Chapter Text
John Winchester didn't love me the way he was supposed to as a father. He left me like a baby in a basket in the hands of Ellen Harvelle after my mother burned in a tragic demon-induced nursery fire. John didn't want to protect a little girl from the horrors of the world, and when that little girl grew up to be a man, I found out that John Winchester was a transphobic, homophobic, garbage piece of shit. Now, John makes sure I only get to watch my brothers from afar, he makes sure that they think of him as a good father and a good leader, but I know the truth: He's just an asshole.
Ash comes into my room, waking me up while stealing clothes from my closet, but at this point, I’m not even sure if the clothes he grabs are mine or his. “Your brothers are here, and your dad’s dead.”
I don’t even have time to process what he’s said until he’s almost out the door. “Wait, babe, repeat that.” I rub my eyes and cough out the rasp in my voice, trying my best to wake up before he shoots out of the door again.
“John is dead and the boys finally got ahold of the voicemail of Ellen asking for that bastard’s help,” Ash rephrases himself in such a way that I shoot up with a mix and questions rattling around in my head.
“So, get ready and come into the front room. They still don’t know who you are, and I don’t think Ellen’s ready to let you tell them, but we could always use your help.” I don’t even get to ask him anything before he winks and lets the door close on his statement.
When I finally get into the front room, I see Sam alone at the bar, Dean and Jo at the window, talking and clearly flirting.
“Mom, Ash decided to wake me up. These must be John’s sons. Finally got the fucking message, huh?” I wiggle behind Ellen to get into the back of the bar and grab orange juice, pouring it into a stein Ellen slides toward me, our routine perfected over the years.
“Yeah, Sam’s looking at that folder on the clown case,” Ellen nods to Sam, cleaning our glassware. “Seems like a case he and Dean want to take on.”
I can read Ellen’s face, and I can imagine exactly what she’s left unsaid. I shouldn’t offer to go with Sam and Dean, and it’s unlikely they’d accept my offer anyway. She wants to say I shouldn’t tell them we’re siblings, that I shouldn’t open up that can of worms so soon after John’s death. The boys will come back eventually, and I can tell them then.
“Yeah, we got the message off Dad’s phone. Hello,” Sam awkwardly waves.
“Well, it’s nice to see you again, Sam. I’m Drew. We knew each other back when we were kids. When John came into the Roadhouse more often.” I say, watching Sam’s confused face and Ellen’s annoyed one.
“Huh, well, I’m sorry to say I don’t remember much of the Roadhouse or you, Drew.”
“It’s fine, Sam, most of us who’ve been in the business for this long don’t remember a lot beyond what kills what.” I shrug and move to the other side of the bar to help Ellen finish cleaning up, adding my dirty glass to the pile of dishes.
“Yeah,” Sam nods halfheartedly. “Dean, come here, check this out,” he says with more consciousness. “A few murders, not far from here. Ellen caught wind of them. Looks like it might be a hunt.”
“Yeah, it seemed like something somebody should check out. We haven’t been able to get away from the roadhouse long enough, and Ellen’s refused to let me go alone. Stay safe out there, and if you need resources, my journal has the hunts of more than half the regulars and a few of my own in it. I have a few ideas on what it could be, but I don’t know enough to really eliminate anything yet.” I move to check bottles for fruit flies, hoping that the boys will take the bait.
“So, what, we’re on the case, then?” Dean asks as he takes the folder from Sam.
“Yeah, Sam put you guys on the case. Killer clowns, but whatever it is can either disappear or it’s damn good at hiding from the fucking cops. Could be a ghost, but with the way that it’s tearing apart the victims, I’d look at other options as well. I don’t think the hunt will take longer than it’ll take Ash to get his program done. I know he doesn’t look it, but he’s wicked smart in the tech department. But like I said, I have a practical encyclopedia, so if you find more information, I’d love to know. You know how to get ahold of the Roadhouse, and I can help things go faster, more likely than not.”
“Why don’t you just come with us?” Sam asks and I can already tell that Ellen is going to try and shut him down.
