Dear reader,

It's good to see you! I hope you're having a nice day.

Welcome to Against The Wind, a story that has been hanging around in my brain since 2014.

A couple notes to preface this story's beginning:

- Against The Wind begins with Season 2 Episode 2. Yes, that is indeed the clown episode. I apologise profusely, and hope that you'll stick with it nonetheless.

- I have an irrational fear that you will read the name 'Cade' and believe I have misspelled 'Caden'. Dear reader, 'Cade' is short for 'Caden'.

New chapters are published on a mysterious schedule, mostly determined by my college coursework. I hope to publish every month.


We were young and strong, we were running against the wind.

- Bob Seger, Against the Wind


The four of them had been in a car accident. Caden's memory of it was fragmented and confused, but Sam, who'd been lucky enough to escape with only minor injuries, had filled in the gaps: after Yellow Eyes escaped back at the cabin and the reunited Winchester family were on their way to get help for a dangerously injured Dean, a demon-possessed driver smashed a truck into the Impala on Caden's side of the car. Sam said she was out cold by the time they were airlifted to hospital, and Caden joked that she wished could've seen the helicopter. He didn't find it funny.

At some point in the day following the crash, she groggily came to in a hospital bed, high out of her mind on painkillers. Sam was sitting pensively in a plastic chair beside the bed, but he rushed out before she could ask him what was going on. A moment later, he returned with a doctor in tow, who explained to her through the haze of medication that several of her ribs were broken, and that her legs needed pretty extensive surgery. The odds of walking again were not in her favor.

But even that was a light sentence in comparison to her eldest brother. Dean, already in bad shape after Yellow Eyes had nearly killed him, had the last of his strength wrestled away in the crash. The doctors didn't sugarcoat it: he was seriously injured, and his survival wasn't likely.

Then, in an instant, he and Caden were both healed like nothing had ever happened. It was as if some cosmic switch had been flipped. In any other case, they wouldn't have trusted it, but after they'd been so close to losing Dean, no one was eager to call it anything other than a miracle.

Everything was fine, great even, until John started acting strangely, talking to Sam like his son for once, admitting that he was sick of arguing. Caden assumed almost losing a son had knocked some sense into him, but the second John got Dean and Caden alone, he told them they needed to be prepared to kill their brother if things went south. Then the next thing they knew, John was dead.

It was a sequence of events she still couldn't wrap her head around. They'd gone from the happiest family in the world to the most devasted in the blink of an eye, and even though his funeral was underway and Caden could see John's body burning right there in front of her, everything had happened so quickly that she could hardly believe he was gone.

In the end, it hadn't been the demon that killed him, nor any monster or even the day-in day-out perils of hunting. He'd died of a heart attack, plain and simple.

This was the final memory any of them would have of their father. The smell of smoke, heat against their faces, their world ending against a backdrop of crackling flames.

In the quiet, Sam stirred. 'Before he-' he tried, his breath hitching. 'Did he say anything to you? About anything?'

At that, Caden's eyes prickled, threatening the onset of tears. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold them back. It wasn't right that Sam didn't know, but after his final conversation with John had been so forgiving, how could they have possibly broken their father's parting words to him so soon? They would tell him in time, but tonight, the three of them had already been through enough.

So, quietly, Dean lied. 'No,' he answered. 'Nothing.'


Coffee was the only thing that took her mind away from everything. Always bitter and dark and hot enough to sting, but still somehow comforting.

At Bobby's kitchen table, Caden's eyes were cast downwards, staring blankly into a half-empty mug. John's journal lay open beside her; she'd read it cover-to-cover enough times in the last week that, by now, she could probably recite it from memory.

This morning's page of choice was dated July 27th 2006, when John had reconnected with them for the last time. It was both the sole entry of 2006 and the final entry John would ever write.

Got the news about Elkins's death and headed over as soon as I could. The kids beat me to it; today's the first they've heard of him, but they saw the same police report I did and found a phone number for D. Elkins in my journal. The rest was a simple phone book search. I followed them at a distance – can't be too careful these days – from Elkins's place to a post office. Dean tells me Elkins had scratched a message into his floorboards pointing them to a PO box. Inside was a letter addressed to me.

Turns out, the son of a bitch had the Colt the whole time, or so Elkins claims in his letter. It's the only card I've got against Yellow Eyes; the one thing that can finally end this for good.

