Fear Itself, for madebyme_x
Title: Fear Itself
Recipient: madebyme_X
Rating: PG
Warnings: mild language, hurt!Sam
Word Count: ~7,000
Author's Notes: This fic is a homage to the Buffy episode with the same name, by homage I mean I out and out stole the idea. However, you don’t have to have watched a single Buffy episode to read and understand this fic, it stands on its own.
Summary: Joyce has had a bad feeling about her next door neighbor and the house he has converted into a Haunted House for weeks. One day a couple of FBI agents come by and begin questioning her….
“Ma’am I’m sorry to bother you, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” Joyce, who had been sitting on her haunches in front of the rose bush she had been pruning, looked up. And up. And up. And before she realized what was happening, she had toppled right over and landed on her butt. Awesome.
“Sorry,” the extremely tall guy with the dimples said to her as he offered her his hand.
“It’s not your fault, I am the clumsy one,” Joyce replied, trying to resist the urge to brush the dirt off her butt. Now that she was in a standing position; she could see that there were actually two tall guys in front of her. The one she had literally fallen for and his slightly shorter companion, who was still taller than her by a good 8 inches or so. For a moment or two she just stared at him, completely mesmerized by his astonishing green eyes. Beautiful.
As if working off some internal cue, they both flashed their badges at her at the same time. “Let’s start again shall we?” Said Mr. Skyscraper. “I’m Agent Page; this is my partner Agent Plant.”
Joyce took Agent Page’s proffered hand to shake; her first thought was how tiny her hand was in his. This was followed closely by the realization that her hand was both sweaty and dirty. She must be making a hell of a first impression. “Joyce,” she managed to choke out.
Joyce absent mindedly removed the scarf from her jet black hair, regretting it the minute that she did so as her unruly curls fell into her eyes. She couldn’t help but notice that Agent Page’s hair was almost as long as hers, even if it was currently slicked back. Her brother, a former FBI guy himself, would have a fit if he caught wind of this guy’s hair, but she liked it just fine.
“We wanted to ask you a few questions about the guy next door.”
Oh. Joyce looked over uneasily at the silent, dark house that was next to hers. Right at the moment it was quiet and empty, but Joyce knew in a few hours it would be teeming with teens and young adults and the night would be filled with their screams and laughter. It made her queasy just thinking about it.
“I really don’t think I could be of any help.” Joyce replied. “I only know what everyone knows, he moved in a few months ago, he keeps to himself mostly, I don’t even know his name to be honest.”
Agent Plant smiled at her as he took over the questioning. “Have you been inside? Maybe bought yourself a ticket to the Haunted House?”
“I used to go over there years ago when I was a kid, but no I’m not a fan of haunted houses, people grabbing at you and things jumping out at you.” Joyce shuddered. “And especially after those poor people got hurt.”
“Two people, I believe?” Agent Page pulled out a small notebook and consulted it. “A Mr. Pratt, heart attack victim. And Daniel Osborne, 22, fell out of a third story window. Did you happen to know either one of the victims?”
Joyce shook her head. “You know, the police have already been out here and asked me all these questions. They’ve talked to Sli - the guy next door too, even brought him to the station. But I guess they didn’t find anything ‘cause as you can see he’s still in business.”
Joyce pointed to the large tacky “Haunted House” sign in the front yard of her next door’s neighbor’s home. There was a “toll booth” next to it where he or one of his friends dressed up as something silly and took the money every night. As today was October 31st, business was booming. As soon as the first cars started arriving, generally right around 7 p.m., Joyce would go inside her house, lock all her doors and wait impatiently for 2 a.m. when the screaming people would go away and all would be quiet next door - almost quiet anyway.
Agent Plant looked at her quizzically, “You were about to call him Sli - what?”
Joyce found herself flushing a little. “Slimy Guy. It’s what I call him, cause he’s slick and oily and - I know it’s stupid.”
“I think it’s kinda cute,” Agent Plant told her. “Anything else that you can tell us about the house or Mr. Slimy Guy? Anything at all?”
Joyce hesitated. “This is going to sound weird.”
“We live for weird,” Agent Plant said with a reassuring smile. “Especially Jimmy here, he’s like an encyclopedia for all things weird.”
Joyce led them to the side of the house where another row of rosebushes had once bloomed. “They died. All of them. Within two days of him moving in there. It’s probably a coincidence.” Or Slimy
Guy poisoning them she thought but didn’t say out loud. She didn’t want these two men to think she was some kind of crazy cat lady.
The two of them knelt over the bushes for a moment, whispering to each other in voices so soft she couldn’t hear them even though she was only a few feet away. If truth be told, she would have given anything to hear what they were saying.
“Okay.” Agent Page stood up and handed her a business card, “If you think of anything else…”
Joyce looked at the card and bit her lower lip as she watched the two men walk back to their shiny black car. Joyce knew next to nothing about cars, but this one was big, black and looked old. Not antique old, but still old. It also looked solid, like the two men that were standing in front of it. Their heads were together and they seemed to be arguing. She noticed that they stood very close together, much closer than you would think colleagues would stand. There was something going on there.
Something that was none of her business, Joyce told herself as she picked up her pruning shears and began packing up her gardening gear. Still, she couldn’t help but watch as they gathered some things from the trunk including a duffle bag and circled the house, somehow circumvented the fence that surrounded the backyard and disappeared.
Joyce again told herself that whatever the FBI was doing in the house next door was none of her business. She was glad she hadn’t told them the rest of it, how she could feel someone staring at her behind the shuttered windows whenever she went out into the yard, that more than once she had thought she had heard a scream when she knew that Slimy Guy had left and the house should be empty. How sometimes, late at night, she could almost swear she could hear someone from over there whisper her name.
They would have locked her up for sure if she had told them any of that. Maybe the FBI would take the Slimy Guy away and everything could be back to normal and she could go back to her nice quiet life. Her safe, nice, quiet, oh so boring life. She was going inside, brew herself a cup of tea and wasn’t going to give the FBI one more thought.
Twenty minutes later Joyce was standing back in her yard, her eyes trained on the house next door. Her mother had always said that curiosity would be the death of her. As Joyce slowly walked toward the path between hers and her neighbor’s house, she had a sinking feeling her mother had been right. She wiped her sweaty shaking hands on her jeans and took a few deep breaths which did nothing to stem her racing thoughts.
It had only been like 20 minutes, those guys were probably fine.
Definitely fine, surely. They were tall, strong, capable men who would never need help from someone like her. She shouldn’t feel guilty about not telling them all about the house, it wasn’t as if they would have believed her anyway. But it had been twenty minutes; Slimy Guy would be home at any time. Maybe she should warn them. She had reached her neighbor’s gate which was usually padlocked, but the padlock had been broken and the gate stood open. She would just take a quick look in, make sure they were okay, maybe call the cops if need be. Just one quick peek in and that was it.
Moments passed as Joyce stood on the back porch, straining to hear anything but the house was silent. She reached up to knock on the door but the door flew open before her hands could touch the wooden frame. Okay that was weird. And scary. She peered inside but could see no one or nothing. This is not good, she said to herself, run back home as fast as your short little legs can carry you. Instead she walked slowly but surely forward, her mother was right about her, curiosity was definitely going to kill her someday. Hopefully this was not the day
“Agent Page?” Joyce tried calling out but it came out as a squeaky whisper. She swallowed a few times and turned on the flashlight on her phone. The light didn’t make a lot of difference to the darkness, but somehow the tiny light made her feel better. “Jimmy?” She called out, louder this time but just as shaky. She had only taken a few steps into the kitchen when the kitchen door slammed behind her. She turned back and tried the door, but it was locked. There was no getting out the way she came in.