“Drew, sweetheart, I didn’t send you out there for a reason,” Ellen answers before I can.
“Because you can’t dream of me dying. Three’s a hell of a lot better than one, but if you really don’t want me to go, I won’t be a bother.” I say, hoping the feigned sadness in my voice is just enough to gain sympathy.
“Well, how many hunts have you been on, kid?” Dean asks, trying to humor me and placate Ellen.
“Dude, we’re the same age,” I laugh, “but I’ve been on 20 total, 5 by myself. All successful. ten salt and burns, two werewolves, and a vampire nest. I dealt with a skinwalker, a witch, and like four women in white because apparently there are more highways with abused women near the Roadhouse than anywhere else. You’ve gotta guess what I’ve dealt with alone, though.” I smirk and lean on the bar.
Dean is the first to guess with “salt and burns,” but with a shake of my head, he whispers, “fuck.”
“Wait, was it the women in white and the vamp nest?” Sam asks, shocked at the possibility he’s right.
“Yeah, the vamp nest left me with a nasty scar, but I came out alive and conscious, so I can’t say much. I think that’s why Ellen doesn’t let me out anymore. Most women in white just want to go home, so it’s easy if you’re willing to crash the car.” I shrug, my smirk growing at their shock.
“Yeah, we had to learn that the hard way,” Sam sighs, rubbing his chest.
“Well, kid,” Dean says, clearly trying to egg me on. “It seems like you have enough experience. If Ellen lets you and you can get packed by the time we leave, you might as well tag along.”
I turn to give my best puppy dog eyes to Ellen, pleading with my hands in a prayer position. The annoyed nod of her head is all it takes for me to rush off, barely hearing her start the Don’t-Get-My-Boy-Killed talk with “You two better keep him safe.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me, a killer clown?” Dean asks randomly, causing me to jump out of my hunched position from researching. It seems like something so stupidly human, which is why a lot of hunters that come through the bar refused it, but there are parts of the case that I haven’t been able to get out of my head.
“Yeah, and from what I’ve read, dude, the fucking clown leaves the kids unharmed little orphans, but brutally murders the parents. Talk about trauma,” I say, flipping through my journal, moving tabs to the most likely monsters.
“Ripped the parents apart,” Sam nods along.
“And this family was at some carnival that night, right?”
“Yep, Cooper Carnivals, to be exact. And cops don’t know what the fuck is going on. The clown vanishes into thin air every time with no trace. Creepy, even if it is just some guy.” I lean over the bench to grab the drink I bought a few gas stations back.
“And the cops are saying the little kid’s story is just trauma, of course,” Sam says, punctuated by the clicking keys of his laptop. I’ve got to remember to ask him how he has access to the internet all the way out here. Maybe something to do with the phone towers or something.
“Well, I know what you’re thinking, Sam: Why’d it have to be fucking clowns?”
“Oh, give me a damn break, Dean. Don’t bring this up,” Sam sighs. He closes his laptop to give his full attention to the conversation.
Dean laughs. “You don’t think I wouldn’t bring this up? Dude, you still sob any time you see Ronald McDonald.”
“Well, at least I’m not afraid of flying,” Sam quips.
“Planes crash!” comes Dean’s exasperated response.
“And apparently clowns kill!” Sam responds, his voice going higher than Dean’s in annoyance.
“You guys do realize that planes crash a hell of a lot less than cars? It’d be better to fly everywhere than drive, and most of the time murderous clowns are just mentally ill dudes who snapped, and anyone can snap.” I say offhandedly, only to be met with a silent car and as I look up, I see that Dean is looking back and forth from the mirror at me to the road ahead, shocked, and Sam staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Well, at least I can…” Dean trails off, realizing halfway through his sentence that he doesn’t know enough about me to be mean about my fears.
“So, Sam,” I start, switching the subject, “did you find out if the murders are repeats? Similar M.O. different time period?” I ask, taking notes in the Current Case section of my journal.
“Yeah, 1981, the Bunker Brothers. Three times, different locales, same M.O.” Sam dutifully reports.
