Yes, an update! Hurrah! Hope you enjoy it. New chapter of L&D due up soon and maybe, just maybe, something totally new. (Still deciding on whether to post it.)
Thanks again to everyone following this and those of you deranged enough to encourage me.
Ch22: Send In The Clowns
Dean gripped the edge of his bed. Butterflies in his stomach; sweaty palms - he had the whole nervous ball of wax. What the hell was wrong with him? He'd faced down demons while showing fewer nervous symptoms. Why did this Ella chick, his supposed foster mother who never bothered adopting him, make him feel like this?
"Ready, Dean?" Sam appeared in their doorway rubbing a towel over his wet hair. "It's your favorite holiday."
"I know, Sam," he replied, "you don't have to remind me of everything."
"What? I wasn't..." Sam's voice trailed off. Dean looked up into the worried mother-hen look that had been following him around since they came to Bobby's. "Dean, what's wrong?"
Dean shook his head. He had been asking himself the very same question since early this morning and still didn't have a good answer. "Nothing," he told his little brother. "Want to tell me about the job now?"
"Tell you what?" Sam slung the wet towel across the room. It landed with a soft thump on the pile of dirty clothes in the corner. The pile would probably exceed Sam's tolerance limit by tomorrow. Sam tended to go by height where Dean preferred smell. As long as it didn't stink, it could touch the ceiling for all he cared. Of course, with the wet towel, the pile would undoubtedly exceed both their tolerance limits in the morning.
"You read the file," his little brother continued as he pulled on a t-shirt, "you know as much as I do."
Dean eyed his brother critically. "So you haven't been sneaking off to research?"
Sam's face blanked, which meant he was about to lie. "No."
"You're a lousy liar," Dean accused.
Sam shot him a nasty look. "No, I'm not. You're just too good at seeing through the BS."
"C'mon, Sammy. Give. What is it?" He rubbed his sweaty palms against his legs, feeling a little better now.
"Dean, there's plenty of time to talk about this tomorrow. Ella, Dad and Bobby are probably all waiting for us to celebrate your favorite holiday. Why do you want to sit up here and talk about a case when all of your favorite foods are downstairs?" Sam smoothed out his shirt with both hands and shot Dean a strong look.
"Dunno," Dean replied, finally trying to answer Sam's question. "I, uh, just..." He shrugged. There was no good reason for all these emotions welling up within him, the butterflies in his stomach, and the absolute frozen dread that nothing would go right today. In his mind's eye he saw them sitting around Bobby's table, the one usually covered with research, laughing and talking with full mouths. Reality could never measure up. It never had.
"Then let's go." Sam waved a hand toward the door. A half-smile creased his brother's face. "Before Dad and Bobby start eying Ella's pie."
"Pie?" Dean instantly felt highly interested. "Ella made pie?"
Sam's half-smile spread into a full grin. "Pecan, apple and I think she said peach."
Dean found himself standing mere inches from Sam. "What are we waiting for?" he demanded, giving Sam a push in the chest. "There's pie!"
He hurried from the room, taking the stairs two at time with Sam on his heels. "Hey, there better still be some food in there," he bellowed, "or there's gonna be hell to pay."
Dean rounded the corner to find Dad and Bobby standing by the table covered with food. He snatched Bobby's hat as he passed by.
"Hey, is this new? Sam, check it out," he slung it over Bobby's head at his brother, "Bobby got dressed up."
"It is new," Sam said, chuckling.
Dean glanced over as Bobby grabbed the hat out of Sam's hands to ram back on his head. "Shut up."
Dean spun a chair around to straddle. He leaned over the back to reach for the bowl of mashed potatoes. The sound of Dad's throat clearing made him freeze. His eyes flicked over to Dad and the disapproving look. He glanced down at his chair. Oh. Right. Feeling rather sheepish, Dean stood to turn his chair around.
"Oh, honey, don't worry about that," Ella said lightly as she moved the gravy bowl closer. She smiled at Dad. "I never could get him to sit in a chair the right way."
Dean finished turning the chair around before he sat again. "Now?" he asked Dad.
Dad nodded as he placed a thick slice of turkey on Dean's plate. "Fill 'er up, son."
Bobby sat at the head of the table while Sam and Dad took seats opposite him. Dean wondered why until Ella sat in the only empty chair, next to him. He knew Sam didn't like her much and guessed the same went for Dad and Bobby. Even now Dean could feel the tension around the table.
"Looks good," he said conversationally as he motioned for Sam to pass the stuffing.
"Yeah," Sam replied with a small smile. "Ella really went all out for us, didn't she, Dad?"
