"So let me get this straight," Dean says, one hand on the steering wheel and the other waving in Sam's general direction. "You, Mister Coulrophobia, willingly volunteered to hunt a clown? And not just any clown, oh no, a possibly supernatural clown. Did I get that right?" Elizabeth, sprawled out across the backseat, is laughing too hard to give an answer.
"Yeah," Sam nods. "It's not a big deal."
"Dude," Elizabeth wheezes. "Not a big deal? Tell that to the poor clown Bobby hired for your fifth birthday. You punched the guy in the kneecaps."
"That's all I could reach." She laughs harder, toppling off the seat and into the floorboard like luggage. She doesn't even care at this point, running on three hours of sleep and caffeine. "Could you focus, Liza?"
"And-and you remember that place John and Dean dropped us off at when we were kids? The Chuck E Cheese knock-off."
"We agreed never to talk about that place!" Her side is beginning to hurt and she's not sure if it's from laughing for so long or the half empty bottle of Mountain Dew that she landed on.
"I thought you loved that place," Dean says.
"I hated that place."
"Nah, but you wouldn't shut up about it for days afterwards."
"Because I was traumatized. Dude, I was surrounded by clowns, some birthday boy puked in the ball pit, and Elizabeth stabbed another girl with a fork." The car swerves for a second, making the plastic bottle dig a little harder into Elizabeth's ribs. She pulls herself up in time to catch the incredulous look Dean's throwing her.
"You stabbed a girl?"
"Well, yeah," she shrugs. "The little asshole tried to bully me into giving her all my prizes." Dean arches a brow and Elizabeth can practically read the words disappointed boyfriend stamped across his forehead.
"In her defense, the girl was older and a lot bigger," Sam says.
"I should've taken a page out of Sammy's book and went for her kneecaps."
"I'll sit on you."
"I'll bite you—"
"Alright, back to the case details," Dean interrupts. Elizabeth and Sam narrow their eyes at each other, daring the other to be the first to back down. Elizabeth's eyes are starting to water from the staring match when she suddenly gets a hand to the face. It's not rough, Dean uses just enough force to push her back in her seat. "Details or we go back to Bobby's."
"Apparently the murdered couple and their daughter went to a carnival before they were, well…. Murdered," Sam says.
"Carnival got a name?"
"The Cooper Carnival."
"And what makes you think this dude isn't some sick twist in a clown suit?"
"Cops have no leads and all the employees were tearing the carnival down to move on the next morning. Alibis all around."
"Carnies stick together," Elizabeth says, rubbing her sore ribs. "It'd be like if someone tried to go after one of us; the other two would always be there to bail 'em out." Sam grunts and nods, focusing the beam of his flashlight on the manilla folder Ellen had given him. "Maybe this guy really is human. If he is, that means we can shoot him in the dome and then burn him."
"Little girl that witnessed the whole thing says the clown disappeared into thin air. Cops think it's just trauma, but I think it's our thing. So does Ellen." Elizabeth hums, pursing her lips as she thinks through the info dump. The car's silent for a long moment, the only sounds to be heard are the gentle vibration of tires on blacktop and rain pelting against the windows. It started to rain thirty minutes ago, a pretty hellacious storm that seemed to come out of nowhere.
"So," Dean starts, sending his brother a sly smile. "Do you still cry whenever Ronald McDonald comes on TV?"
"Do you still cry at the thought of flying?" Elizabeth snorts and immediately regrets making any noise at all when both boys look at her, Sam looking over the seat and Dean using the rearview mirror. Uh-oh. "How about you, Liza? You still wet your pants when you see a spider?" Elizabeth narrows her eyes again, muscles bunching, ready to throw herself over the seat and go for blood.
"Has anything like these murders ever happened before?" Dean's gotten pretty good at distracting the other two from murdering each other.
"Are you trying to distract us?"
"Yeah. Is it working?"
"A little." There's an awkward beat of silence, then Sam's talking again. "There was a similar murder in 1981 when the Bunker Brother's Circus was in the state. Three murders that year, all different cities. I'm thinking it's something a little more substantial than a spirit."
"Vampire," Elizabeth asks dryly. Her gums throb, a phantom taste of copper flooding her mouth.
"Doubt it." She fidgets and then gives up entirely, massaging her aching gums. The spot above her eye teeth hurt the worst and she rubs a little harder until she feels the edge of something sharp. She drops her hands back to her lap, rubbing the pads of her fingers over soft cotton of her dress. "You okay back there?"
"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine." Sam doesn't look like he believes her, but he's also too tired for an argument.