“It’d be weird if it was a spirit though. Typically, they’re bound to a specific location. Even if the carnival was traveling, the spirit wouldn’t travel with them, they’d just relive whatever happened on those grounds.” I write as I speak. “So that might mean that it could be a cursed object with the ability to appear in a conscious ghostly form or some other thing.”
“Great, paranormal scavenger hunt.” Sam sighs.
Throughout the car ride to the carnival, Sam and Dean make small talk and big talk, none of which I attempt to be privy to. If they wanted me to listen, they’d involve me in the conversation. As they talk, I quietly take more notes on the case, eliminating and writing down the most and least plausible monsters.
I only tune back in when Sam says, “It’s what Dad would have wanted us to do.”
“What dad would have wanted?”
“Yeah, so?” Sam says, and I can tell that this isn’t the same Sam who I heard went to law school, nor is it the Sam that I know lost his loving girlfriend Jessica, it’s the Sam who just lost his only real parent and would do anything to get their approval one last time. Sam didn’t care what John said or what he did until John was dead, but all I want is one more moment to tell the man how much of a bastard he is.
“Nothing,” Dean shrugs, effectively cutting off the conversation so he can calculate exactly what Sam’s going through and exactly how to respond to get the reaction he wants. He’s still looking for John’s approval too, and I wonder how long it will take him to realize he’s been masking everything that should have made Dean who he was meant to be in search of that approval.
As we get out of the godawful minivan, a short woman dressed as a clown stares at Sam. Dean and I share a look before I smile at the woman and decide to keep moving. I’m used to this sort of thing.
“Did you get her number?” Dean asks Sam as we all keep moving.
Sam’s face falls as I let out another snort. “More murders?” He asks as we all notice the cops talking to a few performers.
“Two more last night. Apparently, they were ripped to shreds. And they had a little boy with them.” I wonder how Dean knows what they are talking about until I remember that our favorite activity used to be seeing how far away we could read each other’s lips before it became a game of telephone. He must have kept up the skill somehow.
“Who fingered the clown?” Sam says, almost out of the blue, and Dean and I look at him with what I can only guess is the same confused and appalled look, since Sam looks between us, equally as confused, and he just goes, “What?”
“Yeah, the clown apparently vanished into thin air,” Dean looks back at the conversation between the cops and performers. It doesn’t take long for me to scribble that down and file it away to research later.
“Great,” I say, dripping with sarcasm, “because if we’re looking for a damned cursed object, it’ll be like looking for a needle in a stack of needles around here.”
“Or a clown doll in a sea of clown dolls,” Dean responds.
“We’ll just have to scan everything for EMF then. It’s bound to set off something,” Dean shrugs. Now it’s time for Sam I to give him looks because wow, what an inconspicuous way to close the case.
“Hey, guys,” I get the boys’ attention. “There’s a help wanted sign. I used to swallow swords back when I should’ve been in college, so I’ve got experience. What about you?” I half-turn toward them, only partially expecting the same look we’ve been all giving each other for being stupid throughout the day.
“You used to…swallow swords?” Sam asks, and the look on his face is one of shock.
“Yeah, haven’t you ever had a mental breakdown and ran away? I feel like it’s a hunter’s child rite of passage?”
“Sammy ran away a couple of times. The last time he ran he went to college.”
“So, it seems like neither of you have any cool talents we can use,” I smirk, waiting for them to try and refute me.
Dean finally concedes with a shrug. “I guess we’ll just have to try to blend in a different way.”
There’s a guy throwing knives on our walk through the circus grounds, each one hitting the target, but none of them hitting the bullseye. I notice his sunglasses and realize that he’s blind, but I don’t have a chance to inform my brothers before Dean asks him, “Excuse me, we’re looking for Mr. Cooper, have you seen him around?”
When he pulls off his sunglasses, it isn’t just that he’s blind, he has no eyes at all, and I roll mine as Dean recoils into an apology.
“You think I wouldn’t give my eyeteeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset? Or anything at all?” The man practically growls, and I can see Dean floundering as another man who I believe has pituitary dwarfism walks up, seeing the commotion.