I got a chance to give Caden her birthday present once we found a motel room big enough for the four of us. As a family, we don't do birthdays – not since Mary died – but Cade's still upset that I missed her high school graduation, so I figured I'd make it up to her. I gave her a new watch, nothing special, but she would never take a gift if it wasn't practical.

Her birthday was close to 5 weeks ago now. Little Caden Jay, all grown up.

After that, John went on for several more paragraphs about Yellow Eyes and the Colt. That one account of her birthday present was perhaps the most in-depth thing he'd ever written about her. How fitting it was that when he gave her that watch – which she'd worn almost every day since – he'd neglected to put batteries in it. His kids really had always been an afterthought.

Nevertheless, seeing that nickname – a play on her first name and middle initial – in her dad's handwriting made the pain of losing him almost unbearable. If only she could hear him call her that just one more time, it might make this easier.

At this point, reading the journal again was just a way to pass time. Neither she nor Sam had found anything more on Yellow Eyes in the week since their dad had died, the Colt was still gone, and Dean was too busy obsessively repairing the Impala to care that the demon who'd almost killed him was still running wild. On top of that, Dean had been avoiding Caden like the plague, clearly trying to dodge the fact they still hadn't spoken about their father's last words.

But Sam wasn't any better; he'd gone the opposite way, entirely fixated on tracking Yellow Eyes down. He kept talking about revenge, or about doing what Dad would've wanted. He was sounding less like Sam and more like John every day, and Caden just wished he'd start acting like himself again.

Absentmindedly, she thumbed through the journal's worn pages. With each entry, John's desperation grew more intense, as if nothing but the yellow-eyed demon was important to him. Somewhere in his heart, he'd wanted to be a good father – Caden was sure of that – but it didn't matter; she and her brothers had always come second to his hunting obsession. It was why he cut off contact with Sam after he left for college, and why Caden had never told him that she would be following her brother to Stanford in the not-so-distant future.

The acceptance letter was still at the very bottom of her duffel bag, hidden inside the pocket of a hand-me-down hoodie where her dad never could have found it. He was the only person in her life she didn't tell, and even though she knew he would have been beyond furious, there was a pang of regret in Caden's heart – could she not have even afforded him the chance to be proud of her?

But before she could pursue that thought again this week, the heavy footsteps of her brother meant she was no longer alone in Bobby's kitchen. 'Morning,' Caden mumbled.

'Hey,' Sam greeted in return, pouring himself a cup of coffee and taking a seat across the table. His eyes were bloodshot and sunk into dark circles, like he'd woken up too early, or maybe hadn't slept at all. 'Do you know an Ellen?'

Caden bit the inside of her cheek. 'Sam, if this about the demon-'

'Just hear me out,' he interrupted, sliding a worse-for-wear cell phone across the table. 'It's one of Dad's. I cracked the voicemail last night – listen.'

Reluctantly intrigued, Caden took the phone and held it to her ear. An unfamiliar voice spoke a second later: a woman with a Southern accent who sounded like she was nearing the end of her rope.

John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn. You know I can help you. Call me.

'First I've heard of her,' Caden frowned. 'There's no Ellen in Dad's journal either.'

'There isn't?'

She shook her head again and handed the battered phone back. 'Run a trace on it.'

'Already did. It came from some middle-of-nowhere roadhouse in Nebraska. I think we should check it out.'

If this was a real lead, it would be the first actual news either of them had come across all week. Caden's heart skipped a beat; this was a big deal, and although she lacked the fire of Sam's newfound obsession, killing Yellow Eyes was no lower on her list of priorities. 'Have you shown Dean?'

He looked at her like she'd just told him to jump off a bridge. 'Are you kidding? I can't even look at him without getting my head ripped off.'

'Well, it's not gonna be me,' Caden put up her hands defensively. 'I haven't seen him in, like, three days.'

'He still isn't talking to you?'

'Nope,' Caden shrugged like it wasn't bothering her. She could tell by Sam's face that he didn't buy her nonchalance, so she didn't leave him time to respond. 'Let's just go together. He might let you live if I'm there.'


It was still morning, but out in Bobby's salvage yard, the sun was already hot. Caden had to squint her eyes against the glinting of light off old metallic cars lined up in various states of disarray. Debris was piled high everywhere you looked, coated in layers of dirt and rust, forming guides to the pathways that snaked their way through the maze that was Singer Salvage Yard. Caden had grown up here, more or less. She could walk this labyrinth in her sleep.

