Ghost Rider

Chapter 4: Tears of a Clown

Author's Note: This story has gotten out of hand! I had only intended for it to be two or, at most, three chapters. Here we are at chapter four and, at this point, I don't even know where we're headed. Just pretend you're on a roller coaster. A big, rickety, out of control roller coaster with an insane clown tinkering in the depths of the machinery. That's probably a pretty close approximation of the situation, actually . . .

Disclaimer: I don't know what I'm doing.

**SPN**SPN**SPN**

Chapter 4: Tears of a Clown

"You could always get a different job," Sam suggested reasonably.

"A job?" the clown repeated incredulously. "A job? You think that's all this is? A job? Do you have any idea what I had to go through to become a clown? Four years of college, for starters! You're looking at the result of a $60,000 education."

Sam looked at the result of a $60,000 education. The clown was dressed in a yellow and red, harlequin-style jumpsuit with pom-poms down the front and frills at the collar, wrists, and ankles. His once-white gloves were stained red, black, and purple from the makeup that smeared across his face and caked his reddish-orange Afro into strange shapes. His eyes, behind the grease-paint ruin, were bloodshot and manic.

"And I had to pay for it all myself. I buried myself in student loans and still had to work in fast food for five years to cover my living expenses. God! It was so degrading! Covered in grease! Dealing with the public constantly! And no one takes you seriously when you're inside the drive-thru. They see your struggles and they just laugh at you. Do you know what it's like, being laughed at all the time?"

"You don't like to be laughed at," Sam said slowly, "so you became a clown."

"Not helping."

"Sorry!"

"You sound like my family. They practically disowned me, you know. They wanted me to be a lawyer! Who in their right minds would ever want to be a lawyer?"

"Can't imagine," Sam muttered.

"Right! I know! 'Cause everybody hates lawyers, right? But everybody loves a clown. That's what they say. And all I ever wanted was to be loved. So I became a clown. And then I find that none of it's true. It's all just circus propaganda! Nobody loves a clown. They scream and they run and they throw salt on me! And it all just makes me soooo saaaaad!"

The clown broke down sobbing again and Sam fingered the phone in his pocket and considered. His first instinct was to call Dean and his second instinct was to call 911. He was afraid that phoning anyone might be enough to push the clown into carrying out his threats and jumping. He was going to have to do something, though. The sunny morning had turned to an overcast noontime and flashes of lightning flickered around the edges of his vision. It took only a glance towards the horizon to confirm that a fast-moving thunderstorm was rolling in from the sea.

"Look, I'm really sorry that I upset you, and I'm sorry about the whole salt thing. It's really not you, personally. It's just . . . I was attacked by clowns once. Two of them. It was a really traumatic experience and I can't help but flinch now when I see one, but that has nothing to do with you."

"You were attacked? By clowns?" The clown's voice rose in disbelief and horror. "How could anyone be so cold and cruel as to sully our profession by using the sacred trappings of clownhood to get close enough to cause injury to a poor, unsuspecting child? You poor, poor thing! How old were you?"

"Um . . . twenty-eight." Sam looked up slowly. The clown was just staring at him. Sam felt his face grow hot. He squirmed uncomfortably and gave a helpless shrug. "They had glitter . . . ."

**SPN**SPN**SPN**

"Dean? Dean, where are you? I thought you'd be here by now."

"Ran into a little problem. You okay?"

"No! I'm not okay! Everything's coming out the wrong end!"

"You're throwing up?"

"I'm not throwing anything. All the food I ate is forcing its way back up my throat and out my mouth! What do I do?"

"Dude, calm down! What you're doing is called 'throwing up' and it's a perfectly natural response to trying to eat everything in the world all at once. Just let it happen. Try to hit the toilet or a trash can if you can. When you're finished, get some water and rinse your mouth out and you should feel better."

"How will I know when I'm finished?"

