Sam reminded us that he too had something against us.
"Creepy crawly death eaters!" I defended, cowering.
"Planes crash!" Dean argued.
"And apparently clowns kill!" Sam argued back.
He had a point.
Stephen King called it.
Damn it, the man called it.
Pennywise was just like a multidimensional spider.
Fuck we're both fucked.
"We got repeats?" I asked, trying to ignore the fear in my head. "Maybe...every couple of decade, kinda repeats?"
"Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O. It happened three times, three different locales." Sam reported.
"Right. Yeah. Course it has." I hummed.
"It's weird, though, I'm mean if it is a spirit it's usually bound to a specific locale, you know, a house, or a town." Dean noted.
"So how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?" Sam mused.
"Cursed object, maybe. Spirit attaches itself to something and the, uh, carnival carries it around with them." Dean reasoned.
"Great. Paranormal scavenger hunt." Sam remarked.
"I know! Those are the best." Sam gave me a flat look. "What?" I replied, completely missing the point.
"Well, this case was his idea." Dean snarked. "By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job."
"So?"
"It's just... not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt." Dean pointed out.
"Okay. Now that he's saying it outloud, that's a good point." I agreed. "It's not like you to give up the ghost for a...ghost. That was an unfortuante mixing of metaphors."
"I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do." Sam countered.
Instead of my usual, and normal disgusted noise at the mention of John, I silently sat back against the backseat.
"What Dad would have wanted?" Dean repeated, not believing it for a second.
"Yeah. So?" Sam countered, sticking to his guns.
"You got anything for this?" Dean asked me. I said nothing, looking down at my Bag. The buttons had been cleaned of blood, no sign they'd been part of an attack. "Guess nothin'."
We kept on driving.
I ignored the pit growing in my chest.
How do you mourn when you don't know how?
==GMB==
We got jobs at the carnival to start our scavenger hunt. Despite some odd directions-
"Excuse me, we're looking for a Mr. Cooper, have you seen him around?" Dean asked a man.
The blind man pulled off his sunglasses. "What is that, some kind of joke?" Asked our monster, disguised as a normal blind human.
"Oh. God, I'm, I'm sorry." Dean spluttered.
"You think I wouldn't give my eyeteeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset, or anything at all?" The blind man replied.
Dean glanced back to me. "You won't help." He turned to Sam. "Wanna give me a little help here?"
"Not really." Sam replied.
I snuck him a fist bump. Sam winked. Both of us wore shit eating grins.
A short man walked up to our sides. "Hey man, is there a problem?" He asked the blind man, giving Dean the stink eye.
"Yeah, this guy hates blind people." The blind man told the short one.
"No, I don't, I-" Dean spluttered.
"Hey buddy, what's your problem?" The short man asked, offended with his buddy.
"Nothing, it's just a little misunderstanding." Dean replied.
"Little?! You son of a bitch!"
"No, no, no, no! I'm just, could somebody tell me where Mr. Cooper is?" I bit my lip to keep from cackling. Sam laughed at my side. "Please?"
We got to his office. And we got jobs. It took some convincing, especially on my part. Sam helped.
"You kids picked a hell of a time to join up. Take a seat." Mr Cooper invited us to sit.
Dean took the normal chair. Sam seemed to fight the urge to sit in the only other chair: a clown chair. I stood to the side, taking a plain boring stool. Sam resigned himself to his fate.
"We've got all kinds of local trouble."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked, innocently.
"Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered." Mr Cooper replied. "Cops always seem to start here first. So, you three ever worked the circuit before?"
"Yes sir, last year through Texas and Arkansas." Sam answered. Dean just agreed blindly.
"I worked at one in Illinois, another in Minnesota." I reported.
"Doing what? Ride jockies? Butcher? ANS men?" Mr Cooper asked.
"Trapeze." I answered. Sam and Dean glanced from the corner of their eyes, surprised. "Also tight-rope walk. Had a whole routine up there but even then I was backup, mostly useful with the repairs for games."
"Yeah, it's, uh, little bit of everything, I guess." Sam lied with an awkward laugh.
"Her I believe." Mr Cooper noted. I smirked in pride. "You two have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?"
"Nope." Dean admitted, knowing they'd been made. "But we really need the work. Oh, and uh, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady."
He pointed to a picture. "You see that picture? That's my daddy." Mr Cooper explained.
"You look just like him." Sam complimented.
"He was in the business. Ran a freakshow. Till they outlawed them, most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress. I guess." Mr Cooper explained. "You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don't fit in nowhere else. But you two? You should go to school. Find a couple of girls. Have two point five kids. Live regular."
...did he just call me an outcast?
I mean I am, but Chuck what the hell?
If you're gonna insult me, wait.
"Sir? We don't want to go to school. And we don't want regular. We want this." Sam stressed.
==GMB==
I don't want normal.
I know I never did.