And in the middle of it all was the Impala, wrecked and thoroughly undriveable. The doors had been removed, presumably too beaten up to use, and the entire hood was missing, leaving the car's inner workings exposed. Admittedly, it was looking better than it had a week ago, but, still, it was a painful reminder of the accident and what it had cost them.

Dean was at work half-under the car. Every day, he was out here before Caden woke up and back inside after she'd gone to sleep. They hadn't spoken since the first night at Bobby's, after John's funeral, but from what Sam had told her about his mood, maybe that was for the best. Dean could be pretty heartless under stress.

Sam cleared his throat a little awkwardly. 'How's the car coming along?' he asked, making polite small talk. Trying not to get off on the wrong foot.

Dean stayed under the Impala. 'Slow.'

'Need any help?' Sam offered in that same polite tone.

'What, you under a hood?' Dean snorted. 'I'll pass.'

Sam shot a frustrated look in Dean's direction and opened his mouth to go for a third attempt, but before he could say anything, Dean had wheeled himself out from under the Impala, presumably with the intention of telling Sam to leave him alone, but noticing his sister standing there too startled him, and he faltered.

'Hey,' Caden said flatly, arms folded across her chest.

Dean looked between the two of them in suspicion. 'What is this?'

Giving up on small talk now, Sam fished the cell phone out from his pocket and handed it over. 'It's one of Dad's,' he explained. 'I cracked the voicemail. Just listen.'

The two of them watched as Dean listened to the message, his expression darkening in puzzlement. 'Who's Ellen?'

'We don't know; Dad never mentioned her in his journal,' answered Caden, 'but Sam says she called from an address in Nebraska.'

To her surprise, Dean's composure shifted entirely. A look of determination crossed his eyes, and for a moment, he looked like her brother again. He handed the phone back to Sam. 'Ask Bobby if we can use one of his cars.'

'On it,' Sam nodded, visibly relieved as he turned to head back towards the house.

Caden stayed put, arms still folded. 'I'll catch up,' she told Sam. He took the cue with a nod, leaving them to it.

Dean cast his eyes downwards. He could feel his sister staring him down, and he knew it was his own fault for avoiding the oncoming conversation, but still, he wished they didn't need to talk about it. No, what he wished was that John had never put this on them in the first place. But he had, and now there was nothing they could do but live with it.

Immediately, his mind snapped back to the hospital, right to the moment he'd tried so hard to leave out of his thoughts these past few days.

John had sent Sam away to grab him a cup of coffee. It was obvious code for 'I need to talk to your siblings alone'. Dean could guess why; he and his sister being healed so suddenly wasn't normal. Wasn't possible. There had to be something supernatural at play, and knowing their father, he wouldn't just take the miracle and go.

Dean glanced at Caden; she might've been back on her feet, but her face was still bruised and the violent slash that cut across her cheekbone was only beginning to heal. They were both lucky to be alive.

'Dad,' she said. 'What's wrong?' It was just like her to cut to the chase.

John's eyes took on a strange melancholy, something seldom seen in him. 'You know, when you were a kid, Dean, I'd come home from a hunt and after what I'd seen, I'd be wrecked,' he began. Dean wanted to ask what he was getting at, but something about the tone of his father's voice didn't let him interrupt. 'You'd come up to me, put your hand on my shoulder, and you'd look me in the eye and say, 'It's okay, Dad',' he paused, and if Dean didn't know any better, he could've sworn John was threatening tears. 'Dean, I'm sorry.'

Dean looked at him blankly, not understanding. 'Why?'

'Because you shouldn't have had to say that to me; I should've been saying that to you,' John took another moment before speaking again. 'I put too much on your shoulders. I made you grow up too fast. You took care of Sammy, you took care of me, and then when Cade came along, I told you I'd be around more often. But I wasn't, so you took care of her too. And you didn't complain, not once.'

His attention shifted to his daughter. 'Caden, by the time you were old enough to understand why we had to move around so often, I thought making you stay with Uncle Bobby was the right thing to do. I should've known better. I'm sorry I missed out on so much.'

'Dad, that was years ago. It's okay,' Caden's voice was soft, worried. 'Is this really you talking?'

John let himself smile at that, but the melancholic look didn't leave his eyes. 'Yeah, Cay, it's really me.' Then – and Dean could hardly believe what he was seeing – a tear rolled down his father's face. He put a strong hand on Dean's shoulder, a fatherly gesture so unlike his dad it made him uneasy. 'Dean, I want you to watch out for Sam and Caden, okay?'