“Hey, man, is there a problem?” The small man asks as Dean flounders further.
My palm lands, annoyed and almost of its own volition, on my face as the blind man immediately responds with, “Yeah, this guy hates blind people.”
And, when I process just how much of a problem this will be if I don’t try to do damage control, I rush the words out of my brain. “I’m so sorry about this, these are my dumbass brothers. He’s just stupid, I’m so sorry. I wanted to join the circus and these two decided to tag along. I can swallow swords but all these two can do is wipe their own asses.”
“Yeah, it’s just a li-“ Sam starts before I interrupt him by kicking him.
“Please, for the love of all that is holy and unholy, ignore anything that comes out of their mouths, they’ve never seen anyone that isn’t a carbon copy of their own stupidity,” I beg, trying to smile through my annoyance and mild fear that my brothers might beat my ass when they get me alone.
“Brothers?” Dean says as he leans toward me in a whisper.
“Well, I thought it would work, and look at us, heading to the office, so I guess it did. Got you two dumbasses out of fucking trouble, huh?” I shrug before turning toward the noise of the door to Mr. Cooper’s office opening.
“You boys picked a hell of a time to join up. Take a seat,” Mr. Cooper says as he gestures to the seats of the room. One of the three is a godawful clown, while the other two are clearly from a stack in the corner haphazardly placed when knowledge of our arrival came. I can see the cogs turning in Dean’s head before he makes his way to a normal seat, but I can see Sam’s face fall in annoyance, so I use just as much speed to sit in the clown chair. I almost laugh at Dean’s face, only barely realizing that I’ve just joined in on what could be a lifelong prank war.
“We’ve got all kinds of local trouble,” Mr. Cooper says, ignoring our little spat about seating arrangements.
“What do you mean?” Dean and I ask at the same time, our first moment of twin telepathy in a long time, and it hurts to realize that only one of us knows.
“Oh, a couple of folks done got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here when that kind of stuff happens.” He sighs before continuing, realizing we are here for business, too. “So, have any of you ever worked the circuit before?”
I immediately answer, knowing that the boys won’t be able to create a sufficient lie. “Well, I did, for about six months a couple of years ago. I had a big mental break and ran away from home, from being a bartender, learned how to swallow swords, and just started learning some fire-work before my folks finally convinced me to head back. These two are newbies, but I’ve tried my best to talk ‘em out of it and they’re still here. I told them they might end up as a shit-sweeper or target practice.” I shrug. I see my two brothers look at me in shock, and I have to hold back a laugh.
Mr. Cooper nods before asking us, “You see that picture?” as he points to a picture on the wall of a man almost identical to him in black and white.
“You look just like him,” Sam says with a tone of sorrow. He is clearly missing John, and I can’t fault him. If I thought that man cared for me at all, maybe I’d be mourning him too. Both boys are missing our father in different ways, but I can’t help but wonder if they realize how far his rancidness reached into them and messed up their heads.
“He was in the business. Ran a freakshow until they outlawed them in most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn’t dignified, so most of the performers ended up rotting in hospitals or asylums. That’s progress, I guess. You see…this place, it’s a refuge for outcasts, always has been. It’s for the folks who don’t fit in nowhere else. You two, you’ve got a chance at normal, you should go find yourself a couple of girls, 2.5 kids, and live regular. Just because this one ain’t got no chance at normal doesn’t mean you two have to follow in his footsteps.”
When we finally absorb the knowledge that this damned man has bestowed upon us, my brothers try to speak at the same time, and like all older and younger siblings, there is a clear order in the way they were taught to speak their thoughts with Sam winning the unspoken competition. “Sir, we don’t want to go to school, and we sure as hell don’t want to be regular. We want this.” And he says it with such conviction that I can’t help but wonder if he’s saying it for himself, or if he’s saying it for everyone else. What I know for sure is that he isn’t talking about the circus or anything near it. He’s talking about hunting, about whatever John forced him to learn that the poor kid tried so hard to break away from by going to college. The look Dean gives him only proves my suspicions, and it hits me that, no matter how hard Sam tries to get out when he goes to sleep at night, he thinks about what goes bump in the night and he’ll never truly leave the hunt.