God, if she ever got out of this she was never giving into curiosity again. She would be the least curious person in the planet, Joyce promised herself. Joyce took a few steps before something wet and long crawled over her sandal. Joyce screamed so loud that she startled herself, there were footsteps and Agent Page was standing in front of her, a real flashlight in his hand. “Joyce? Are you okay? What are you doing here?”
“I came to uh...” Joyce was busy shining that little light from her phone all around her, trying to figure out what the wet icky thing had been. Probably a pet of Slimy Guy’s. “Came to warn you about the house. I think there’s something strange going on here.”
Agent Page gave a short laugh that didn’t sound happy at all. “Yeah you could say that. We need to get you out of here.”
“That door locked when I came in.” Joyce pointed her phone back behind her. Agent Page went over to the door and tried to open it, he even kicked the door a few times with those long legs of his, but the door didn’t budge “Please tell me there’s another way out.”
“Yeah the front door. Also locked. You’ll also find phones don’t work in here, no calls coming in or out.” Agent Page gestured out of the kitchen into the next room. “Let’s get you situated and then we’ll find a way out. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
Joyce figured she was much safer with the twelve foot man then she was in the kitchen by herself so she followed him. Now that she was in the next room, the house was no longer silent. Those banging, clangy noises she had been hearing were now evident, along with a male voice yelling “Sam” and sometimes “Sammy,” over and over again with increasing desperation.
“Who’s Sammy?” Joyce asked, confused.
Agent Page looked slightly embarrassed. “Me, I’m Sammy, er- Sam. That man yelling is my brother Dean. Look I wish I had the time to explain all this, but you are just going to have to trust me.”
“And I am guessing you’re not FBI?” Joyce asked, resisting the urge to grab the back of Sam’s suit and hang on for dear life.
“Yeah, we’re - actually it’s complicated. I’ll tell you later. Now we need to find a way to get you out of here.”
So he wasn’t FBI. Her brother would be so relieved. Meanwhile Dean was still calling out for “Sammy” and by the sound of his voice he was getting closer to them.
“Why don’t you tell him you are here?” Joyce asked as she followed Sam from the front room into a long dark hallway.
“I’ve tried, believe me I have. He can’t see me. This house is - I don’t know what it is. But it’s playing tricks on us. I can see and hear Dean but he can’t see me. And I’m seeing other things too - not real things.”
From the shadows of a doorway a figure began to emerge. It was garish, dressed up with as a clown and Joyce was shaking too hard to get a real good look, but she would bet it had sharp teeth. She could tell by the way that Jimmy - er- Sam’s eyes flickered that he saw him too. “Not real things, like that clown right there?”
“You see it too?” Sam asked, as if her seeing the clown was the freaky part instead of the fact that the clown was there in the first place. “A clown?”
“Yes.”
“Joyce, I know this is going to sound like a strange question but is it possible that you are scared of clowns?” Sam asked, as Joyce moved so she was behind Sam, feeling infinitely safer in this position.
“Are you kidding?” Joyce asked. “Did you see “It?”
“It’s okay.” Sam turned away from the clown to her. “They aren’t real. I figured it out. None of the things we are seeing are real. Think of them like a magician trick, it looks real but it isn’t.”
Joyce peeked from behind Sam at the clown who was now very very close. “He looks real.”
“I know, but he’s not. Trust me; I’ve had experience with this kind of thing before.”
Just as Sam got the words out of his mouth, the clown picked Sam up from behind as if Sam weighed nothing and threw him with great force the thirty feet or so to the end of the hallway where Sam hit the wall with a sickening thud. For a moment Joyce’s world went black, then she was aware of someone screeching, then she realized the screamer was her. In the next moment Dean was in the room, frantically looking around. She could tell she wasn’t the one he was looking for.
“Lady shut up,” Dean said to her as his eyes looked frantically all around the room. “What the hell happened? Is it Sam?”
Joyce was too busy staring at the clown, who was now eyeing her with what she was pretty sure, was murder in its eyes. Dean followed her eyes to the end of the corridor, but it was pretty apparent he could see nothing there.
“What is it?” Dean asked, raising his gun. “Is it after Sam?”
Joyce tried to speak, but only a squeak came out. She licked her lips and tried again. “Cl- clown.” She managed to gasp out.
Dean took her by the shoulders and his green eyes met her blue ones. Instantly she began feeling calmer, he just radiated this kind of steel Zen. “I know you are scared, but I need you to focus. Did this clown hurt Sam?”
Joyce nodded and pointed where Sam lay, still motionless. Dean let go of her shoulders and headed down the hallway, as he did so he passed right by the clown. The clown obviously wasn’t interested in him; the clown was still heading her way. She was losing the Zen calm and was heading right back to hysteria.
“Is the clown still here?” Dean asked her and Joyce nodded again. “Okay, I can’t see him so I need you to point out exactly where he is.”
Joyce pointed to a place about fifteen feet in front of her. The clown was halfway between her and Dean and inching closer.
“Duck.”
Joyce recognized a command when she heard one and obeyed. There was the loud deafening crack of the rifle and then the clown was gone. No blood, no gore, just gone.
“Rock salt.” Dean told her in way of explanation as he helped her up. “Repels spirits but sadly doesn’t kill them. He’ll be back.”
Well that was reassuring as hell, but Joyce wasn’t wasting time thinking about it. Instead of responding she ran to Sam who was still crumpled up against the wall. Oh God there was blood. Lots of it.
Dean was following her, “How is he? He’s going to be okay right? I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”
Joyce knelt down beside Sam, trying to figure out where the blood was coming from. “The clown threw him. He’s pretty strong for a ghost.” Joyce touched Sam’s face; the blood seems to be coming from a gash on the back of his head, as far as she could tell it was caused by Sam’s head hitting a nail that was in the wall on his way down. “He’s bleeding, I need towels and - “
Before she could get the words out Dean shoved a wet towel in her hand. “How deep is the cut?” He asked.
“Not very I think. He might need a couple of stitches.” Joyce washed around the cut; Sam’s hair was matted with blood. “It’s on the back of his head.” Now that some of the blood was gone, Joyce had a better look at Sam. His arm was twisted behind him. “Also I think his arm is broken.”
For some reason, working on Sam was calming Joyce. This was something real she could do and for a moment she could forget that she had actually seen a ghost clown.
“Okay, we are going to need a sling and some bandages. Don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll be back in a minute.” Dean stood up and faced something in front of him. Joyce looked, but didn’t see anything. Dean started down the hallway and then came back.
“Do you know how to use one of these?” Dean asked her, handing her the sawed off rifle he had been using.
“Yes, actually. I used to be a hunter.”
Joyce saw a moment of confusion pass through Dean’s eyes so she elaborated. “I know, it shocks everyone when I tell them. My Dad taught me, I haven’t hunted since he died but I was a pretty damn good shot if I don’t say so myself. It’s like riding a bike right?” Joyce asked, as she cocked the gun and shot in the direction Dean had been warily looking at. “How’d I do? Did I get it?” She asked.