"When you're not doing it anymore." Dean gripped his phone in white-knuckled fingers and wished for something close enough to thunk his head against. Cas, as a newly-minted human, reminded him of Sammy, circa aged three.

"Oh. I think I'm finished then."

"Okay, good. You feel better?"

There was a short silence while, Dean knew, Cas did an internal assessment.

"Yes, I believe so. That was extremely unpleasant, though. Are you certain that I've not damaged anything?"

"Yeah, you'll be fine. Just don't make a habit of it. Get some water to rinse your mouth out with. If you want to, you can get a clear soda like 7-UP or Sprite or a little apple juice to sip on and it'll help settle your stomach. Mint is good for that, too, but just a little bit. Not a whole truckload."

"Should I try to find that lady and apologize to her dog?"

Dean closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the empty, blue gulf yawning away beneath him, the giant freighters that floated, toy-boat tiny, on the distant surface of the ocean, and the powerful electrical storm that was building on the horizon. I'm not going to ask, he thought. I'm not going to ask. "Probably not."

"What should I do then? Where are you and when will be here?"

"Man, I don't know. The roller coaster got stuck and I'm stranded at the top of the tallest ride in the park. If you feel up to it, could you talk to the ride operators? Find out what's going on for me and call me back to let me know?"

"Yes, of course. You were on a roller coaster called the Bone Shaker?"

"Yeah, that's right. Listen, there's this one ride operator in particular. Punk teenager. His name tag said 'Chad'. He's been following me around hassling me all day. Find out if he did something on purpose to mess with the ride. If he did, threaten him into fixing it. If he didn't . . . threaten him anyway."

**SPN**SPN**SPN**

"Dean? Dean, where are you?"

"Sammy? What's wrong? You sound about seven."

"Dean, there's a clown here!" Sam clutched the phone, keeping one eye on the clown in question. He had retreated into his own little world and was crying again and singing "Tears of a Clown" in a quavery, off-key voice, stopping every now and again to pull one of the pom-poms from the front of his costume, drop it over the edge and listen for it to strike bottom.

"What's he doing?" Dean asked, immediately going into bull-dog, big-brother mode. "Is he threatening you?"

"No, see, he jumped out at me when I wasn't expecting it and I -"

"Freaked out."

"Um, yeah. And I guess it really upset him and he started crying, so it made his makeup run and I thought his face was melting so I -"

"Threw salt on him."

"Uh, yeah. How did you know?"

"There's a reason you didn't bring weapons into clown central, my brother. So what now? Is he threatening to sue you or just have you banned from the park?"

"No, um, he's threatening to jump off the Fun House and kill himself."

"Huh. That's a new one. You're not up there with him, are you?"

"Well, yeah, Dean. I'm trying to talk him into not killing himself."

"And resisting the urge to shove him over?"

"Not funny! . . . but, yeah."

"Well, listen, you've got to get back inside. There's a storm coming in."

"I can see that. But I can't just leave him out here! What if he really jumps? It'd be all my fault!"

"It's not your fault, Sam. Remember, he's a clown. He had to be mentally unstable to begin with."

"But I'd still feel responsible. Besides, if he jumps he'll land in the ocean. Even if they recover his body, it'll be all water-logged. You know that would make it a bitch to salt and burn. Come help me, Dean! You're good at convincing people to do things they don't want to."

"I'm good at convincing people to do things they don't want to? Jeez, Sam! Have you forgotten, oh, I don't know, our whole lives? Use the puppy eyes! Nothing can withstand the puppy eyes!"

"I'd still feel better if you were here helping me."

"Yeah, well, so would I, but unfortunately I'm kinda tied up right now."

Sam glared at his phone. "If you've hooked up with some kinky woman and she's left you tied up and naked under the boardwalk again, I'm not coming to rescue you this time!"

Dean sighed. "It's nothing like that. Unfortunately. Look to your two-o'clock and up about thirty degrees."