“So, wait, you had a complete mental break and, instead of going on a hunt or something normal, you just, what? Went and joined the fucking circus?” Dean’s face shows his astonishment as we get our bags and put them into the shitty motel room.
“Well, yeah. The carnival was in town, and I saw this really hot person handing out flyers, and I kind of just, I don’t know, followed them to the end of the earth until Ellen and Jo found me, leotard and all brought me back. Well, they got Ash to bring me back.” I follow them into the room, putting my bags on the suspiciously stained, plasticized couch.
“So, are you two like a thing, or what?” Dean asks, picking the bed closest to the door, clearly due to the anxiety of being a big brother forced to protect his little brother.
“Ash and I?” I laugh. “I never really thought about it. When we met were both on a bender, and I mean, we never really started dating, but it’s kind of like…we’re each other’s rocks, our people. We don’t fuck, but we’ve taken showers together after getting beer or blood splashed on us, we don’t kiss…usually, but we fall asleep together more often than not. We can drink toe to toe. We send each other writing or coding to proof. We can’t tell whose clothes are whose anymore. It’s just sort of evolved into what it is. I think you’re the first person who’s actually asked.” And I was honest: I had never really thought about it, but I could say we were more than regular friends. Ash and I had become who we were with each other, and I don’t think you could separate us one from the other without a hell of a lot of backlash.
“So, you love him, huh?” Sam asks, so much softer when it comes to love than Dean. He really misses Jessica. Thankfully John and Ellen’s conversations about the boys always came back to me in one way or another, so at least I know the gist of the parts of their lives I missed.
“Yeah, of course I love him. I love Ellen and Jo, too, but I guess that’s different. That’s family. Ash is like, everything else, I guess. He’s family, but he’s just a different version of me and I’m just a different version of him. If we were born into the same family, I’d have to say we would’ve been twins,” and for a second, I look at Dean, wondering how long it will take him to realize the truth. “But I like it the way it is. It’s good,” I nod, smiling at memories of the stupid shit we’ve done.
The next day, we get back to Mr. Coopers, and I don’t even have the time to talk to Sam and Dean about our plan before I get dragged away by a woman signing to me.
“Hello, I’m Helga, I’m deaf, but you need to follow me, dear,” She signs, and I’m, for the first time since it happened, thankful I was cursed to be mute for three months because a witch decided to ding-dong-ditch her spell and I was forced to learn ASL.
“I’m Drew, hi,” I sign back, and her face lights up.
“Sorry, we’ll talk later, guys. I have to prove I wasn’t lying about the sword swallowing.” I say as I’m being pulled away.
“I just assumed that it was the other kind of sword you were talking about,” Dean says with a straight face, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Just wait, Deano, I’ll get you for that one later,” I say as I finally turn around so Helga no longer has to lead me, but I turn too early to see Dean’s confused look as he remembers that only I, or at least the me he doesn't know I am, got to call him that as a kid. I don’t even realize myself until I’m at the table, holding a false sword in the modality of a coat hanger.
Sometime later, Sam ends up approaching me, trash bag and grabber-arm in hand. I’ve already been forced into a tightfitting, flame-printed jumpsuit, my transness kept under the guise of language barriers.
“You look like David Bowie,” Sam laughs in greeting, and I can’t help but smile in annoyance.
“And you look like you just got done cleaning up shit. At least I look cool,” I shrug, wiping a bit of foundation off my hands and onto his jacket.
“Wow, low blow, dude. I came to tell you I found a fucking skeleton while I was cleaning in one of the storage tents.”
“So, you’re wondering if cursed-object-style spirits can be attached to their skeletons, or if that only applies to vengefuls. There’s bound to have been a few murders under the belt of this circus, it’s the lay of the land. I’ve never encountered a skeleton cursed like that, so it’s getting less and less likely this is a spirit. It’s still a line to examine, though. Why don’t you go find Dean and we can talk about it more tonight, okay?” I stop the conversation short as I see Helga waving me over again.