"Maybe it's a cursed object," Dean suggests. "A haunted tightrope or a bullwhip." Elizabeth snorts out a laugh, but it sounds weak even to her own ears.
"If we end up fighting a ghost version of Indiana Jones, then I'm gonna need something stronger than a root beer float."
An eleven hour drive is more than enough time to dry up any lingering humor at picturing Sam fighting a clown. In fact, by the time they arrive in Wisconsin, Elizabeth is fully occupied with a sketchpad and a broken pencil she found wedged between the back seats. There's a Jolly Rancher melted to the jagged edge, it's cherry flavored.
"Liza, we're here," Dean says. She grunts to show she heard him, reluctantly setting her pencil aside. The sketchpad is mostly just blobs of gray, but she'll fine tune it with watercolors when they get back home. "When'd you learn to draw?"
"While I was recovering from the wreck." She'd been bed-bound for three days after she woke up and the ADHD goblin in her brain refused to rest. It was either learn a new thing or use the IV stand to wheel her bed through the halls like an oversized gondola. Elizabeth straightens from her undignified slouch against the car door, noting the police and two clowns a few feet from the car. "Oof, somethin' must have happened."
"Must have. We gonna play the part of cops?"
"We won't blend in if we're cops." Elizabeth meets Sam's glare with a sly smile. "We could always be clowns. Immersive therapy and all that jazz."
"Then you'd have to dunk yourself in a tank of spiders for the opening act," he snarks. Elizabeth snorts to cover up her unease, but she can tell Sam isn't buying it.
"Oh please, that's Fear Factor not circus shit." Dean clears his throat loudly to break up the incoming tide of sarcasm, sending both of the younger hunters a stern look. Looks like he has control of their shared brain cell today.
"Why don't y'all go stand by the Ferris wheel while I talk to the cops," he suggests. His expression makes it extremely clear that it is not, in fact, a suggestion. It's more along the lines of do what I say or I'll step on you. Unfortunately, that's a genuine possibility when you consider Elizabeth is a fucking Hobbit.
"Fine, but I won't be happy about it."
"Noted, sweetheart." They get out, pretty much unnoticed as Dean strides over to the cops and the other two shuffle grumpily over to the Ferris wheel. It's turning slowly, the cars swaying in the rain-chilled wind. It's not actually raining anymore, though. Small miracles since Elizabeth is still wearing the sunflower-printed dress she'd worn to Ellen's place.
"Why couldn't we just wait in the car?" Sam glances down at her, looking ready for a sniping competition that she would absolutely crush him in. He even opens his mouth with some sort of bullshit remark, but then he sees the way she's shivering and just shrugs his jacket off.
"Here," he grouses.
"I don't want your stupid jacket."
"And I don't want to explain to Bobby that you got frostbite." He shakes the jacket, smiling a little when she finally takes it. She nudges him with her elbow as a thank you. Sam nudges her back and all the sarcastic bitchiness dissolves like cotton candy in water.
Dean joins them a few minutes later, right around the time Elizabeth is seriously considering riding the Ferris wheel. She hasn't been on one since the Kolache festival in Prague last year and she's feeling jittery.
"You do realize we're here for a case, right?"
"I realize that," she nods. "I also realize that we'll find cases everywhere we go and I should enjoy the little things." She wonders if they have any funnel cakes here, drowned in powdered sugar and shiny with grease. God, she's hungry. "I'm hungry."
"I'll get you some food in a little bit." Sam clears his throat, sending his brother a pointed look. Dean gets the hint, the vague amusement slipping off his face like a badly fitting mask. Elizabeth is sad to see it go so easily. "There was another murder last night. The couple were ripped to shreds and their little boy was the one to call the cops."
"He blamed a clown, right?"
"I wish you weren't. Kid told the cops that the clown followed him home from the carnival, then disappeared after tearing into the parents." Elizabeth makes a soft sound, wincing. No kids need to be put through this shit.
"Finding a cursed object around here is going to be a pain in the ass. Like trying to find a needle in a stack of other needles and also the needles are on fire." Which isn't an understatement in the slightest. There's a reason cursed objects are a witch's favorite trick, they can blend in with practically anything.
"You're probably right, but the needle we're looking for is bound to give off EMF. We'll just scan everything."
"Real inconspicuous." Dean looks away, then glances back at Sam with that vague amusement creasing his eyes again. Sam's brows furrow at the expression, he and Elizabeth sharing a confused look. "What?"
"Remember that thing Liza said earlier?"