Sam did as ordered and found himself looking at a short train sitting still at the top of the highest hill on the Bone Shaker. A tiny figure in the lead car waved at him.

"Dean? What are you doing up there?"

"Karaoke."

"What?"

"What do you think I'm doing up here? The damn ride broke down!"

"Do you need me?" Sam asked, ready to abandon the clown without a second thought if his brother was in trouble.

"Nah, nothing you can do here. I've got Cas down talking to the ride operators. He's gonna find out what's going on and call me back. Listen, you want me to call and get you some help up there?"

"I'd rather have you but, yeah, that'd probably be a good idea."

Dean said goodbye and hung up and Sam turned to find the clown had finished singing and was watching him sullenly.

"I'm sorry," he said acidly. "Are my life crisis and suicidal tendencies interfering with your fun day?"

"No, no. I'm sorry. I was just calling my brother, to see if he could come and talk to you. He's good at always knowing what to say."

In his head, Sam heard his brother's voice. Hey, moron! There's a storm coming. Get your freaky clown ass back inside before you get struck by lightning and that hairdo becomes permanent. You can jump off the roof tomorrow if you still want to.

"Is he afraid of clowns too?"

"No, there's not much that Dean's afraid of."

"So is he coming?"

"Unfortunately, no. He would, but, uh, he's stuck on a broken-down roller coaster." He used his thumb to point back over his shoulder towards his brother.

The clown looked and his eyes widened. "Oh, wow. And there's a storm coming in. You know, those coasters always get struck by lightning during thunderstorms."

Yeah, I'm gonna push him off, Sam thought.

**SPN**SPN**SPN**

Chad Hardwick was a nervous wreck.

"It's not my fault!" he moaned. "All I did was push the button. All I always do is push the button. It's the computer that really controls the ride!"

"Chad, we know that," one of his co-workers said, exasperated. "The boss knows that. You didn't do anything wrong. You're not going to get in trouble."

"Not gonna get in trouble?" he repeated. "Not gonna get in trouble!?" His voice rose three octaves to an hysterical shriek. "The guy in the plaid flannel shirt is gonna kill me!"

"Well, hey! Maybe he'll get struck by lightning!"

Chad turned and stared incredulously at the other ride operator and the kid (his name was Digby) shifted uncomfortably. "I was just joking, y'know. I didn't really mean -"

"Lightning," Chad said seriously, "would be afraid to strike the guy in the plaid flannel shirt."

"Hey, Chad!" another co-worker called from the entrance to shed, empty now except for park workers and engineers trying to figure out why the coaster wasn't moving. "Guy out here is asking for you. Wanna come talk to him?"

Chad swallowed nervously and cautiously approached the entrance. A tall man stood there, with rumpled dark hair and piercing blue eyes and his arms loaded with junk food. "Are you Chad?" he asked.

Chad nodded.

The stranger stooped to carefully pile his burdens against the outer wall of the boarding shed, then stood once more, crossed his arms and glared at Chad. "My friend is stranded on this ride and wishes to know what you've done and how long it's going to take you to fix it. Be warned. If you do not answer to his satisfaction, I am prepared to intimidate you."

**SPN**SPN**SPN**

"Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm calling from Skeleton Harbor Amusement Park. There's a clown threatening to jump off the Fun House."

"Sir, this line is reserved for real emergencies and it is against the law to use it for pranks and practical jokes!"

"No, I -"

click

"Hello?"

**SPN**SPN**SPN**

"I didn't do anything," Chad wailed. "I don't really control the coasters. A computer does. All I do is push the button. I mean, okay, so maybe I was trying to intimidate your friend at first - "

"Wait," Cas said. He tipped his head and stared at the young ride operator. "You were trying to intimidate Dean?"

"Um . . . yeah?"

"You?" he stopped and examined Chad from head to toe with a critical eye.

"Yeah."

"Were trying to intimidate?"

"Yeah."

"Dean Winchester?"

"Um, yeah?"

Cas pulled out his little red notebook. "I believe I need to make a note of that."