"Huh?" Dad had half a roll stuffed in his mouth. He chewed through it hurriedly before swallowing it nearly whole. "Yeah, Ella, it all looks great." Dad winced and shot a glare at Sam. "Thanks."
Dean wasn't sure if the thanks were meant for Ella's cooking or the kick in the shin from Sam.
John rubbed at his throbbing shin. Honestly, Sam could be just too freaking pushy. He wished he had someone else he could blame that on, like say it was from his wife's side of the family. John knew better. Sam was a chip off the old block, unfortunately.
"So, Ella," he said, attempting to take himself out of the spotlight, "what do you do?" He noticed Dean take an interest as well.
"I'm a medical office assistant," she said in a soft voice.
"That sounds..." Dean had a funny look on his face. "That sounds like a pain in the ass job."
She smiled at the young man sitting beside her. "It is, but it pays the bills."
Dean chuckled as he shoved more turkey in his mouth. John was not sure why, but he did not like how comfortable Dean seemed to be with Ella. When they had been on the road, the only time Dean really relaxed was when it was just the two of them back at the motel. Since arriving at Bobby's Dean seemed just as relaxed all of the time, even when he caught Dean and Bobby arguing over some subtle point in the restoration of the Impala or Dean and Sam exchanging verbal barbs. Dean being comfortable with Sam and Bobby John didn't mind too much, but Dean acting like this with Ella, well, it didn't feel right.
"Wow," Sam mumbled next to him. "Dean was right, the stuffing is amazing." He felt an elbow in his side. "Dad? What do you think?"
Without touching the yellow-brown lump on his plate, John shrugged. "It's okay."
"Okay?" Dean demanded with a full mouth. "Did you try it? It's awesome." He waved a full fork at John. "C'mon, Dad, eat."
John tried, but his appetite was gone.
"Ella," Sam said, "tell me, has Dean always been into practical jokes?"
Dean snorted from across the table, a light in his amused eyes. "Looking for tips, Sammy?"
Sam grinned as Ella's mouth, presumably open to answer, closed.
"You wish," Sam snorted. "How's the hand?"
Dean grumbled something John didn't catch, but it did not sound amused. Then he watched as Dean nudged Ella, nodding toward Sam.
She cleared her throat. "I suppose he has. Jerry has always had a wonderful sense of humor."
"Who's Jerry?" Dean asked, adding more stuffing to his plate.
John fixed a disapproving stare on Ella. How dare she mention that name. Did she want Dean to remember all the crap he had been through? On reflection he realized she probably did, because it would mean remembering her as well. Tough.
Her face flared bright red as her gaze dropped to her plate. "Sorry," she mumbled.
John turned to make a comment to Sam, but his son was busy glaring daggers in Ella's direction.
"How about cars?" Bobby asked, breaking the tense silence. "Where did Dean learn so much?"
Ella fiddled under the table, probably wringing her napkin in her hands. "He worked at a garage," she said softly.
"What garage?" Dean asked, one eye on her and another on his food. He never seemed to slow down in eating.
Ella's eyes remained fixed on her lap. "Arnold's Garage," she replied. "I suspect you were always into cars, though. The only books I ever saw you reading were about cars."
"Ah-hah!" Sam shouted triumphantly, one finger stabbing the air in Dean's direction. "You read about cars!"
Dean looked up calmly at Sam, the familiar teasing smile on his face. "About the history of the car, Sammy. Not how to fix them. Tell me, you find out what that 7-10 cap is for?"
Sam's hand dropped. "I suppose you're going to tell me that experience is the best teacher for things like that?"
Dean shrugged, still appearing highly amused. He shoveled another forkful of turkey in his mouth. After he chewed through it, his eyes shifted to John.
"And you," he said, "seriously, you didn't teach him anything about cars?"
John shrugged, pretending to be interested in his meal again. "We were busy."
Muffled laughter drew his attention from his plate. Dean and Sam were sharing choked chuckles and exchanging secret looks.
"We were," John defended over the chuckling.
Dean nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, sir," he replied. "I'm sure you were." He glanced back to Sam and they shared another chuckle.
"What is so funny?" John demanded of his sons.
Sam gave Dean a questioning look. Dean grinned and nodded, attacking his plate of food again.
"Dean has this theory, about how you probably tried to teach me about cars." Sam cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Son, a car in need of a tune-up is like a vengeful spirit." John decided he couldn't possibly sound the way Sam did right now. "First you have to vanquish the bad oil, a drain and toss is best." Dean's chuckling grew louder. "Next for the spark plugs. After fifty thousand miles, evil spirits can cause corrosion on the connections, so you need to check for that." Dean snorted. "And unlike zombies, your car needs to breathe."