"Liza said a lot of things earlier," Elizabeth says, aware of her tendency to ramble. "Care to be more specific?"
"Sure thing. We're gonna join the circus."
"I swear to a pole-dancing Jesus Christ, I'll murder you if I end up dunked in a tank of spiders." Sam snorts out a laugh and Elizabeth briefly imagines how he'd react if she jumped on his back and used his enormous head as a drum. "Keep laughing and I'll volunteer you for clown duty."
"That's not funny," he pouts.
"That's the point."
"Enough," Dean interrupts. "To the trailer." He points at a dingy little trailer with a flyer taped to the front, declaring it to belong to the head honcho. When neither of the younger hunters move, Dean levels them with a full-on Mom Stare. "March." All the stubborn fight goes out of Elizabeth, her inner sub coming out as a shiver.
"Whatever you say, just keep using that tone." Dean smirks over at her and looks ready to do just that when Sam grabs Elizabeth by her nape, forcing her to start moving. "Spoilsport."
"Keep pouting and I'll tell you all about the weird shit Jess and I did," he says.
"That's disgusting."
"That's my point."
The owner turns out to be an exhausted-looking man in his early fifties, the top of his head bald while the sides are covered in thick, gray hair. He sits behind the desk in his trailer, gesturing for the hunters to sit across from him. There are a couple problems with that, however; the first is that there are only two chairs, the second is that one of those chairs is shaped like fucking Pennywise. Elizabeth isn't scared of clowns, but that chair is the very definition of Heebie Jeebies.
"Y'all gonna sit or not," Cooper asks, raising a bushy eyebrow at them. Dean moves fast, claiming the normal chair and tugging Elizabeth onto his lap, leaving Sam with the chair of nightmares. Elizabeth isn't going to lie, folks, she smirks a little bit. "You got a problem with clowns, son?"
"No," Sam lies. Cooper shakes his head a little, not buying it.
"You kids picked a hell of a time to sign up, but I'm glad you have. Truth be told, we need some help keeping the show going. Especially recently."
"We saw the cops out front when we got here," Elizabeth says softly. She leans forward as well as she can while balanced on Dean's knees, some of her hair falling over her shoulder and tickling her cheek. "What exactly is goin' on, Mister Cooper?"
"A couple folks got murdered, is all. We're the newcomers so the cops came here first to figure out if we're a group of serial killers. It's ridiculous, but I can't fault them for it. I'd be pretty suspicious, too. Back to business. Have you three ever worked the circuit before?"
"Yes, sir," Sam lies, more convincing this time around. "Traveled through Texas and Arkansas." Cooper's brows meet his vanished hairline and you don't have to be a Holmes to know that this guy is seeing right through their bullshit. Sam heaves out a sigh but keeps himself carefully upright.
"Wanna try the truth this time?"
"We need the money," Dean says, which isn't entirely a lie. They do need some cash if they want to get some beer and food tonight. "We can do a little bit of everything. Sam and I can do any physical labor, Liza's real good at convincing people to do shit they don't want to. Just last week she talked our niece into taking a bath and that little shit would rather get a cavity than get wet."
"You see that picture?" Cooper gestures at a black and white photo on the shelf behind him, featuring a man that looks exactly like him in front of an old fashioned Ferris wheel. "That's my daddy."
"You look just like him."
"So I've been told. My daddy ran a freak show until it was outlawed. Apparently it's more dignified to let those poor people rot in asylums and gutters instead of earning an honest wage." Elizabeth wouldn't call it honest. Cooper's daddy was probably a mean son of a bitch. "This place is a refuge for the outcasts, folks that have nowhere else to go in the world. You three? Y'all should go to school, settle down with a nice partner, have a couple kids. Y'all don't belong here."
Quiet blankets the trailer, the three hunters too shocked to speak for a moment. Not a one of them has been able to keep a normal life, not even when they fought tooth and nail for it. Sam got out for four years, Elizabeth was out for a few months, and Dean was out for three weeks. John went AWOL and screwed them over
The quiet, regular life might be a good fit for other people, but they'll never be able to hold onto it. That's not what God has written out for them, if God is real at all. At this point, Elizabeth isn't too sure.
"We tried the regular life, sir," Sam says, putting all the bullshit to the side for once. "It doesn't fit us as well as you think it does. We want a job, a chance. Think you can give it to us so we don't end up in the gutter?"
"Fine, you boys can spend the day picking up the trash. Miss Elizabeth can find a booth to run for the day. Y'all do a good enough job, and I'll let you stick around. Until then, get out of my trailer and keep outta trouble."