'Yeah, Dad, you know I will,' he replied apprehensively; no matter how near any of them had brushed with death, this was deeply unlike John Winchester. Whatever was going on, Dean didn't like it.

John took a breath, his expression darkening from melancholy into something almost fearful. 'Listen, I need to tell you two something. Something important,' his voice lowered. 'Sammy, you know, with these visions he gets, he's… different. There's a lot we don't know. But things could go bad, and if they do, you two have to save him. Nothing else matters. If you can't save him, you… you need to kill him.'

Dean willed himself to meet his sister's eyes. It had been days since he'd last looked at her more than a glance, and he was struck by how visibly exhausted she was. 'Have you slept?'

'I'm fine,' Caden snapped. 'We can't keep ignoring this. I don't like it any more than you do.'

He didn't push it, despite how clearly not fine his sister was, not to mention that half of her face still looked like the losing side of a boxing match. 'I know,' he concurred.

'We have to tell Sam.'

That caught him off guard. 'What?'

She was still glaring at him, deadly serious. 'You haven't seen him. He keeps talking about following in Dad's footsteps; he's idolising the man.'

'So, we ruin that for him?' Dean replied. 'I don't want to carry this either, but if we tell Sam, all it's gonna do is put this on him too. And for what? You really want to tell him that our own father thought he could be dangerous?'

'What? No, I-'

'Yeah, I don't either.'

'I'm just saying I don't think we should keep it from him,' Caden argued, throwing her hands up. 'You know how we never told Dad that I got into college? I knew he'd be furious, but now that I can't tell him, part of me kind of wishes I had. So, I don't want to hide this from Sam. It isn't right.'

Oh. Dean allowed his to expression soften at that. Sometimes, it was easy to forget how young Caden was – maturity was something most kids brought up in hunting earned at the price of their childhood, he and Sam included – but once in a while, she'd say something like that, something that reminded you she was still a teenager.

Dean had his own thoughts about the college situation, but, ultimately, he was on his sister's side. Caden leaving for Stanford wasn't the same as Sam leaving. Even now, after Sam had been back for almost a year, Dean had no doubt he could vanish again at the drop of a hat, but Caden just wasn't like that; she would never willingly break apart from her family. For all their similarities, Sam and Caden differed painfully on that.

But John would never have seen it that way.

'Cade, he would've kicked you out,' he told her. Looking back, the argument preceding Sam's escape to Stanford was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. 'Not telling Dad you got into college was about protecting you; not telling Sam what happened at the hospital is about protecting him. Isn't that the right thing to do?'

Caden's gaze shifted away, but he could tell he'd gotten through to her. Eventually, she conceded. 'Yeah. It is.'

'All right,' said Dean. He put a hand on his sister's shoulder, meeting her eyes with brotherly concern. 'But, for real, are you okay? Because you look like you got hit by a truck.'

She rolled her eyes at the joke and shoved his hand off, but there was a smirk she didn't try to stifle. 'Shut up,' she said, but it was affectionately tinged. 'You're just jealous that this black eye makes me look tougher than you.'


Ellen had called from five hours away in the middle of nowhere, but Caden didn't mind the long journey; she was just grateful for a change of scenery. Getting back on the road was a breath of fresh air, and with this new lead, the stagnation was finally melting away. Bobby hadn't had anything more respectable for them to drive than a minivan, which really wasn't that big a deal, but leaving behind the Impala did have her feeling homesick, if one could feel that way for a car.

Up ahead, what could best be described as an oversized shack came into view, unlit neon signage letting them know they were looking at Harvelle's Roadhouse. The dusty building was dull and unkempt, as if it hadn't seen a soul in years.

Caden craned her neck from the backseat to get a better look. 'You sure this is the place?'

'Yeah,' Sam frowned. 'This is the address.'

'Well, we're checking it out whether it's the right place or not,' said Dean, pulling into the deserted parking lot. 'I didn't drive 300 friggin' miles in a minivan for nothing.' He climbed out, slamming the door behind him in disgust. 'It's humiliating! I feel like a soccer mom.'

Upon closer inspection, the Roadhouse was eerily quiet, not a sign of life to be found. Caden peered in through a window, but all she could glimpse through the drawn blinds was a dimly lit, run-down bar much like any other. She knocked on the glass, disturbing layers of dust and dirt. 'Anybody here?'

No response.