Dean laughed through a mouthful of food over that one.
"So replace the, uh, air filters?" Sam asked, eyes on Dean now.
Dean waved him off, shaking his head, probably trying not to choke. He motioned to John.
"Yeah, pretty much," John admitted. Then he allowed himself a chuckle. "He's not far off, is he?"
Sam laughed then, tearing a roll in half. "Not really."
"So are we checking out this clown thing this weekend?" Dean asked. "Because I got to tell you, I'm starting to go a little stir-crazy cooped up in one place."
"The car isn't done yet," Sam replied in a surprised voice.
"So?" Dean shrugged. "Bobby already said we could use his clunker." He made a face. "Bobby, what the hell are you doing with a mini-van anyway? Some soccer Mom have a nervous break-down?"
"Something like that," Bobby replied.
"Excuse me, but I do have a truck," John pointed out.
Three sets of eyes focused on him. There was a stretched silence before Bobby spoke. "So you're still going to be here."
It was more of a statement than a question. John had been considering leaving, though he wouldn't admit it, but there had not been any really good indication of the demon's activity. Besides, Dean hadn't fully recovered. It would be irresponsible for him to allow the boys to go unaided on a hunt with Dean still recuperating. Yeah, like he hadn't ever been irresponsible before.
"Yes," he snapped at Bobby, "I'm still going to be here."
Dean's relieved smile shouldn't have caused the guilt crashing over him now, or the sense of relief for being wanted more than Ella, but it did.
"They're all bark," Dean was telling Ella. "Don't let it get to you."
He noticed Ella stare at Sam as she replied, "Not all bark."
John was impressed. Ella wasn't nearly as stupid as she acted.
Bobby watched the Winchesters, even the so-called adopted one, prepare for some clown hunting. Sam's research pointed in the direction of a rakshasa, which were damned rare and difficult to track. Now they were discussing how to find a copper weapon to use to kill it.
He dropped his bag next to Sam's and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Bobby?" John glanced down at his bag before daring to look at him dead-on. "What's up?"
"I'm going," Bobby announced. Short and simple, it was the only way when dealing with Winchesters.
"Why?" Sam asked, checking over a Desert Eagle. Dean snatched it out of Sam's hands with a glare.
"Why not?" Dean asked, much to Bobby's surprise. Had the kid forgiven him for the shotgun incident? "Wait a minute." A frown creased his face. "What about, uh, Ella?"
"She's going to wait here. Said something about my kitchen not being clean enough," Bobby replied.
Dean's frown eased. "I'm not positive, but I think she's got something about clean kitchens."
"I'm positive," Sam muttered as he pulled out another handgun. This one he stuffed into his waistband after checking it over.
"Oh," Sam said in a voice filled with 'I got something' and 'better listen up.' He set an oil cap on the table in front of Dean. One lean finger pointed out the upside down letters. "7-10," he said patiently, then he spun it around. "O-I-L." Deep hazel eyes glared at Dean. "Now do I get a say in anything Impala?"
Dean grinned, clearly amused. "Maybe about the upholstery."
Sam's eyes rolled completely back in his head.
"I can't believe you've had him looking for the 7-10 cap all this time," John said with an amused snort.
"You didn't say anything either," Bobby pointed out.
John gave them all a small smile. "After all the know-it-all crap I've had to put up with all these years? Are you kidding? What's your excuse, Bobby?"
Bobby decided it would be best not to answer that question, especially since he wanted to go along on this hunt. It wasn't the hunt itself which intrigued him, it was the opportunity to watch these three on a hunt. He wanted to see the Winchester family in action for himself. Since chasing John off with a shotgun one evening, Bobby had heard the rumors circulating about the 'other' Winchester son. He figured most of it was the usual blown-out-of-proportion hunter's talk, but he would rather judge it in person.
John's game face slammed into place as he slung a duffel over his shoulder. "Are we ready or what?"
"Yes, sir," Dean replied instantly, mirroring John's movements with a lighter duffel. Bobby had watched Sam check through Dean's bag earlier, removing anything he thought too heavy. Dean hefted it up and down with his shoulder a couple of times before giving Sam a searching look. Sam pretended to be busy with a rock salt shotgun, which wouldn't do a damn thing against this, this, uh...
"So how are we supposed to find the people-eater? Is it purple?" Dean asked, the only indication of a joke the thin smile playing on his lips.
"We could try joining up at the circus," Sam suggested seriously. "Dean and I should be the right age."
"And your dad and I play back-up?" Bobby demanded. He shifted his gaze to John. "They think we're too old for this."