**SPN**SPN**SPN**

"You know, we've been up here on the roof for a couple of hours now and I don't even know your name. I'm Sam, by the way. Sam, I am. Ha!"

The clown looked up at that and gave Sam a baleful glare.

"That was . . . supposed to be a joke," Sam prompted.

"It wasn't a very funny one."

"Yeah, okay. Right. Sorry. So, anyway, my name is Sam. What's yours?"

"I'm Bobo," the clown said with careful dignity.

"Bobo . . . okay. But, um, don't you have another name?"

"Bobo Z. Bobolink." He caught Sam's look and his expression hardened. "It's my name, okay? It's on my driver's license. I had it legally changed." He shrugged wistfully. "I was so happy that day, finally taking a name I could stand up and be proud of."

"What was it before?"

"My parents named me Merton."

That explained a lot, Sam thought. "Okay, so, Bobo it is."

**SPN**SPN**SPN**

"Skeleton Harbor Amusement Park, how can I help you?"

"Hey, listen! One of your clowns is threatening to jump off the roof of the Fun House!"

"Very funny!"

click

"Hello?"

**SPN**SPN**SPN**

"So, what are you? Like, his brother or his boyfriend or something?"

"I'm . . . it's complicated. We have a profound bond."

"What does that even mean?"

Cas made his voice stern. "For one thing, it means I can sense when he is severely annoyed."

Chad laughed hysterically. "Seriously? Dude, NORAD can sense when the guy in the plaid flannel shirt is annoyed! NASA can probably sense when the guy in the plaid flannel shirt is annoyed! There's probably some alien race in a distant galaxy right now going, 'better keep an eye on the little blue planet. The guy in the plaid flannel shirt is pissed!'"

"Actually, that," Cas considered, "is not impossible."

**SPN**SPN**SPN**

"Ooh! Look! They've called in the fire department."

Bobo wandered away from the side of the roof that overlooked the ocean, suddenly more interested in the drama playing out around the base of the Bone Shaker. Sam followed, relieved. Bobo had been talking about his childhood while Sam tried to look interested and worried about Dean.

"The ladder won't reach all the way to the top of that hill, you know," Bobo said. "They'll have to send a couple of the search and rescue guys up with climbing gear and lower the passengers down one at a time. No way they'll get them all down before the storm hits. This is gonna be cool!"

Sam growled to himself and stuck his hands in his pockets.

Bobo sat on the edge of the roof facing the roller coaster, dangling his feet over the side. Sam sat beside him and for several minutes they watched in silence as the fire trucks wound their way through the park and set up at the base of the Bone Crusher. It seemed to take forever. First, they had to wait while maintenance workers took down a section of fencing to let the ladder truck in under the actual coaster, then there was the long slow process of braces extending from the truck frame on both sides, to block it in place. The ladder rose and turned until it was facing the track and came out, section by section, until it had reached its full length. The cars at the top of the hill were still fifty feet above its reach.

I wish I had binoculars, Sam thought.

"I wish we had some popcorn," Bobo said.

I wish I had a taser.

"I bet this is all because of the skeleton," the clown said. "Nothing at this stupid park has gone right since they found that skeleton. I knew they should have reported it."

Sam's head snapped around. "Skeleton?"

Before Bobo could answer, he was interrupted by Sam's phone ringing.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Peachy."

"The fire department's here. Search and rescue's just started climbing up to you. Looks like you're going to have to come down on ropes, at least part way."

"That's cool. One little thing, though. You've got a pretty good vantage point, right?"

"Yeah?"

"So, um, you see any power lines running close to me? Heavy machinery? Something the fire department's got set up maybe?"

"No, there's nothing. The machinery for the lift on that hill is in a machine shed at the base of the track there and the fire department's equipment is all down on the truck. Why?"

"Oh, I dunno. Probably nothing."

"But . . . ?"

"The EMF meter in my pocket just started going off."