“So, what you’re fucking telling me is that I’m supposed to skip my performance to join your stakeout, possibly losing our connection to the circus and then fucking the job up?” I ask, finally out of costume, but still in makeup.
“Well, yeah, Bowie wannabe. The little girl saw the invisible clown and now we have to save her parents.” I can’t help but chuckle through my response.
“Well, at least I don’t look like I’m about to molest a teddy bear, Dean. I’ll come down to the stakeout once the performance is done, okay?”
“Just make sure you don’t look like a traffic cone and try not to be late. How do you plan to get there? You can’t just walk.”
“I have my ways, don’t worry about me.” I smile, once again noticing someone waving me away. This time it’s the clown woman we saw when we first came to Mr. Cooper’s.
Sneaking up behind Sam and Dean shouldn’t have been possible, but I couldn’t help but try.
“Guess what, Cooper used to work for Bunker Brothers during their clownpocalypse,” I whisper as I appear, causing them both to twist around and get ready to fight who they think is a bad guy. Once they realize it’s me and that I am not a threat, Dean throws his arms up in annoyance, gun and all.
“Come on, don’t fucking do that, we could’ve killed you or something.”
“Keep that down!” Sam stage-whispers as he pulls Dean’s hands back down.
I mumble an apology as I dive into my journal, flipping pages and writing notes. “So, I’m thinking that whatever the fuck is going on was brought on by Cooper, or maybe someone following him from Bunker Brothers. I just don’t know if he’s fucking corrupt or just damn stupid.”
Dean and I aren’t focused on the stakeout when Sam nudges us back to attention. A light comes on in the living room and the little girl from earlier comes to the door. We can’t hear the conversation that goes on before the clown enters the house, but we know we need to jump into action immediately. Thankfully, I learned military signs right along with ASL, because otherwise, I would have no idea what Sam and Dean wanted me to do. Following their orders and giving a few of my own comes naturally, and for a second, in the calm before the adrenaline rush I know is coming, I wonder how good of a team we would have made if we were raised together.
“Want to see Mommy and Daddy? They’re upstairs.” Before the girl can lead the murderous clown into her parent’s bedroom, Sam grabs her, and she immediately starts screaming. Smart girl, but not the best for our situation. I immediately think we’re fucked.
Dean shoots the clown in the chest, only for it to get right back up.
The clown pushes the boys away in the shock before jumping out the window, and I’m the first to follow.
I don’t realize I’m going to be the only one to do so until I hear the parents screaming at Sam and Dean. I don’t even get a sense of where the damn thing went before hearing the boys running to the van. I have everything on me, so I don’t even try to follow, knowing I won’t make it before they drive off, I just steel myself for the long walk to the motel.
“Hey, Ash,” I sigh as he finally picks up.
“What’s up, Drew?” I can hear him become muffled as he puts the phone in between his neck and shoulder. I clearly imagine Ash opening his laptop and beginning to type away.
“Well, the boys and I have a hell of a lot more information now. I’m walking back to the motel now. I’d say expect a call from them, too, but just tell them to fuck off and call me or wait for me to get there.” I duck into the trees as a car drives down the dirt road I’m on, almost dropping my phone.
“Go ahead. I’ve got a lot of your info on my computer.”
“We need to make that fucking program we talked about, babe, then flash drive it. We need a backup. But what we know so far is that this bitch is solid. The salt shell hit something. It seems to be able to turn invisible, and it seems to be able to change form, but I’m not sure if it's just dressing up as a clown or if it’s actually shapeshifting. I’m starting to think maybe Steven King had some hunting experience because this is starting to feel like It.” I almost trip on a root as I step back out into the ditch.
After a few moments, Ash has an answer. “Rakshasa.”
“Holy shit, yeah, why didn’t I think of that,” I say, finally under a streetlight to be able to pull out my journal. “Well, I have it marked as unlikely but plausible. Hindu, right?”
“Yeah, human form, cannibals, invisibility, can’t enter the home without being invited, bed of bugs.” I imagine Ash nods, listing off the bullet points.