“Not bad,” Dean replied, pulling out a pistol from an inside jacket pocket. “Take care of him.” Dean shot his gun once, twice, three times and then disappeared into the hallway.
As Dean disappeared into another room, a shape began forming in the archway. It started with spiky long spindly legs, eight of them. Joyce began shooting before it even got fully formed. Next to her Sam began to groan.
Fifteen minutes later Sam was awake, bandaged, and his arm was in a nifty make shift sling and Joyce was becoming an expert at shooting giant spiders which neither Sam nor Dean could see. Damn Harry Potter she thought as she shot another one.
“Okay, it’s not a poltergeist because they couldn’t create these things from thin air.” Dean was saying as he pulled more rock salt from a duffel bag.
“Witch?” Dean and Sam said together. Joyce was amazed how in sync they were with each other, considering Dean couldn’t see or hear Sam.
“Witch?” Joyce asked, looking from one to another. “Really?” And there was another spider. Dean took the gun from her and shot at something she couldn’t see but seemed to be fairly low to the ground. Sam seemed to be warily watching something at the end of the hall.
“Do you need me to shoot at something?” Joyce asked Sam, wondering how much rock salt they could possibly have. At least the clown hadn’t been back.
“Don’t worry about it sunshine, this is an old friend of Sam’s. So Sammy what’s he singing this time?” Dean asked, somehow managing to look exactly at Sam even though Joyce knew he couldn’t see him.
“He’s not. He’s playing hopscotch.” Sam got to his knees, trying to stand but immediately sank down again with a groan.
“Really? That doesn’t sound too scary.” Joyce told Sam as she realized that for once there were no spiders coming at her.
“You have no idea.” Sam replied. “So if this is a witch, it’s a more powerful one than we’ve come across before, I mean the way it plays with reality.” At this point Sam seemed to be talking mostly to himself as Dean couldn’t hear him and Joyce was still trying to get her mind wrapped around the fact that witches were real. “It’s almost like a trickster but Gabriel is dead. It could be some kind of genie, I guess but we’re not asleep and I think it’s safe to say nobody wished for this.” Sam was busy writing something on a piece of paper, which he gave to Joyce and she passed on to Dean. She really wanted to read it, but for once she curbed her curiosity. Maybe there was hope for her yet.
Dean read over the paper and nodded, placing it in his pocket.
“Okay this is the plan. I’m going upstairs to see what I can see. Sam, I need you to stay here. You’re hurt and I can’t see you which means I can’t protect you. Look, I know you want to come but just don’t okay? Humor me for once.” Dean picked up one of the rifles and reloaded it with salt. “OK Joyce he’s stubborn and he’s stupid so he’s going to try to follow me, I need you to keep him here.”
Joyce looked at Sam doubtfully. Even injured she figured Sam could bench-press her with one hand. “Yeah, sure, no problem.”
Sure enough it was only about two or three minutes after Dean headed up the stairs Sam began to struggle to his feet. “Okay it’s been too long, something’s wrong. I’m going to help him. You can stay here if you want; I’ll leave you plenty of ammunition.”
Sam swayed as he stood up, steadying himself with one hand against the wall. There were still traces of blood on his face and he was about two shades paler than when they had met but he was standing.
“Seriously man, you can barely stand, how on hell are you going to help Dean?” Joyce asked. In response, Sam just glared at her. She had to hand it to him, it was a killer glare. “Okay fine, but screw staying here by myself. I’m going with you.”
The stairs were eerily clear of scary creatures, at least for her, but Sam seemed to be warily watching something out of the corner of his eye.
“So hopscotch guy?” Joyce asked, trying to keep the out of control fear at bay by making casual conversation. “Someone from the movies? Freddie Krueger?”
“Not exactly.” Sam was wincing with every step but had made it to the top of the staircase which considering his condition was quite the feat. “Someone I used to know.” Sam stopped short. “You don’t happen to see flames ahead?”
“No, no flames. And no spiders either. I’ve seen so many spiders I think I’m conquering my fear of them.”
No sooner had the words came out of her mouth, when a tall thin figure formed from nothingness in front of her. He was dressed in black, and was skinny to the point of being emancipated. Her heart stopped, she knew him. She knew this thing. When her father had died, there had been only the two of them in the room. She had felt something then, felt a presence that she couldn’t see. She had never told anyone about it, had even convinced herself that it had been her imagination and nothing more. But she hadn’t been imagining it, it was this thing. She was sure of it.
“What is it?” Sam asked, still holding on to the top stair rail. “Joyce, stay with me. Whatever it is, it’s not real, remember that. It’s not real.”
He was coming for her, he was coming to take her to wherever her father had went. He was coming for her and she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t anywhere near ready. The figure was coming closer to her and Joyce’s rifle slipped from her shaking hands as she began stepping away from it, right into Sam. “Make it go away.”
Sam grabbed her arm as she reached him. “Joyce It’s okay. Listen to me; I need you to focus.”
Joyce was frantic now, she could hear Sam’s words but they were like gibberish, she couldn’t understand them. All she could see was that Sam was holding her back and this thing - this death - was coming closer.
“Let go of me!” Joyce wildly pushed at him, realizing vaguely that she had hit his broke arm when he let go of her with a string of curse words. She was crying now, still walking backwards, her hands reaching frantically behind her and feeling nothing.
He was closer, he was reaching out to her and any second now he was going to grab her. He was going to take her just like he had taken her father. And then she felt air, cool fall air and the strange feeling of nothingness behind her. He was just about to grab her, his thin arms touched her and in the next second there was the sound of a rifle firing and Dean had grabbed her and the thing had vanished.
“Look,” Dean took her by the shoulder and shook her a few times which had the strange effect of calming her. Once she could focus, Dean turned her around. “Just look.”
There was a large floor to ceiling window in front of her, open. She had been a few steps away from walking right through it.
“Oh my God.” She said, blinking at how close she had been. Although she only remembered walking up one story, they were now on the third story. Three stories down, there was only rocks and stones. While she looked the window transformed and a few seconds later she was staring at a brick wall, the window had vanished.
“Well we know how that guy fell.” Dean looked around. “I am assuming Sam is with you.”
“Oh my God Sam.” Joyce ran to Sam who was still where she left him, biting his lip and looking like he was torn between screaming at her and killing her. She was rather hoping for the former.
“I am so sorry.” Joyce told him. “Really sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It’s okay.” Sam took a few deep breaths and seemed to center himself. “I’ve been through worse.”
“Sammy, I found something.” Dean said in her general direction. “It’s a symbol but I don’t recognize it. You take a look.”
Joyce followed Sam and Dean into the next room, which was thankfully free of things that crawled, slimed or killer clowns. There was a gigantic symbol on the floor; in fact the room was bare except for that symbol. There was also something red on it, something that looked suspiciously like blood.
Sam knelt down so he could get a closer look at the symbol and Joyce crouched beside him. The symbol was composed of a red and black star surrounded by a series of circles, some red and some white. Inside the two largest white circles were a series of symbols, Joyce didn’t recognize most of them but there was a moon and what looked like the number eight on its side.
“Does he recognize it?” Dean asked Joyce.
Joyce looked at Sam who shook his head. Sam was intently studying it still and he took out his phone to take a picture of it, “Looks like part of some kind of demon summoning ritual.”