A drawn-out creak caught her attention, pulling her away from the window; beside her, Dean had pushed the front door open. Cautiously, he stepped inside, motioning for Sam and Caden to follow.

Honestly, Caden had expected more of the same: dust, dirt, and an air of abandonment, but inside, she was hit with the overpowering smell of whiskey and cigarette smoke. Rows of bottles lined the bar, and there were enough chairs and tables to house more than just a handful of customers.

But perhaps the most compelling argument for the Roadhouse's liveliness was the man sprawled across the pool table at the far end of the building, undoubtedly unconscious. Harvelle's Roadhouse was in business after all, complete with a resident drunk.

'I'm guessing that isn't Ellen,' Sam commented, keeping his voice down. A moment later, he broke off, disappearing through a door to their right.

Caden watched him head into the next room, debating whether to follow, when the slightest sound of a careful footstep caught her attention. Sensing the energy in the room shift, she pulled her gun from her waistband and whipped round in one swift motion, aiming it, safety off, at the source of the sound: a blond-haired girl, no more than a couple years older than Caden, holding a rifle against Dean's back.

Caden glared at the stranger. The girl didn't look like much of a threat, but frightened people with guns were a recipe for disaster and Caden wasn't eager to pull a bullet out of her brother today. 'Put it down,' she commanded, tone even but uncompromising.

The girl met her eyes with a challenging glint, letting her focus falter just long enough for Dean to turn and grab the rifle from her hands. With a cocky grin, he told her, 'And that's why you don't put it right against someone's back.'

Her eyes widened in panic, a deer caught in headlights, but only for a brief moment before she shot out a fist and punched Dean hard on the nose. Instinctively, he recoiled, and the girl snatched the rifle back. Without wasting another beat, she trained it on Caden.

'Sam!' Dean yelled, holding a hand to his bleeding nose. 'A little help in here!'

'Sorry, Dean,' Sam replied tersely as the door swung open and he was led out at gunpoint by a middle-aged woman whose face was so severe Caden worried they were in legitimate danger now.

But then, 'Wait…' the woman trailed off, looking between them curiously. 'Sam? Dean? …Winchester?'

'Yeah?' they confirmed in unison, wary.

The girl with the rifle stayed locked on Caden but looked just as dumbfounded. 'Mom, you know these people?'

'Yeah, I think these two are John Winchester's boys,' the woman replied, then, to Caden, 'but John never mentioned a girl.'

If there wasn't a gun aimed at her brother's head, she might've thought to be offended. 'I'm his daughter. Caden.'

The woman paused, eyes narrowed as she mulled this over. She frowned and asked, 'Ain't Caden a boy's name?' There was a beat of tense silence as Caden figured out how on Earth to reply to that without getting shot, but all of a sudden, the woman laughed and dropped the firearm. 'Hey, I'm kidding. I'm Ellen, and that's my daughter, Jo.'

'Hey,' Jo added, lowering the rifle. Albeit cautiously, Caden followed suit.


As it turned out, Ellen and John had been close friends some time ago. She knew all about the demon and had offered help in tracking it down for years to no avail. Had John pushed his stubbornness aside long enough to accept Ellen's help, Caden wondered if maybe Yellow Eyes would be dead by now, killed by a bullet from the Colt, or, at the very least, exorcised to the deepest depths of whatever hell it came from.

Trusting Ellen so quickly was naïve, but whether because they needed a win or just someone parental, trust her they did.

She introduced them to the drunk passed out on the pool table, promising he was a demon-tracking genius. His name was Ash, and he had proudly carried a mullet all the way into 2006. Once they'd handed over a year's worth of John's research on Yellow Eyes, Ash claimed he'd need exactly 51 hours to figure it out. Caden was sceptical, but they were out of options. Anything was worth a shot.

Ellen was kind enough to invite them to stay at the Roadhouse as long as they liked. Dean was making the most of it, already hitting on Jo; she was pretty, Caden mused, and smart enough not to fall for whatever Dean was trying. Her hair, about as light as blonde could be, fell over her shoulders in soft curls, as opposed to Caden's disorderly mousy brown waves.

Jo had grown up around hunting, but she seemed so much happier than Caden ever had. Her smiles were frequent and genuine, and she had a mom who acted like a parent.

John's journal lay open on the bar between Sam and Caden as they both pretended to read like they hadn't memorized every damn thing their dad had ever written about demons. Caden felt like she was hitting her head against the same wall over and over again expecting different results. The reality was that until Ash did his thing – whatever his thing was – they were stuck.