“Yeah, he waited for the kid to let him in. Now we just have to figure out who it is. It’s likely Cooper but knowing the rule of hunting without all the info, I’d expect somebody else. Drink a beer on-for me, okay.” I cringe at the slip of tongue.
“Well, I’d love to do both, but you’re in a different town and all I’ve got to remember you by are your clothes. Get home safe.”
“Our clothes, Ash, our clothes, and gross. I’ll do my best, but you know how much I like bruises.” I smirk, wishing we could see each other so I could flip him off in person.
“Absolutely disgusting, goodbye,” Ash’s sarcasm drips through the phone even after his abrupt end to the call, and I can’t help but laugh.
“So, Ash said you had all the information we needed?” Dean asks almost as soon as I get into the room.
“Well, yeah. Rakshasa. It dresses up like a clown, feeds on the parents, then bounces. Easy to not get caught when you can turn invisible. They live in squalor, sleep on a bed of dead insects. Stephen King wasn’t far off. Rakshasa only feed every couple of decades or so, which lines up with the 1981 incidents with Bunker Brothers.” I fling my backpack onto the couch right before flinging myself down.
“And who do we know that worked both shows?” Sam asks as he hands me a beer.
“Cooper,” Dean and I say at the same time, only to look at each other like we’ve grown second heads.
“Maybe that picture of his dad was just a picture of him.” I begin to take notes on what we’ve learned so far.
“Well, how do we kill him?” Dean rummages through his duffle, taking note of all the weapons he has, but I know he doesn’t have the brass knife we need, nor do I.
“Legend says a dagger of pure brass. The blind guy keeps all the knives, and I think one of the sword-swallowing knives is brass, but I’d be wary of anyone in the carnival.”
“We should make damn sure it’s Cooper before we go around stabbing things into him.”
“Oh, you’re such a stickler for details, Sammy,” Dean says as he and Sam smile at each other. “All right, Drew and I can get the blade, you check if Cooper’s got bedbugs.”
“Hey, I’m so sorry to bother you so late at night, dude, but I wanted to get more practice in before my next couple of performances, could you let me into the blade trunk.” I finally catch up to him as the blind guy is heading to his little trailer.
“Yeah, sure kid, come on in,” the guy says, and I give Dean a confused look. He never lets anyone else into the trailer, much less a couple of newbies. The last time I asked, he just pushed the trunk out to his door.
When I open the trunk, it dawns on me exactly why he let us in. I pull out a clown wig and I can’t help but let out a shocked chuckle. “I knew the whole blind man thing was for show. Fuck!” I throw the wig back down and stand up. “You’re always checking out the fucking tiddy twins. Guess they had enough meat on their bones to whet your appetite, fuckass.” And in my anger, I turn around without preparing for retaliation. He drops his cane and pulls off his sunglasses before fading from view, his Cheshire grin the last thing to go.
“Come on, don’t be a pussy, dude. Alice and Wonderland? You could at least try to beat us up with some fucking dignity.” I try to listen for his movement, but before I can even try to catch the guy he punches me in the temple with just enough force to make me dizzy before he swipes my legs out from under me. I hit what I assume to be the edge of the trunk on my way down into the deep dark blackness of unconsciousness.
I wake up in the back of a car I’ve never been in before, and I jump up, ready to fight a bitch, but my head pounds and I lean back in the seat. “Well, fuck me sideways.”
I realize my brothers are in the front seat when I get handed a bottle of water and a bottle of pain pills.
“Hey, we’re almost to the Roadhouse. You were out for a while, Drew,” once I hand back the bottle of pills.
“Good, great, thanks, Sam. Debrief me on what happened when I was knocked out.” I search through my duffle on the floor for my hunter’s journal.
Sam refuses to give me the information, but Dean realizes I’m not going to give up trying to get it now. “Anything brass will kill the fucker.”
“What’d you fucking stab him with?”
“Sam stabbed him with a pipe in the clown-house,” Dean laughs, proud, and Sam looks sheepish about his feat of strength.