“That’s right.” The three of them turned simultaneously to see Slimy Guy behind them. “I don’t know who the hell you people are or what you think you are doing but you’ve picked the wrong house to break into.”
“Oh wow, a tough guy. Now I’m scared.” Dean said to Joyce, before making a sudden grab for Slimy Guy. “Listen slime ball, game time is over. You are going to tell us what the hell is going on here...”
The room, once empty, was beginning to fill up. The clown was back, and had brought a friend. And Dean started to sway back and forth and as he let go of Slimy Guy his legs left the ground and he began to float. Actually began to float. “What the hell?”
“Oh that is awesome,” Slimy Guy said as he watched Dean’s ascent toward the ceiling. “The house has never done that before. Wait until my friends hear about this.”
Dean was now at the ceiling, he was cursing so much that Joyce was having trouble focusing on the clowns approaching her. “Sam.”
“I see them.” Sam moved quickly for such a big guy, one second he was kneeling over the symbol and the next he had grabbed Slimy Guy. Sam had turned dark and threatening and even though Joyce had been hiding behind him for the last thirty minutes or so she was more than half scared of him herself. Joyce held her breath as the two men stared at each other.
Slimy Guy broke the gaze first, looking at the floor and then away muttering “He’ll get you, he’ll get you all.”
“What. Are. You.” Sam asked, rage between each word.
Slimy Guy looked confused. “My name’s Andrew if that’s what you are asking.”
“I didn’t ask who you are, what are you. Witch? Genie?” Sam spat every word.
“What? Seriously? No. No, none of those things are real.” Andrew was shaking even more than Joyce was which at the moment was saying something. “Unless they are, real that is. That would be so cool “
Sam took Joyce’s gun from her and held it to Andrew’s head. Andrew turned pale and Joyce noted a wet spot forming in the front of his trousers. Joyce realized that the guy wasn’t very old, maybe 22 or 23. “Get my brother off the ceiling. Now.” For added emphasis, Sam cocked the gun and then placed the barrel right against Andrew’s head.
“I can’t. I don’t control it.” Andrew was flat out crying now and if Joyce wasn’t busy fending off killer ghost clowns she might have felt sorry for him.
The one closest to her grabbed her arm. His fingernails were long and sharp and they bit into her skin, the clown might not be real but the pain definitely was. “Sam!” Joyce yelled, holding her hand out for the gun.
From up above Dean yelled “Move.” Joyce just managed to pull free as the clown disappeared into nothingness. Joyce looked up where Dean was so high now his head was touching the ailing.
“Good shot.” Joyce yelled up.
“Thanks. Not get me the hell down from here.”
Joyce looked back at Sam who was shaking Andrew’s arm. “You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me what the hell is going on. Talk.”
Andrew began talking, his words so fast that Joyce had a hard time keeping up. “I was on EBay and I saw this Time Life anthology of the occult and I thought what the hell and I bought it. I found this symbol and I thought it was cool and then - it was like a perpetual haunted house. My friends and I would bring people here and the girls - they would go crazy from the screaming. It was the coolest thing I ever saw in my life.”
“Yeah, nothing cooler than people getting hurt.” Sam told him grimly.
“I know. That part was less cool at least at first. But then I realized that the police couldn’t pin it on me ‘cause it wasn’t my fault really and I actually had more people than ever lined up to get in. It’s like playing Russian roulette without the gun, people were willing to pay double to get inside. This has been the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Sam looked like he wanted to kill Andrew. Joyce knew the feeling, because she felt the same way. And the other clown was now circling her, he was maybe three feet tall but somehow managed to be even scarier than the other one. He grabbed her leg and Joyce kicked him. Anger was good, anger kept the fear at bay. Joyce glared at the clown, daring him to attack again.
“Hey Sammy,” came Dean’s voice from the ceiling. “I’m getting air sickness up here so you might want to hurry this thing along.”
“Okay, it’s a demon right? The symbol is for summoning some kind of demon?” Sam asked and Andrew answered with a nod. “What’s the demon called?”
“Gachnar. The encyclopedia says he’s a fear demon, and I guess he is ‘cause…” Andrew let his voice trail off.
Sam took a few steps away from him, but the gun was still pointed at Andrew’s head. “Okay great, now summon him.”
“Summon him? Look guy if you want me to quit doing this, I’ll quit. I promise. I’ll be good.”
Sam turned from him and bent down to the symbol, studying it once again.
“If you summon him?” Joyce asked. “Then what? I mean you’re broken and he’s up there.” They both looked up where Dean was kicking the ceiling with such force there were actual cracks forming in the ceiling.
Sam looked up, smiled, and then took the end of the rifle, hitting it over and over again with his one good hand with such force that the floor cracked as well, the symbol breaking.
There was a large rumbling sound, the room turned smoky and then a deep loud voice filled the room. “The Winchesters. This must be my lucky day.”
“The opposite actually.’ Dean yelled from the ceiling. “If you know who we are, then you know we are damned good at what we do.”
“But I’m better.” The voice said. It seemed to be coming from in the room, but Joyce was looking everywhere and couldn’t tell the source. “ And Dean Winchester, I know you. I know what you fear. I know how to destroy you.”
Sam suddenly doubled over in apparent pain, and Dean started cursing again but mid- “I’m going to rip your fuc-“sentence Dean started laughing instead. Joyce looked up at him in shock.
“I see him!” Dean was shouting and laughing at the same time. Jayce looked up, trying to figure out where he was pointing. He was pointing somewhere near Sam, but there was nothing there. Maybe the demon was like the clown; only people scared of the demon could see him. Although that didn’t make sense either, because at this point Joyce was plenty damn scared of the demon
“Where? Sam asked, he turned around and started toward the center of the symbol. “Where? I don’t see anything.” His gun was out, he was actually holding it with his broken arm, he must be in all kinds of pain but his focus was grim and determined.
“There. Sammy look!”
There was this strange crunching sound and suddenly the clown vanished, the room cleared and at the same moment Dean came flying down from the ceiling where he fell on Andrew, knocking them both down, followed by another string of curses.
“Where did he go?” Sam asked. “What happened?”
Dean must have had the wind knocked out of him at the very least, but he was laughing so hard tears were actually coming out of his crystal green eyes. “Look at the bottom of your shoe.”
Sam picked up first one foot and then the other and Joyce looked with him. There was something squished at the bottom of the sole of his shoe. “Is that….?” Joyce asked.
“Gachnie, or whatever the hell the demon’s name was.” Dean told her as he pushed himself up a standing position. He stomped his feet a couple times on the ground as if reassuring himself the floor was solid.
It was revolting sure and Joyce tried to look away, but instead she began to laugh. Sam took a moment, and then began laughing too. It was only when Joyce’s laughter began to veer to hysteria than Sam and Dean stopped laughing.
“Okay well that took care of the demon. I knew those huge feet of yours would be good for something someday.” Dean said as he made his way to his brother. “Glad to see you by the way and not for nothing but you look like hell.”
“Thanks,” Sam said as he scraped demon from the bottom of his shoe.
Andrew slowly stood up, he was obviously in some pain, but nothing looked to be broken. Damn.
“Let me take a look at you, what is it with you and clowns trying to kill you anyway?” Dean asked Sam as he lifted the bandage from the back of his head and began probing the cut to see for himself just how deep it was. Sam jerked away. “Stay still and stop being such a wuss. It’s a nasty cut back there but you’ll live. Of course some of your hair may have to go. Say Joyce do you happen to have any scissors?”
