See, I told you it was coming! Thanks again to my awesome editor and to all of you kind enough to review.
Chapter 23: No Clowning Around
Dean expertly picked the lock on the front door. "So why are we doing this, and not the experienced old guys?" he hissed as he opened the door.
Sam gave him a soft shove in the shoulder. "Because they're too old and slow," he whispered back. "Nice job on the lock, by the way."
Dean thought Sam ought to be complimenting Dad, not him. He'd learned all his 'gray-area' skills from Dad, except how to hot-wire a car. That was something he'd had to teach Sam. For a former mechanic, Dad really did a piss-poor job of teaching Sammy automotive anything.
"Where do you think the parents sleep? Upstairs?" Sam whispered, eyes darting around the dark downstairs.
Dean shrugged. He had no intention of going upstairs, not without an engraved invitation or at least some screaming. Sam jerked his head at the stairs. Dean shook his head in response. The clown had to come inside somehow; they should look for it down here.
"I'm coming," a young voice said. Dean ducked behind a chair while Sam dove for the couch. The same little girl he had spotted at the circus sprinted downstairs. What did Sam say about the thing they were hunting? It couldn't do something without an invitation. Damn his stupid brain! Why couldn't he remember the simplest things?
The girl stood by the glass door which opened to the backyard. "What?" she asked through the glass. "You want to come in to play?"
It couldn't come inside without an invitation. That was it. Dean gripped his shotgun tightly, ready to spring from his hiding place. The girl reached out for the door. Now he could see a clown standing right outside. As her hand grasped the handle, Dean jumped up.
"Now!" he shouted. Sam raced, doubled over, from behind the couch to grab the girl. The instant she was clear, Dean shot at the clown. The glass in the door exploded, just like in the movies. Cool.
Dean stepped closer, but there was no clown outside the busted door, not even a scrap of its stupid outfit.
"What the hell is going on?" a man's voice shouted.
Dean half turned to see the father barreling down the stairs brandishing a handgun. Yeah, that didn't look good, especially with Sam still holding their daughter in a protective bear-hug.
"Daddy! They shot my clown!" she screamed. "They shot my clown!"
Daddy lifted the handgun, taking aim. Cue exit, stage left.
"Sam!" Dean hissed as he raced toward the front door, one hand pulling his little brother along. They could hear the angry sobs of the girl as they ran flat out for the road. The sounds of gunshots had Dean checking over his shoulder, but Sam was right there with him. The passenger door of the truck was open and the engine running when they ran up. Dean jumped in, Sam right behind him. The truck took off with a shudder before Sam could close the door.
"What the hell happened?" Dad demanded.
"Salt doesn't work," Dean replied, panting. A month without being allowed to work out had really taken a toll, he couldn't catch his breath.
Dad shot him a strong look. "No kidding. We need brass. What made you use the shotgun anyway?"
"It's not like we had any brass weapons on us, Dad," Sam argued. "Did you want us to let it eat the parents?" An elbow dug into his side. "I thought the shotgun worked pretty well. Nobody died."
"Where are we going to find brass weapons anyway?" Bobby asked from the back. "I know where we can order some, but that'll take a couple of weeks."
"I have an idea about that," Dean said slowly as his breathing approached normal. "But we need to go back to the circus."
Dad nodded, turning towards the object at the center of their hunt.
"You want Sam or Dean?" John asked Bobby softly as they followed the young men walking towards the after-hours circus grounds.
"What?" Bobby hissed back. "I get a choice?"
"Yeah," John whispered. "So do you prefer trouble-magnet number one or two?"
"Uh, is that in order of troublesomeness, age, or order added to the family?" Bobby asked. He wondered why John was even asking; the man usually just barked orders and expected everyone to follow them. "Because in each case, I'd have to say you're number one." He grinned in the dark at his old pain-in-the-ass friend. "In every way."
John snorted at him. "Fine." He received a shove in the shoulder to follow Dean. "Trouble-magnet number two it is."
Bobby figured he was being punished for verbally flipping John off, but he didn't mind, not really. With their abrupt departures, Bobby still hadn't seen Dean in action. If half of John's or Sam's stories were to be believed, the boy was a wonder to watch in action. Besides, the kid needed someone who remembered he was still recovering to watch his back, and Bobby suspected at a crucial moment those high Winchester expectations would overrule common sense.
He spotted Dean talking to a thin, gaunt blind man before heading into one of the trailers these carnies lived in. Bobby waited nearby, close enough to hear if there was a problem, but far enough away to not look like he was trying to eavesdrop or break in. Carnies could be violently loyal to one another, and he had spotted the strong man earlier. No way was he tangling with that.
The first hint of trouble came in the form of a loud thump from the trailer. Bobby inched closer, still trying to appear inconspicuous. The blind man, minus the dark glasses, raced out of the trailer. No Dean. Yeah, this looked bad.
Bobby yanked open the door. "Boy?" he asked of the trailer, one bare bulb lighting the place. "You in here?"
Of course Dean was still in here, where could he go? A moan from the front compartment, which passed for the 'master' bedroom, drew Bobby in. A dark form filled the floor next to an open cedar chest, what women used to call a 'hope' chest.