'We should find a case,' Caden suggested quietly.

She felt Sam's eyes shift to look at her. 'Since when did you want to work a case?'

'Since we can't do anything else.'

'So-rry.' He went back to staring at the journal, but a second later, sighed and admitted, 'Actually, I was thinking the same thing. Dad would want us to hunt right now.'

There he went again with what Dad would have wanted. Caden couldn't find it in her to respond.

Cleaning glasses on the other side of the bar, Ellen chimed in, 'Listen, I don't mean to intrude, but if you kids are looking for a case, I got one that might keep you busy for a couple days.'

Caden looked up from the journal just as Sam nodded and said, 'That'd be great. Thank you.'

'Not a problem,' Ellen smiled warmly, picking a file from behind the cash register and setting it down on the bar in front of them. 'It's a weird one: killer clowns.'

The look of horror on Sam's face was instant, intense, and completely hilarious. Caden had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing as Ellen looked between the two of them questioningly. 'Everything all right?'

'Oh, Sammy's not a fan of clowns,' Caden explained, making no effort to keep the grin off her face.

Sam shot her a warning look. 'Very funny, Caden.'

Ellen didn't ask. 'The case is yours if you want it,' she offered again.

'We'll take it,' Sam gave a terse smile. 'Thanks, Ellen.'


Once Dean had made his peace with getting back into the soccer-mom minivan, the Winchesters set off towards Wisconsin. The sun set as they drove, an old Bob Seger cassette playing too loudly as the stars began to appear. Caden leaned against the front seat, reading the file Ellen had given them over Sam's shoulder while the two of them quietly exchanged theories and remarks until sometime around 2AM, when Dean announced that he needed a break and pulled into an empty rest stop.

'So, killer clowns, huh?' he said, turning down the music. 'That's a first.'

'Yeah, apparently it broke into some family's house and killed the parents. Like, ripped-them-apart killed,' Caden recapped from the file, 'but then left the kid totally unharmed.' It was grim, and definitely not something appropriate to feel excited over, but talking about a case had things tipping in the direction of normal again; Caden couldn't help but welcome it.

'How do you know we're not dealing with some psycho in a clown suit?'

'The cops have no viable leads, and the family were at a carnival earlier that night. Kind of a weird coincidence.'

'The Cooper Carnival,' added Sam. 'Says here that the employees were tearing down shop – alibies all around. Plus, the kid said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma-'

'I know what you're thinking Sam,' Dean interrupted. 'Why did it have to be clowns?'

There was nothing Caden could do to stop herself dissolving into laughter – the first time she'd genuinely laughed in days – as Sam rolled his eyes and said, 'Oh, give me a break.'

But Dean pushed on, encouraged by Caden's reaction. 'You didn't think I remembered, did you?' he grinned. 'You still bust out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on the television.'

'Yeah? Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying!'

'Planes crash!'

'And apparently clowns kill!' Sam shot back defensively.

With that, Caden bit the inside of her cheek in an effort to wipe the amusement from her face; clearly Sam was not finding this nearly as fun as his siblings. In all honesty, Caden did get the clown phobia, and she was lucky she'd never picked it up herself. As kids, a teenage Dean would often drop the two of them off at some children's play area, often clown-themed, leaving them to wait hours and hours for his return, never really knowing where he was or if he was safe. Caden remembered the nerve-wracking days well, but with Sam there to look out for her, it had never affected her the way it had affected him.

But regardless, she'd be an idiot to pass up an opportunity to tease her brother.

Dean cleared his throat. 'So, uh, these types of murder, they ever happened before?'

'1981,' Sam nodded. 'The Bunker Brothers Circus. Same thing. It happened three different times, three different locales.'

'Maybe there's a spirit attached to something the carnival carries around with them? Which could be anything,' Caden guessed.

'Great,' Sam sighed. 'Paranormal scavenger hunt.'

'Well, you did pick this case,' said Dean, tone bordering on accusatory. 'By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job.'

'So?' Sam shrugged. 'It was Caden's idea first.'

'Yeah, and you agreed with me,' Caden replied. 'I just figured we might as well do something while Ash is tracking.'

'Right, and-' Sam paused, like he wasn't sure whether to continue his sentence. It didn't matter; Caden knew where he was going with it. Eventually, he elected to continue anyway: 'I guess taking this job is what Dad would've wanted us to do.'