Joyce was now sitting on the floor, once that the danger had passed her legs would no longer hold her. She smiled as Sam knocked Dean’s hand away.
“So what do we do with this guy?” Dean asked the playful tone of his voice gone.
Andrew was no longer slimy; in fact he now resembled nothing more than a sniveling infant.
“I will be good, I promise. Just let me go and I’ll move. I’ll sell my books; I’ll burn them if that is what you want me to do. I will be good, I swear.”
“Two people are seriously hurt, you could have killed someone. Saying you’re sorry and promising to be good just ain’t going to cut it.” Dean said.
“But what can we do?” Sam asked Dean quietly. “He’s human. A stupid human, but human. We can’t go to the police and tell them he summoned a demon…”
“No.” Joyce said, pulling out her phone. “But I can tell them that he attacked me. I even have the bruises to provide it. “Joyce showed them the already forming bruises on her arms and legs where the clowns had grabbed her. For once in her life she was glad she bruised easily.
“What?” Andrew asked, turning obnoxious again. “I didn’t. They’ll never believe you.”
“The police already don’t like you. And after being chased by a killer clown, telling the police my sob story will be a cake walk. Trust me, you sir are going down.”
“That will work.” Dean said to Jayce with a smile. “Problem solved. And once you get out….” Dean continued, turning toward Andrew.
Andrew raised his arms up, “I’ll be good.”
“Or we will be back.” Sam warned.
Ten minutes later Joyce had dialed 911 and Andrew was locked inside of the room so he would stay put until the police got there.
“I hope you are taking him straight to the hospital.” Now that his adrenalin had worn off, Sam looked like he was in a lot of pain. And the cut on his head was still bleeding. It was a shame about his hair, Joyce thought. They’d probably really would have to cut it to put the stitches in.
“Better.” Dean told her, as he put the last gun into the trunk of their car. “I’m taking him to Cas.”
“Is he a doctor?” Joyce asked, as she checked Sam’s bandage one more time.
Dean laughed, “He’s better. Look we’d better get out of here before the police show up. And Joyce when you tell your story - “
“I won’t mention you.” Joyce promised.
“You were awesome.” Sam stood up and gave her a smile that just about knocked her socks off, if she had been wearing any. He handed her a card, a different one this time that had his real name on it. “Look, if you ever need us - ”
“No offense to you or your brother, but I hope to never see you again.” Joyce said as she pocketed the card.
“Me too.” Sam smiled at her once more time and then gingerly got into the car. As Dean got into the other side she heard Sam ask him, “So what was it? What did you see in there?”
“Hey, I’m not the scardey cat,” Dean scoffed as he started the car, “As many things as you are scared of, I’m shocked you made it out there alive.”
The sound of sirens approaching muffled Sam’s response. Dean turned the car around and he waved at her just as they pulled even with her on their way down the road. Joyce could swear she heard Sam say, “Bunnies?” and then they were gone.
Recipient: madebyme_X
Rating: PG
Warnings: mild language, hurt!Sam
Word Count: ~7,000
Author's Notes: This fic is a homage to the Buffy episode with the same name, by homage I mean I out and out stole the idea. However, you don’t have to have watched a single Buffy episode to read and understand this fic, it stands on its own.
Summary: Joyce has had a bad feeling about her next door neighbor and the house he has converted into a Haunted House for weeks. One day a couple of FBI agents come by and begin questioning her….
“Ma’am I’m sorry to bother you, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?” Joyce, who had been sitting on her haunches in front of the rose bush she had been pruning, looked up. And up. And up. And before she realized what was happening, she had toppled right over and landed on her butt. Awesome.
“Sorry,” the extremely tall guy with the dimples said to her as he offered her his hand.
“It’s not your fault, I am the clumsy one,” Joyce replied, trying to resist the urge to brush the dirt off her butt. Now that she was in a standing position; she could see that there were actually two tall guys in front of her. The one she had literally fallen for and his slightly shorter companion, who was still taller than her by a good 8 inches or so. For a moment or two she just stared at him, completely mesmerized by his astonishing green eyes. Beautiful.
As if working off some internal cue, they both flashed their badges at her at the same time. “Let’s start again shall we?” Said Mr. Skyscraper. “I’m Agent Page; this is my partner Agent Plant.”
Joyce took Agent Page’s proffered hand to shake; her first thought was how tiny her hand was in his. This was followed closely by the realization that her hand was both sweaty and dirty. She must be making a hell of a first impression. “Joyce,” she managed to choke out.
Joyce absent mindedly removed the scarf from her jet black hair, regretting it the minute that she did so as her unruly curls fell into her eyes. She couldn’t help but notice that Agent Page’s hair was almost as long as hers, even if it was currently slicked back. Her brother, a former FBI guy himself, would have a fit if he caught wind of this guy’s hair, but she liked it just fine.
“We wanted to ask you a few questions about the guy next door.”
Oh. Joyce looked over uneasily at the silent, dark house that was next to hers. Right at the moment it was quiet and empty, but Joyce knew in a few hours it would be teeming with teens and young adults and the night would be filled with their screams and laughter. It made her queasy just thinking about it.
“I really don’t think I could be of any help.” Joyce replied. “I only know what everyone knows, he moved in a few months ago, he keeps to himself mostly, I don’t even know his name to be honest.”
Agent Plant smiled at her as he took over the questioning. “Have you been inside? Maybe bought yourself a ticket to the Haunted House?”
“I used to go over there years ago when I was a kid, but no I’m not a fan of haunted houses, people grabbing at you and things jumping out at you.” Joyce shuddered. “And especially after those poor people got hurt.”
“Two people, I believe?” Agent Page pulled out a small notebook and consulted it. “A Mr. Pratt, heart attack victim. And Daniel Osborne, 22, fell out of a third story window. Did you happen to know either one of the victims?”
Joyce shook her head. “You know, the police have already been out here and asked me all these questions. They’ve talked to Sli - the guy next door too, even brought him to the station. But I guess they didn’t find anything ‘cause as you can see he’s still in business.”
Joyce pointed to the large tacky “Haunted House” sign in the front yard of her next door’s neighbor’s home. There was a “toll booth” next to it where he or one of his friends dressed up as something silly and took the money every night. As today was October 31st, business was booming. As soon as the first cars started arriving, generally right around 7 p.m., Joyce would go inside her house, lock all her doors and wait impatiently for 2 a.m. when the screaming people would go away and all would be quiet next door - almost quiet anyway.
Agent Plant looked at her quizzically, “You were about to call him Sli - what?”
Joyce found herself flushing a little. “Slimy Guy. It’s what I call him, cause he’s slick and oily and - I know it’s stupid.”
“I think it’s kinda cute,” Agent Plant told her. “Anything else that you can tell us about the house or Mr. Slimy Guy? Anything at all?”
Joyce hesitated. “This is going to sound weird.”
“We live for weird,” Agent Plant said with a reassuring smile. “Especially Jimmy here, he’s like an encyclopedia for all things weird.”
Joyce led them to the side of the house where another row of rosebushes had once bloomed. “They died. All of them. Within two days of him moving in there. It’s probably a coincidence.” Or Slimy
Guy poisoning them she thought but didn’t say out loud. She didn’t want these two men to think she was some kind of crazy cat lady.