"Dean!" Bobby found himself on his knees, pulling the boy up to a sitting position. Poor kid blinked hard at him.
"Bobby?" he asked after an endless moment of silence.
Bobby let out a sigh of relief. "Yeah, it's me. What's wrong, you seeing double or something?"
Dean shook his head as he allowed Bobby to haul him to his feet. "Just good to know some things in here," he tapped his temple, "still work." He glanced around, puzzled. "Where'd he go?"
"Who? The blind guy?" Bobby asked. "He left, couple minutes ago."
"Crap!" Dean tried to shove past him, losing his balance momentarily. Bobby steadied the younger man as they made for the door. "He's not blind, Bobby," he explained in a rush, "he's the not-purple people eater." Dean gave Bobby a weird look as they stepped outside. "Unpurple people eater?"
"Rakshasa," Bobby reminded him, though even as the word left his mouth he wondered why he was bothering to do it. Kid had enough trouble with his memory without ancient names.
"Whatever." Dean pulled out his cell. "Gotta warn Sam."
"He went this way," Bobby said, taking off in the direction he saw the not-blind man go. He kept glancing over his shoulder, checking on the kid, as they headed across the grounds. Dean motioned to the fun house, the phone still pressed to his ear.
"Yeah, we're there. Okay, see you inside." Dean motioned to a door set in the back. "Dad and Sam are going in the front. Sam says he thinks he has an idea about how to kill it."
"What about the brass blade you were after?" Bobby asked as Dean jerked open the door, which was oddly unlocked.
Dean sent him an incredulous look. "It's been one of those days."
After a moment's thought, Bobby shook his head in disbelief at his own stupidity. Why would a rakshasa keep around the very thing which would kill it? He couldn't see that for himself? He appreciated Dean not going with 'duh, Bobby!' Kid certainly could've. He had intended to prop the door open after they went in, but the knob slipped out of his hand. Bobby reached out for it as it slammed forcefully closed. Not good. He tried the door but it was locked fast this time. Yeah, coming in had been way too easy.
Bobby turned around to inform Dean, but the kid was gone. "Damn it," he growled, feeling his way among the mirrored walls. He felt he needed to call out for Dean, like a parent who just lost a rambunctious child. Screw that. Instead Bobby raced through the hall of mirrors as fast as he could. Sounds came from ahead and to his right. Heading in the direction of shouting voices, Bobby turned a corner to discover Sam brandishing a pipe. It looked like brass, maybe from the pipe organ against the far wall. Sam was one sharp kid, Bobby had to admit.
"Where is it?" Sam demanded.
"I don't know!" Dean spun around. "Shouldn't we see his clothes walking around or something?"
Bobby heard rather than saw the knives whizzing through the air. Dean was stuck, the knives pinning his right sleeve to the wall. "Sam!"
Sam swung his pipe through the empty air, in the area the knives came from. John jumped out of Sam's way, a second barrage of knives effectively pinning him next to Dean.
"Damn it!" John rumbled, worried eyes on Sam.
Dean frantically yanked a knife out, desperately trying to break free. Bobby tried to judge where the knives were coming from as he moved silently around the corner. Just as Dean pulled the next to last knife out, a fresh barrage pinned his left arm. Bobby rushed from his hiding place, hoping to hit their invisible attacker. Instead he struck the far wall.
"Sam!" Dean's shout rang out again. "Behind you!"
Bobby twisted around in time to see Dean's free hand was on a handle set in the wall. Steam poured out of vents into the room. Bobby could just make out a figure moving through the steam. With a primal cry, Sam thrust the pipe backwards. Out of the steam the figure of the blind man solidified, pinned to the wall with the pipe.
"Bobby!" John called out. "You all right?"
He pushed up to a stand. "Yeah, I think so. Just bruised my pride a little."
"Good. Get your ass over here!" John snapped as he struggled to reach the knives keeping him attached to the wall.
Sam beat Bobby to the far wall, but he concentrated on freeing Dean, not his father. Amused, Bobby had John loose about the same time Dean was able to move away from the wall. The next two minutes did surprise him. John and Sam both fussed over Dean, examining his clothes for any signs of blood, until Dean pushed them both off with a scowl.
"I'm not a freaking invalid!" Dean snapped, turning his back on all of them. His head rocked from side to side, creating small popping noises as his stretched his neck.
Sam gave John a relieved look. "He's fine."
"Maybe," John growled, "but I'm checking him over the second we get back."
Bobby wondered if he could sell tickets to this one. It sounded like the equivalent of a championship match.
Ella paced nervously. The phone call she had received to warn her the men were on their way back had been, well, odd. She heard that Sam, who pretended to be nice around his 'family', going on and on in the background. John and Bobby were arguing about whether or not to drive through. The louder the other men became, the louder Dean had to shout to make himself heard over the phone. Finally Dean just shouted she should expect them in four hours and then the line went dead. That had been over three hours ago.
Each time she heard a car engine, Ella jumped. She was at the point if a truck didn't turn down the drive, she feared losing her sanity. At least Dean had sounded fine.
Dean.