Dean's eyebrows shot up. 'What Dad would've wanted?' Caden might've been hearing about what Dad would've wanted all week, but other than what she'd let him know back in Bobby's salvage yard, this was news to Dean, and judging by the look on his face, he wasn't taking kindly to it.

'Yeah,' Sam stated. 'So?'

Her brothers stared each other down for a moment, Dean shocked and Sam daring him to react. Caden looked at Dean with an expression reading 'See what I mean?'. He seemed to catch her meaning, and to her relief, didn't push the oncoming argument any further. If the three of them could just stay away from the topic of John for the next couple days, they'd get through this unscathed.


It was mid-morning by the time they'd had a few hours of sleep and finished the journey to Wisconsin. Cooper Carnival looked fairly typical based on Caden's limited experience. A population of tired employees milled around the tents and rickety attractions, readying the site for the day ahead. Out in the parking lot, two clowns stood sombrely as they spoke with a well-dressed inspector – a scene that would've been comical given any other context.

Sam declined the opportunity to speak with the inspector, leaving Dean and Caden to go play FBI. He stayed by the minivan, a safe distance from the clowns, and pretended to read a message on his phone as the two of them wandered over.

'Excuse me, sir,' Dean said in his best professional voice. 'I'm Agent Cook, this is Agent Clifford,' the two of them flashed their fake badges in rehearsed unison. 'Mind if we ask a couple questions about the recent murders?'

The inspector eyed them suspiciously, his gaze eventually settling on Caden. 'Aren't you a little young to be FBI?'

'I'm training,' she covered, the usual excuse. 'The Feds wouldn't usually take a case like this, but I need the experience. Gotta start somewhere, Inspector.'

'Of course. I assume you're here about what happened last night?'

Dean nodded without missing a beat, masking the fact that neither he nor his sister had heard anything about last night. 'That's right,' he lied. 'Any leads?'

'No, nothing. Poor boy's shaken up, keeps saying that he saw a clown vanish into thin air,' the inspector frowned sympathetically. 'Losing his parents like that, it's a lot for a kid to deal with.'

'And this matched the last two murders?' Caden queried.

'Yes, exactly. Right down to the clown sighting.' Weird. Without a doubt, whatever this clown was, it was their kind of job.

With some parting pleasantries and a polite nod, the two of them headed back over to Sam, who'd put away his phone and was now fidgeting nervously with his hands. He shoved them into his pockets when he spotted them approaching, trying to cling onto some degree of composure. They filled him in on the news, watching his unsettled expression steadily worsen.

'Definitely thinking cursed object,' Dean theorized. 'Did you bring your EMF meters?'

Caden nodded and pulled the device out of her pocket. A clever little analogue thing designed to pick up on frequencies left behind by supernatural presences. Hers and Dean's were both made from retired Walkmans – a summer DIY project they'd worked on together while Sam was still at college. Caden, no older than 15 at the time, had thought it would be a great idea to cover the back of hers with a patchwork of animal-shaped stickers which had remained stuck fast to this day, try as she might to remove them.

'Guys, looking for a cursed object is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. It could be anything,' Sam pointed out.

Dean shrugged. 'So, we'll scan everything.'

'Oh, good!' retorted Sam sarcastically. 'That's nice and inconspicuous.'

'Then we'll just have to blend in,' Dean answered, his gaze shifting to something over Sam's shoulder.

Caden had to stand on her toes to see past her brother as he turned to look at whatever Dean was talking about. Posted in front of a circus tent was a sign sporting bold block letters. Her stomach dropped when she processed what it said.

HELP WANTED! Interviewing with Mr Cooper NOW! Inquire within.

She blinked at her eldest brother incredulously. 'No,' she said in horror. 'You're kidding.'

'Not at all.'


Carnival memorabilia took up every available space inside Cooper's office, like a circus-themed antique shop pulled straight from Sam's worst nightmares. Caden couldn't be sure if she was more horrified or amazed by the sheer scale of the collection; looking for a cursed object would take days in this room alone, never mind the whole park.

Behind the desk, Cooper himself sat comfortably, seemingly unphased by his chaotic workspace. 'You kids picked a hell of a time to join up,' he told them, motioning for them to take a seat. 'We got all kinds of local trouble.'

Of the three seats in front of Cooper's desk, how delightfully convenient it was that only two of them were ordinary wooden chairs, while the third was a masterfully crafted chair in the likeness of a friendly clown. Dean, clearly having the same thought as his sister, opted for a non-clown chair alongside Caden, leaving Sam with only one option.