The two of them knelt over the bushes for a moment, whispering to each other in voices so soft she couldn’t hear them even though she was only a few feet away. If truth be told, she would have given anything to hear what they were saying.
“Okay.” Agent Page stood up and handed her a business card, “If you think of anything else…”
Joyce looked at the card and bit her lower lip as she watched the two men walk back to their shiny black car. Joyce knew next to nothing about cars, but this one was big, black and looked old. Not antique old, but still old. It also looked solid, like the two men that were standing in front of it. Their heads were together and they seemed to be arguing. She noticed that they stood very close together, much closer than you would think colleagues would stand. There was something going on there.
Something that was none of her business, Joyce told herself as she picked up her pruning shears and began packing up her gardening gear. Still, she couldn’t help but watch as they gathered some things from the trunk including a duffle bag and circled the house, somehow circumvented the fence that surrounded the backyard and disappeared.
Joyce again told herself that whatever the FBI was doing in the house next door was none of her business. She was glad she hadn’t told them the rest of it, how she could feel someone staring at her behind the shuttered windows whenever she went out into the yard, that more than once she had thought she had heard a scream when she knew that Slimy Guy had left and the house should be empty. How sometimes, late at night, she could almost swear she could hear someone from over there whisper her name.
They would have locked her up for sure if she had told them any of that. Maybe the FBI would take the Slimy Guy away and everything could be back to normal and she could go back to her nice quiet life. Her safe, nice, quiet, oh so boring life. She was going inside, brew herself a cup of tea and wasn’t going to give the FBI one more thought.
Twenty minutes later Joyce was standing back in her yard, her eyes trained on the house next door. Her mother had always said that curiosity would be the death of her. As Joyce slowly walked toward the path between hers and her neighbor’s house, she had a sinking feeling her mother had been right. She wiped her sweaty shaking hands on her jeans and took a few deep breaths which did nothing to stem her racing thoughts.
It had only been like 20 minutes, those guys were probably fine.
Definitely fine, surely. They were tall, strong, capable men who would never need help from someone like her. She shouldn’t feel guilty about not telling them all about the house, it wasn’t as if they would have believed her anyway. But it had been twenty minutes; Slimy Guy would be home at any time. Maybe she should warn them. She had reached her neighbor’s gate which was usually padlocked, but the padlock had been broken and the gate stood open. She would just take a quick look in, make sure they were okay, maybe call the cops if need be. Just one quick peek in and that was it.
Moments passed as Joyce stood on the back porch, straining to hear anything but the house was silent. She reached up to knock on the door but the door flew open before her hands could touch the wooden frame. Okay that was weird. And scary. She peered inside but could see no one or nothing. This is not good, she said to herself, run back home as fast as your short little legs can carry you. Instead she walked slowly but surely forward, her mother was right about her, curiosity was definitely going to kill her someday. Hopefully this was not the day
“Agent Page?” Joyce tried calling out but it came out as a squeaky whisper. She swallowed a few times and turned on the flashlight on her phone. The light didn’t make a lot of difference to the darkness, but somehow the tiny light made her feel better. “Jimmy?” She called out, louder this time but just as shaky. She had only taken a few steps into the kitchen when the kitchen door slammed behind her. She turned back and tried the door, but it was locked. There was no getting out the way she came in.
God, if she ever got out of this she was never giving into curiosity again. She would be the least curious person in the planet, Joyce promised herself. Joyce took a few steps before something wet and long crawled over her sandal. Joyce screamed so loud that she startled herself, there were footsteps and Agent Page was standing in front of her, a real flashlight in his hand. “Joyce? Are you okay? What are you doing here?”
“I came to uh...” Joyce was busy shining that little light from her phone all around her, trying to figure out what the wet icky thing had been. Probably a pet of Slimy Guy’s. “Came to warn you about the house. I think there’s something strange going on here.”
Agent Page gave a short laugh that didn’t sound happy at all. “Yeah you could say that. We need to get you out of here.”
“That door locked when I came in.” Joyce pointed her phone back behind her. Agent Page went over to the door and tried to open it, he even kicked the door a few times with those long legs of his, but the door didn’t budge “Please tell me there’s another way out.”
“Yeah the front door. Also locked. You’ll also find phones don’t work in here, no calls coming in or out.” Agent Page gestured out of the kitchen into the next room. “Let’s get you situated and then we’ll find a way out. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
Joyce figured she was much safer with the twelve foot man then she was in the kitchen by herself so she followed him. Now that she was in the next room, the house was no longer silent. Those banging, clangy noises she had been hearing were now evident, along with a male voice yelling “Sam” and sometimes “Sammy,” over and over again with increasing desperation.
“Who’s Sammy?” Joyce asked, confused.
Agent Page looked slightly embarrassed. “Me, I’m Sammy, er- Sam. That man yelling is my brother Dean. Look I wish I had the time to explain all this, but you are just going to have to trust me.”
“And I am guessing you’re not FBI?” Joyce asked, resisting the urge to grab the back of Sam’s suit and hang on for dear life.
“Yeah, we’re - actually it’s complicated. I’ll tell you later. Now we need to find a way to get you out of here.”
So he wasn’t FBI. Her brother would be so relieved. Meanwhile Dean was still calling out for “Sammy” and by the sound of his voice he was getting closer to them.
“Why don’t you tell him you are here?” Joyce asked as she followed Sam from the front room into a long dark hallway.
“I’ve tried, believe me I have. He can’t see me. This house is - I don’t know what it is. But it’s playing tricks on us. I can see and hear Dean but he can’t see me. And I’m seeing other things too - not real things.”
From the shadows of a doorway a figure began to emerge. It was garish, dressed up with as a clown and Joyce was shaking too hard to get a real good look, but she would bet it had sharp teeth. She could tell by the way that Jimmy - er- Sam’s eyes flickered that he saw him too. “Not real things, like that clown right there?”
“You see it too?” Sam asked, as if her seeing the clown was the freaky part instead of the fact that the clown was there in the first place. “A clown?”
“Yes.”
“Joyce, I know this is going to sound like a strange question but is it possible that you are scared of clowns?” Sam asked, as Joyce moved so she was behind Sam, feeling infinitely safer in this position.
“Are you kidding?” Joyce asked. “Did you see “It?”
“It’s okay.” Sam turned away from the clown to her. “They aren’t real. I figured it out. None of the things we are seeing are real. Think of them like a magician trick, it looks real but it isn’t.”
Joyce peeked from behind Sam at the clown who was now very very close. “He looks real.”
“I know, but he’s not. Trust me; I’ve had experience with this kind of thing before.”
Just as Sam got the words out of his mouth, the clown picked Sam up from behind as if Sam weighed nothing and threw him with great force the thirty feet or so to the end of the hallway where Sam hit the wall with a sickening thud. For a moment Joyce’s world went black, then she was aware of someone screeching, then she realized the screamer was her. In the next moment Dean was in the room, frantically looking around. She could tell she wasn’t the one he was looking for.
“Lady shut up,” Dean said to her as his eyes looked frantically all around the room. “What the hell happened? Is it Sam?”
Joyce was too busy staring at the clown, who was now eyeing her with what she was pretty sure, was murder in its eyes. Dean followed her eyes to the end of the corridor, but it was pretty apparent he could see nothing there.
“What is it?” Dean asked, raising his gun. “Is it after Sam?”