Normal was never in the cards for me, even before I got my powers.
Always a little too interested in what hid in the shadows.
Too curious about the horror genre.
Too much an outcast to belong anywhere else.
Everyone always told me to join the other freaks at the circus.
Look who keeps crawling back.
==GMB==
"Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job."
"Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam."
"Since he died, okay? Do you have a problem with that?"
"Naw, I don't have a problem at all. Raven. You got a problem?"
"I'm gonna start searching." Avoiding the argument, I ran off to find just anywhere to hide. Would it be too suspicious if I killed that Rakshasa now?
==GMB==
Why can't I even mourn the man he had once been?
==GMB==
The boys were fighting again.
I stayed quiet.
Dean wanted to ignore his feelings.
Sam wanted to respect his father, in death.
I wanted this to all be over with.
==GMB==
Some research had led us to a race of ancient Hindu creatures called Rakshasa. They appear in human form to feed on human flesh. They can make themselves invisible. They could only be killed by brass. The kicker? They cannot enter a home without first being invited.
Kids always loved clowns.
Hadn't they read Stephen King as a bedtime story to their demented nightmare twin who could only fall asleep if people around her were jumping at shadows?
Like normal?
Oh fuck you Chuck.
Rakshasas sleep on a bed of dead bugs.
Why does the Author hate me?
Why am I so pissed?
Because Sam and Dean called other places to search!
They left me to handle the blind man!
==GMB==
I.
Hate.
Bugs.
Fuck you, Chuck.
==GMB==
The Rakshasa had vanished- changing to his invisible form.
This left me struggling against a locked door. Against a threat I couldn't see.
"No Raven, you can handle this alone. Why do you keep insisting one of us go with you? You scared of some bugs? They remember it just as well as I do!" I grumbled to myself.
A knife flew past my head. I turned round to glare at the empty room.
"You are so lucky you didn't take out my hair." I warned him.
The Rakshasa was silent. He was totally laughing at my pain.
Another knife was thrown. This time catching a few strands of my hair.
This bitch was dead.
"Best part of being a repair girl for a circus?" Reaching into my Bag, I pulled out a long brass pipe. "Nobody questions why you take apart the funhouse piano."
Silence.
"Not so cocky now, are ya?" I taunted. Twirling the brass pipe in my hand, I waited. Listening to the sounds in the dirt. Listened to the slightest shift in the air and win-
There!
Striking out, I stuck the pointed end of the pipe into him.
Invisible, the Rakshasa could only be seen by the blood pouring from his new stomach wound. He let out a piercing screech.
The door behind me was thrown open. I ignored it, focused on stopping this thing from his continued existence. Preying on the innocence of children for a food source? That's a no-no in my book.
It shrieked again. His eyes flashed in a horrific reflected yellow.
"What-?" Dean began.
I smacked the hunter's chest. "Everything will be fine, Raven. Go check on the blind guy, Raven! He won't be a problem, Raven!" Ranting more, I smacked either boy at the end of each sentence.
"Hey-"
"Geez that hurts-"
"Quit it!"
"Would you stop-?!"
"He's not gonna be a problem, Raven! Just get the brass knife, Raven!"
"That's still healing!"
"Did you get brass knuckles?!"
"He had bed bugs you nitwits!"
==GMB==
I couldn't mourn John Winchester.
But I could thank him for giving me these two.
Even if I wanted to kill them half the time...they were starting to feel like family.
==GMB==
End of the day?
Ash- secret computer genius that I now totally wanted a hack-battle with- promised to alert us for any signs of demonic activity on Azazel's level.
Ellen offered us a place of comfort and peace.
Sam tried to air his feelings. He admitted to missing his father, but not knowing how. He talked about his final words with John. He talked about not being okay.
He and I talked after. I admitted to not mourning John, not the way they did. I mourned him as a man that could've been. Mourned all the things I would never get to ask about. I wasn't mourning a father, that would've been insulting. I mourned the man. Sam accepted that. Apparently, expected it.
Great to know, Sam.
Thanks for that.
I went to my little guest room, hiding again to get used to whatever emotional turmoil I felt inside.
And I used my one phone call.
Lilac was probably eager to hear my voice.
Outside, Dean beat up the car he'd just repaired. He took out the anger and burden and conflict he felt out on the one thing that could take it without judgement.
For now.
==GMB==
AN: The title for the chapter is the name of the song, believe it or not, that I thought fitting. Also funny- haha. Clowns.
Been working on a lot of future lore for Raven Quinzel. It's gonna pay off later if I do it right. But that requires search. Like, a fuck ton of research.
Okay, I'm trying to be more active on my tumblr blog (authora97writingupdates) and the instagram (authora97) account. I ask questions and post pictures on both.
Thanks to BlakCaat, avert 1523, elljayde, and Wulf47, for favoriting
Thanks to BlakCaat and Scribleyellowfor following