When did she start thinking of him as Dean? Probably about the same time Ella had admitted to herself that John acted like an overprotective father and Sam was the most dedicated brother she ever had the misfortune of meeting. While Dean finally found the family he so clearly wanted, Ella had her doubts if this 'family' of his was the best thing for him. Okay, so he was recovering from a car wreck, not a beating, which was an improvement over the time he spent with her. But the way these men acted reminded her of caged tigers awaiting the first time an unsuspecting zookeeper opened the door. Sam especially bothered her.
On the surface he seemed so much the sweet, innocent young man, as if he were merely between liberal arts lectures. She could imagine Sam majoring in Sweet with a minor in Innocuous. He certainly graduated with honors, in her humble opinion. However, in reality? He was one truly scary son-of-a-bitch. How in the world her sweet Jerry had hooked up with Sam, well, it was beyond her. And the whole thing with changing his name? Now that was the sign of a disturbed mind, at the very least. All of them appeared to tip-toe around the subject of Dean's name, except Dean. He had no idea his real name was Jerry, and wasn't that just disturbing on a whole new level?
Ella had spent the last few days cleaning Bobby's kitchen, his main rooms, and calling around to find a decent psychiatrist. The hard part would be convincing Dean to go. The impossible part would be going around his new family to the appointment she had scheduled for next week. Yeah, okay, maybe it was wishful thinking on her part, but she couldn't just stand by and do absolutely nothing. Not again. Not after what happened the last time she had depended on someone else to do the right thing.
The sound of a truck interrupted her thoughts and pacing. Ella waited, neck muscles tense and knotting, as the noise rolled through the darkness outside. Her eyes strained through the now clean windows for a flash of headlights. Two bright beams rounded Bobby's drive, headed for the house. Ella held her breath until Bobby's exterior flood lights flipped on, bathing the area surrounding the house in bright white light. Now she could tell it was a black truck, John's truck. Ella let out the breath burning in her chest.
The truck stopped just outside the house. John and Sam got out first, followed closely by Bobby and finally Dean. Dean moved slowly, with both John and Sam hovering around him.
"Come on, back off!" Dean snapped at the other men. Ella rushed to open the door for them.
"I'm fine," Dean insisted as he walked inside. He paused briefly to give Ella a peck on the cheek, exactly the way he used to when she would come to visit. Hope flared bright in her chest.
"You always say that," John and Sam replied in forceful unison.
"Shirt off," John ordered, blocking Dean's path to the stairs.
Dean shot him a withering look with his arms crossed over his chest. "No."
"That's an order," John said in a loud voice. Sam made a face, but he said nothing. Dean froze, stock still.
"An order?" he asked weakly, his face open and pleading. Dean took orders? How very un-Jerry-like. "C'mon, Dad. I swear, I'm fine."
"Off," John motioned, his voice ranging into aggravated or annoyed, Ella couldn't tell for certain.
Dean groaned loudly and rolled his eyes all around, but no one spoke to defend him.
"He says he's fine," Ella said, hoping her voice did not quaver.
Dean graced her with his sweetest smile. "It's okay. You might want to leave for this, though."
Ella shook her head. If he was hurt, she wanted to see it for herself. Sam moved to stand between her and Dean. "He's telling you the truth," he said softly. "I don't think you're ready for this."
Ella glared at him as she forced her way by him. She waited impatiently as Dean removed his leather jacket and outer shirt. He took a deep breath before lifting up his t-shirt. Ella winced when she saw his torso covered with purple and green bruises. The areas not bruised were yellow, recovering from bruising. Her stomach twisted and lurched and Ella could taste bile in the back of her throat.
"Turn around," John ordered, "and lift your arms up."
Dean rolled his eyes again as he lifted his arms. He turned slowly around, putting all of his tortured torso on display. "Well?" he demanded.
"Arms," Sam insisted. Dean lowered his arms, holding them out for inspection. "He looks fine," Sam said, still studying his arms.
"Fine?" Ella demanded. "He looks beat to hell!"
Sam's eyes locked on hers as he moved away from Dean. "You would know," Sam said in a low voice which was undoubtedly meant for her ears alone. She tried to glare, but figured she felt too guilty for it to do any good. Ella knew she was right when, after Dean walked off a ways to grab his discarded shirts, Sam leaned in closer and growled a little.
"Knock it off, Sam," Dean said without turning around as he pulled his button down shirt back on without the t-shirt.
Sam gave Dean's back a guilty look. "I wasn't doing anything," he said innocently.
"Yeah, right," Dean chuckled. He turned around slowly. "Leave her alone, Sam. We talked about this."
Sam took a step back, a deep furrow in his brow. "No, we didn't."
Dean frowned, his brow furrowing deeply as he buttoned his shirt. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure we did."
Sam's eyes widened and John moved closer. "Are you remembering things, son? From, um, before?" John asked gently.
Dean ran a hand over his head. "I'm tired," he announced. "Can we talk about this in the morning?"
"Sure," John said with a sigh. He gripped Dean's shoulder briefly. "And don't think we won't."
Dean let out a low groan as he headed for the stairs, but Ella had to admit he didn't seem upset at all.