Joyce tried to speak, but only a squeak came out. She licked her lips and tried again. “Cl- clown.” She managed to gasp out.
Dean took her by the shoulders and his green eyes met her blue ones. Instantly she began feeling calmer, he just radiated this kind of steel Zen. “I know you are scared, but I need you to focus. Did this clown hurt Sam?”
Joyce nodded and pointed where Sam lay, still motionless. Dean let go of her shoulders and headed down the hallway, as he did so he passed right by the clown. The clown obviously wasn’t interested in him; the clown was still heading her way. She was losing the Zen calm and was heading right back to hysteria.
“Is the clown still here?” Dean asked her and Joyce nodded again. “Okay, I can’t see him so I need you to point out exactly where he is.”
Joyce pointed to a place about fifteen feet in front of her. The clown was halfway between her and Dean and inching closer.
“Duck.”
Joyce recognized a command when she heard one and obeyed. There was the loud deafening crack of the rifle and then the clown was gone. No blood, no gore, just gone.
“Rock salt.” Dean told her in way of explanation as he helped her up. “Repels spirits but sadly doesn’t kill them. He’ll be back.”
Well that was reassuring as hell, but Joyce wasn’t wasting time thinking about it. Instead of responding she ran to Sam who was still crumpled up against the wall. Oh God there was blood. Lots of it.
Dean was following her, “How is he? He’s going to be okay right? I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”
Joyce knelt down beside Sam, trying to figure out where the blood was coming from. “The clown threw him. He’s pretty strong for a ghost.” Joyce touched Sam’s face; the blood seems to be coming from a gash on the back of his head, as far as she could tell it was caused by Sam’s head hitting a nail that was in the wall on his way down. “He’s bleeding, I need towels and - “
Before she could get the words out Dean shoved a wet towel in her hand. “How deep is the cut?” He asked.
“Not very I think. He might need a couple of stitches.” Joyce washed around the cut; Sam’s hair was matted with blood. “It’s on the back of his head.” Now that some of the blood was gone, Joyce had a better look at Sam. His arm was twisted behind him. “Also I think his arm is broken.”
For some reason, working on Sam was calming Joyce. This was something real she could do and for a moment she could forget that she had actually seen a ghost clown.
“Okay, we are going to need a sling and some bandages. Don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll be back in a minute.” Dean stood up and faced something in front of him. Joyce looked, but didn’t see anything. Dean started down the hallway and then came back.
“Do you know how to use one of these?” Dean asked her, handing her the sawed off rifle he had been using.
“Yes, actually. I used to be a hunter.”
Joyce saw a moment of confusion pass through Dean’s eyes so she elaborated. “I know, it shocks everyone when I tell them. My Dad taught me, I haven’t hunted since he died but I was a pretty damn good shot if I don’t say so myself. It’s like riding a bike right?” Joyce asked, as she cocked the gun and shot in the direction Dean had been warily looking at. “How’d I do? Did I get it?” She asked.
“Not bad,” Dean replied, pulling out a pistol from an inside jacket pocket. “Take care of him.” Dean shot his gun once, twice, three times and then disappeared into the hallway.
As Dean disappeared into another room, a shape began forming in the archway. It started with spiky long spindly legs, eight of them. Joyce began shooting before it even got fully formed. Next to her Sam began to groan.
Fifteen minutes later Sam was awake, bandaged, and his arm was in a nifty make shift sling and Joyce was becoming an expert at shooting giant spiders which neither Sam nor Dean could see. Damn Harry Potter she thought as she shot another one.
“Okay, it’s not a poltergeist because they couldn’t create these things from thin air.” Dean was saying as he pulled more rock salt from a duffel bag.
“Witch?” Dean and Sam said together. Joyce was amazed how in sync they were with each other, considering Dean couldn’t see or hear Sam.
“Witch?” Joyce asked, looking from one to another. “Really?” And there was another spider. Dean took the gun from her and shot at something she couldn’t see but seemed to be fairly low to the ground. Sam seemed to be warily watching something at the end of the hall.
“Do you need me to shoot at something?” Joyce asked Sam, wondering how much rock salt they could possibly have. At least the clown hadn’t been back.
“Don’t worry about it sunshine, this is an old friend of Sam’s. So Sammy what’s he singing this time?” Dean asked, somehow managing to look exactly at Sam even though Joyce knew he couldn’t see him.
“He’s not. He’s playing hopscotch.” Sam got to his knees, trying to stand but immediately sank down again with a groan.
“Really? That doesn’t sound too scary.” Joyce told Sam as she realized that for once there were no spiders coming at her.
“You have no idea.” Sam replied. “So if this is a witch, it’s a more powerful one than we’ve come across before, I mean the way it plays with reality.” At this point Sam seemed to be talking mostly to himself as Dean couldn’t hear him and Joyce was still trying to get her mind wrapped around the fact that witches were real. “It’s almost like a trickster but Gabriel is dead. It could be some kind of genie, I guess but we’re not asleep and I think it’s safe to say nobody wished for this.” Sam was busy writing something on a piece of paper, which he gave to Joyce and she passed on to Dean. She really wanted to read it, but for once she curbed her curiosity. Maybe there was hope for her yet.
Dean read over the paper and nodded, placing it in his pocket.
“Okay this is the plan. I’m going upstairs to see what I can see. Sam, I need you to stay here. You’re hurt and I can’t see you which means I can’t protect you. Look, I know you want to come but just don’t okay? Humor me for once.” Dean picked up one of the rifles and reloaded it with salt. “OK Joyce he’s stubborn and he’s stupid so he’s going to try to follow me, I need you to keep him here.”
Joyce looked at Sam doubtfully. Even injured she figured Sam could bench-press her with one hand. “Yeah, sure, no problem.”
Sure enough it was only about two or three minutes after Dean headed up the stairs Sam began to struggle to his feet. “Okay it’s been too long, something’s wrong. I’m going to help him. You can stay here if you want; I’ll leave you plenty of ammunition.”
Sam swayed as he stood up, steadying himself with one hand against the wall. There were still traces of blood on his face and he was about two shades paler than when they had met but he was standing.
“Seriously man, you can barely stand, how on hell are you going to help Dean?” Joyce asked. In response, Sam just glared at her. She had to hand it to him, it was a killer glare. “Okay fine, but screw staying here by myself. I’m going with you.”
The stairs were eerily clear of scary creatures, at least for her, but Sam seemed to be warily watching something out of the corner of his eye.
“So hopscotch guy?” Joyce asked, trying to keep the out of control fear at bay by making casual conversation. “Someone from the movies? Freddie Krueger?”
“Not exactly.” Sam was wincing with every step but had made it to the top of the staircase which considering his condition was quite the feat. “Someone I used to know.” Sam stopped short. “You don’t happen to see flames ahead?”
“No, no flames. And no spiders either. I’ve seen so many spiders I think I’m conquering my fear of them.”
No sooner had the words came out of her mouth, when a tall thin figure formed from nothingness in front of her. He was dressed in black, and was skinny to the point of being emancipated. Her heart stopped, she knew him. She knew this thing. When her father had died, there had been only the two of them in the room. She had felt something then, felt a presence that she couldn’t see. She had never told anyone about it, had even convinced herself that it had been her imagination and nothing more. But she hadn’t been imagining it, it was this thing. She was sure of it.