"You think we need to join the circus?" John chuckled. "C'mon, Bobby. There's plenty for us to do. I know how much trouble each of them can get into alone, so I can only imagine what the two of them together are like on a job."
Dean tossed an unabashed wink at Sam. "This is going to be fun."
Sam shuddered. Bobby couldn't imagine what set Sam off this time.
"Seriously?" Dean asked Bobby as he swept up a couple of crushed paper cups and what was leftover from someone's lunch. "Sam was afraid of clowns as a kid? So why is he so gung-ho about this hunt?"
Sam could be seriously weird, something Dean knew yet it surprised him every time he was given evidence of it.
Bobby shrugged, pretending to study some of the attractions nearby. "Well, when he was about nine or ten, he decided the reason they scared him was because they were all evil. From that point on, Sam has just been dying to hunt down an evil supernatural clown. John never let him before now, of course."
"That he knows of," Dean pointed out. "Sam was away at college for nearly four years."
Bobby's head shook slowly back and forth. "Sam wouldn't do that. He might go against his daddy by going to college, but he wouldn't go that far."
"Look! A clown!"
Dean spun around to pinpoint the child's voice. A little girl stood with her parents, pointing at a tent.
"Where, honey?" The mother crouched down to talk to her.
"It was right there," she insisted, still pointing. "Didn't you see it? He waved at me."
"Bobby," Dean whispered.
"On it." Bobby hurried toward the family. Dean headed for the tent. If the kid did see something, it couldn't have gone far.
Dean tossed his broom and garbage-sweeper-up-thingy against the side of the tent as he rushed in. He plowed into some dude who had an act. Crap! Dean stumbled backwards feeling stupid for running into the poor guy.
"Uh, sorry. You see anybody come by here in the last two seconds?" he asked, looking around fervently for anyone dressed like a clown.
"See?" the dude demanded. "Did I see anyone?"
Confused, Dean really looked at the guy now. Oh, double-crap! It was the blind knife thrower. Of course the poor guy didn't see anything. Shit, now he looked like an asshole.
"Uh, I meant..." Dean faltered for an excuse. Where the hell was Sam when you really needed him? "Did anyone come through here in the last few seconds? That, uh, that you know of?"
The blind dude poked him in the chest. "Just the clod who ran over me, that's all."
Dean winced. Yeah, okay, he probably deserved that.
The blind dude leaned in close and sniffed him. Freaking sniffed him?
"The stupid clod who cleans up the garbage," he said with another sniff.
Stupid. He might not remember a few things, but that didn't make him stupid. "Excuse me?" Dean asked slowly.
"Get out," blind dude told him, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "I'm sure there's some day old hotdog or half-eaten corndog waiting for you."
Dean narrowed his eyes at the asshole. He wondered if it was true, about the other senses amping up when one was gone. The jerk might even be able to 'feel' the right hook destined for his jaw.
"Dean!" Sam's voice boomed in the tent. How the hell did he do that? Dean hadn't even lifted his fist yet. "There you are," he huffed as he jogged up. "I've been looking all over for you."
"Shirking your work too?" the blind guy asked with a sneer.
Sam shoved his body between them as Dean raised his fist, eyes locked on target. "Nope," he said hurriedly, "just heading off to a dumped trash can emergency."
Dean growled under his breath as Sam shoved him out of the tent.
"What the hell are you thinking?" Sam demanded in an urgent whisper. "You were really going to hit that blind guy?"
"The blind guy is an asshole," Dean ground out, also pitching his tone soft. It seemed like there was always somebody trying to listen in on them.
"Forget him," Sam insisted. "We need to keep an eye out for The Clown." From the way Sam said it, Dean could hear the words were capitalized.
"What the hell do you think I was doing?" Dean snapped back. "I was following up a lead when tall, dark, and in the dark got in the way."
Sam choked back a half-chuckle, but not quite quickly enough. "What happened?"
"Some kid outside claimed a clown waved at her, but none of the adults saw anything. Bobby went to follow them, maybe get a license plate, and I tried looking for The Clown." The emphasis sounded sarcastic from him, which was freaking perfect.
"Okay, you better go back to your station before we get in trouble. I'm sure Bobby will check in when he has something." Sam waved him off, heading around the tent.
"Yeah, whatever," Dean grumbled under his breath. "Clowns, ghosts, spirits. Freaking weird family."
"Spirits?" A voice sounded from right behind him. Dean spun around to face a large man, obviously with the traveling circus. "Why are you worried about spirits? This circus isn't haunted, not like the one I used to be with when I was just a kid."
Dean gave the guy his most innocent smile. "Really? What makes you say that?" Okay, so the blind dude let the clown get away, but it might not be a total loss. This guy might have some decent info.