“Quick thinking, Sam. I’m glad you guys didn’t fucking die.” I try to hide the truth in my statement by doodling a circus tent on the Rakshasa entry.
“Glad you didn’t either, kid. We were afraid we’d have to bring your body to Ellen and I don’t think she would have let us leave alive.”
“Nah, you would have been buried right beside me.” I smile, closing my journal.
“You boys did a hell of a job,” Ellen says as she sits down three beers. “Your dad would’ve been proud.”
“Thanks,” Sam says shyly and Dean nods in acknowledgment.
Jo sits down on the other side of Dean, and I get the hint, slinking my way off the barstool, hugging my beer as if I’d fall and lose it, but Sam doesn’t even notice Jo.
“Hey, Sam, you seemed to like coding, huh? I can show you some of the stuff Ash and I are working on. We’re trying to create a monster database from the information that passes through the roadhouse,” I tug his shirt and try to give him a get-the-fuck-out sort of look, but before we can even get to the back of the Roadhouse, Ash comes through the door.
“Where’ve you guys been? I’ve been waiting for you,” Ash smiles that smile that used to piss me off so much.
“We were working that job, babes. The clowns?” I meet him back at the bar and give him a hug and a small kick to the shin.
“Ow, fuck. Clowns? What the fuck?” Ash opens his laptop, almost ignoring me.
“You got something for us, Ash?” Dean looks half pissed, and I can tell he doesn’t even realize.
“Did you find the demon?” Sam asks.
“it’s nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can fucking find, but if this fugly bastard raises his head, I’ll know. I mean, I’m on it like Divine on dog dookie.” I can’t help but roll my eyes at his stupidity.
“What do you mean?” Sam asks.
“I mean, any of those signs or omens appear anywhere in the world, my rig’ll go off like a fire alarm.” He ends his sentence with a loving tap onto his laptop.
“Do you mind?” Dean trails off as he tries to grab the laptop and look at it himself.
Ash death glares at him, and I let out a small chuckle. “Dean, that’s his baby. I don’t think you want to lose a hand today, bud.”
“What’s up, man?” Ash asks as I lean over him and start to type up some new information on Rakshasa, almost rejoicing in the looks I can feel Dean and Sam giving me at the double standard I’ve purposefully produced.
“Ash, where’d you learn to do all this?”
“M.I.T. before I got bounced for…fighting.”
“M.I.T.?” Sam’s bewildered expression clearly surprised Ash even went.
“It’s a school in Boston,” Ash says as if that’s why Sam’s so confused.
“Okay,” Dean gives up on the conversation when he sees Sam’s frustration. “Give us a call as soon as you know something, okay?” He nods, clearly ready to leave.
“Si, si compadre.” Ash nods.
Dean takes one last sip of his beer before he and Sam head for the door. Ellen takes a moment, makes eye contact with me, and says, “Hey, listen, if you boys need a place to stay, I’ve got a couple of beds in the back.”
“Thanks, but no, sorry. There’s something I gotta finish,” Dean says, and I know a big part of that is his need to fix the Impala. He wants to fix his relationship with John, even though he’s dead.
“Hey, Ash?” I yell from the bar, popping four beers in front of four people all at once.
“Yeah?” He questions, calculating every play he could make at the pool table.
“You think they’ll be okay?”
“Yeah, they bottle shit up, but they’ll get through it. I’m surprised you didn’t tell them, honestly.” He shoots, only a few more rounds away from winning.
“I mean, the ruse I pulled during the hunt was that they were my dumbass brothers, so I’m surprised neither of them caught on at all.” I shrug, acknowledging an empty beer in need of replacing by taking it out of the hand it was being held in and going behind the bar.
“They’re stupid, you know this. You’re worse than them half the time,” Ash smirks.
“Well, fuck you too, babe. At least I…I have nothing.” I roll my eyes at him as I replace a man’s beer, getting just close enough to smack Ash’s ass as he shoots pool, ruining the shot by a millimeter.
“Hey!” Ash yells as I retreat to the bar.
“You’ll still win, bitch, shut the fuck up.” I flip him off with a smile.