'Local trouble?' Dean echoed in feigned surprise as Sam reluctantly placed himself onto the clown chair, shooting a split-second glower in his siblings' direction.

'I'm afraid so. A couple folks got murdered, and the cops always seem to start here first. Anyway,' Cooper leaned forward, 'no use in dwelling on that now. You three ever worked the circuit before?'

Caden nodded a little too enthusiastically; her approach with these things tended to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed youth. 'Absolutely. Last year through Texas and Arkansas.'

'Doing what? Ride jockeys?'

'Yeah, little bit of everything. Whatever needed doing.'

Cooper sat back, narrowing his eyes distrustfully. 'You kids have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?'

'Nope,' admitted Dean, 'but we really need the work, and Sam here has a thing for the bearded lady.'

Sam scowled at him from the clown chair, meanwhile Caden had to bite her cheeks and look away to keep from smirking.

Cooper's expression was disapproving, and he pointed to a picture by his desk. It was an old black and white photograph of a man about Cooper's age standing proudly before a Ferris wheel. 'You see him? That's my daddy.'

Sam, having regained his composure, commented, 'You look just like him.'

'He was in the business. Ran a freak show till they outlawed them most places. Apparently, displaying the deformed isn't dignified,' Cooper shook his head sadly. 'So, most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess.

'You see, this place is a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don't fit in nowhere else. But you three?' he paused, looking them over. 'You should go to school. Hell. You, young lady, barely look a day over 18! What happened to senior year? You kids should be living regular.'

Caden opened her mouth to inform him that she had finished senior year, thank you very much, but before she could correct him, Sam was leaning forward onto the desk, meeting Cooper dead in the eye. It caught her off guard; this was the same Sam who'd been too freaked out to even approach the inspector in the parking lot.

'Sir? We don't wanna go to school. And we don't want regular,' he said, tone so serious Caden questioned if he was playing a character anymore. 'We want this.'

There was a moment of heavy silence as all parties took in Sam's words. Caden, like her brothers, was a master of masking surprise in situations like this, but even her feigned agreement was threatening to waver in the face of what her brother had just said. Rationality told her he was only saying what was needed to get them in, but she knew Sam better than anyone, and that tone was genuine.

Eventually, Cooper sighed in resignation. 'Well, hell. Welcome to the team.'


Caden slipped on the red Cooper Carnival jacket. Despite Sam's whole we don't want normal spiel, wearing the uniform felt jarringly ordinary. Minimum wage summer jobs were a rite of passage for most teenagers, but the only job Caden ever had was hunting. Even as a kid, it had surrounded her. Moving out, going to college… that would be her first chance at 'normal'.

Sam spoke so fondly of his life at Stanford. He couldn't wait to bring her into that world where the biggest things she'd have to worry about were essays, homework, and being late for class. Normality, safety, it was everything she knew he wanted for his family, and yet – unless Sam really had been acting – Caden had to wonder if he was second-guessing those plans.

She wouldn't have brought it up for fear she was making a big deal out of nothing, but Dean was clearly up for another round of confrontation, because the next words out of his mouth were, 'So, Sam, that whole 'I don't wanna go to school' thing… Were you just saying that to Cooper, or were you, you know… saying it?'

Sam sighed, shrugging a little. 'I don't know.'

'You don't know?' Dean was taken aback. 'I thought that once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings, you and Cade were gonna take off to Stanford.'

'I'm having second thoughts.'

It didn't matter that Caden had seen those second thoughts coming. Hearing him confirm it was a punch in the gut. She looked at her brother, more shocked than hurt. 'What? What about our plans?'

'It's not that I don't want that, it's just… I dunno, Dad always wanted me to stick with the job.'

Dean's eyes widened in disbelief. 'Since when did you give a damn about what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam.''

'Since he died, okay? You have a problem with that?'

Dean's expression grew cold and, stone-faced, he shook his head. 'No, I don't have a problem with that at all,' he replied flatly, walking off without another word.

There was anger burning in her chest now, but Caden forced it down; as much as she might have wanted to, it wasn't like her to blow up at someone. 'You're going to turn your back on this to please Dad?' she said quietly, meeting Sam's eyes. 'He doesn't care, Sam. He's dead.'

She didn't hang around to hear his answer to that; whatever justification Sam could come up with would only make things feel worse.


Thank you for reading, friend. It means a lot.

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