“What is it?” Sam asked, still holding on to the top stair rail. “Joyce, stay with me. Whatever it is, it’s not real, remember that. It’s not real.”
He was coming for her, he was coming to take her to wherever her father had went. He was coming for her and she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t anywhere near ready. The figure was coming closer to her and Joyce’s rifle slipped from her shaking hands as she began stepping away from it, right into Sam. “Make it go away.”
Sam grabbed her arm as she reached him. “Joyce It’s okay. Listen to me; I need you to focus.”
Joyce was frantic now, she could hear Sam’s words but they were like gibberish, she couldn’t understand them. All she could see was that Sam was holding her back and this thing - this death - was coming closer.
“Let go of me!” Joyce wildly pushed at him, realizing vaguely that she had hit his broke arm when he let go of her with a string of curse words. She was crying now, still walking backwards, her hands reaching frantically behind her and feeling nothing.
He was closer, he was reaching out to her and any second now he was going to grab her. He was going to take her just like he had taken her father. And then she felt air, cool fall air and the strange feeling of nothingness behind her. He was just about to grab her, his thin arms touched her and in the next second there was the sound of a rifle firing and Dean had grabbed her and the thing had vanished.
“Look,” Dean took her by the shoulder and shook her a few times which had the strange effect of calming her. Once she could focus, Dean turned her around. “Just look.”
There was a large floor to ceiling window in front of her, open. She had been a few steps away from walking right through it.
“Oh my God.” She said, blinking at how close she had been. Although she only remembered walking up one story, they were now on the third story. Three stories down, there was only rocks and stones. While she looked the window transformed and a few seconds later she was staring at a brick wall, the window had vanished.
“Well we know how that guy fell.” Dean looked around. “I am assuming Sam is with you.”
“Oh my God Sam.” Joyce ran to Sam who was still where she left him, biting his lip and looking like he was torn between screaming at her and killing her. She was rather hoping for the former.
“I am so sorry.” Joyce told him. “Really sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It’s okay.” Sam took a few deep breaths and seemed to center himself. “I’ve been through worse.”
“Sammy, I found something.” Dean said in her general direction. “It’s a symbol but I don’t recognize it. You take a look.”
Joyce followed Sam and Dean into the next room, which was thankfully free of things that crawled, slimed or killer clowns. There was a gigantic symbol on the floor; in fact the room was bare except for that symbol. There was also something red on it, something that looked suspiciously like blood.
Sam knelt down so he could get a closer look at the symbol and Joyce crouched beside him. The symbol was composed of a red and black star surrounded by a series of circles, some red and some white. Inside the two largest white circles were a series of symbols, Joyce didn’t recognize most of them but there was a moon and what looked like the number eight on its side.
“Does he recognize it?” Dean asked Joyce.
Joyce looked at Sam who shook his head. Sam was intently studying it still and he took out his phone to take a picture of it, “Looks like part of some kind of demon summoning ritual.”
“That’s right.” The three of them turned simultaneously to see Slimy Guy behind them. “I don’t know who the hell you people are or what you think you are doing but you’ve picked the wrong house to break into.”
“Oh wow, a tough guy. Now I’m scared.” Dean said to Joyce, before making a sudden grab for Slimy Guy. “Listen slime ball, game time is over. You are going to tell us what the hell is going on here...”
The room, once empty, was beginning to fill up. The clown was back, and had brought a friend. And Dean started to sway back and forth and as he let go of Slimy Guy his legs left the ground and he began to float. Actually began to float. “What the hell?”
“Oh that is awesome,” Slimy Guy said as he watched Dean’s ascent toward the ceiling. “The house has never done that before. Wait until my friends hear about this.”
Dean was now at the ceiling, he was cursing so much that Joyce was having trouble focusing on the clowns approaching her. “Sam.”
“I see them.” Sam moved quickly for such a big guy, one second he was kneeling over the symbol and the next he had grabbed Slimy Guy. Sam had turned dark and threatening and even though Joyce had been hiding behind him for the last thirty minutes or so she was more than half scared of him herself. Joyce held her breath as the two men stared at each other.
Slimy Guy broke the gaze first, looking at the floor and then away muttering “He’ll get you, he’ll get you all.”
“What. Are. You.” Sam asked, rage between each word.
Slimy Guy looked confused. “My name’s Andrew if that’s what you are asking.”
“I didn’t ask who you are, what are you. Witch? Genie?” Sam spat every word.
“What? Seriously? No. No, none of those things are real.” Andrew was shaking even more than Joyce was which at the moment was saying something. “Unless they are, real that is. That would be so cool “
Sam took Joyce’s gun from her and held it to Andrew’s head. Andrew turned pale and Joyce noted a wet spot forming in the front of his trousers. Joyce realized that the guy wasn’t very old, maybe 22 or 23. “Get my brother off the ceiling. Now.” For added emphasis, Sam cocked the gun and then placed the barrel right against Andrew’s head.
“I can’t. I don’t control it.” Andrew was flat out crying now and if Joyce wasn’t busy fending off killer ghost clowns she might have felt sorry for him.
The one closest to her grabbed her arm. His fingernails were long and sharp and they bit into her skin, the clown might not be real but the pain definitely was. “Sam!” Joyce yelled, holding her hand out for the gun.
From up above Dean yelled “Move.” Joyce just managed to pull free as the clown disappeared into nothingness. Joyce looked up where Dean was so high now his head was touching the ailing.
“Good shot.” Joyce yelled up.
“Thanks. Not get me the hell down from here.”
Joyce looked back at Sam who was shaking Andrew’s arm. “You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me what the hell is going on. Talk.”
Andrew began talking, his words so fast that Joyce had a hard time keeping up. “I was on EBay and I saw this Time Life anthology of the occult and I thought what the hell and I bought it. I found this symbol and I thought it was cool and then - it was like a perpetual haunted house. My friends and I would bring people here and the girls - they would go crazy from the screaming. It was the coolest thing I ever saw in my life.”
“Yeah, nothing cooler than people getting hurt.” Sam told him grimly.
“I know. That part was less cool at least at first. But then I realized that the police couldn’t pin it on me ‘cause it wasn’t my fault really and I actually had more people than ever lined up to get in. It’s like playing Russian roulette without the gun, people were willing to pay double to get inside. This has been the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Sam looked like he wanted to kill Andrew. Joyce knew the feeling, because she felt the same way. And the other clown was now circling her, he was maybe three feet tall but somehow managed to be even scarier than the other one. He grabbed her leg and Joyce kicked him. Anger was good, anger kept the fear at bay. Joyce glared at the clown, daring him to attack again.
“Hey Sammy,” came Dean’s voice from the ceiling. “I’m getting air sickness up here so you might want to hurry this thing along.”
“Okay, it’s a demon right? The symbol is for summoning some kind of demon?” Sam asked and Andrew answered with a nod. “What’s the demon called?”
“Gachnar. The encyclopedia says he’s a fear demon, and I guess he is ‘cause…” Andrew let his voice trail off.
Sam took a few steps away from him, but the gun was still pointed at Andrew’s head. “Okay great, now summon him.”
“Summon him? Look guy if you want me to quit doing this, I’ll quit. I promise. I’ll be good.”
Sam turned from him and bent down to the symbol, studying it once again.
“If you summon him?” Joyce asked. “Then what? I mean you’re broken and he’s up there.” They both looked up where Dean was kicking the ceiling with such force there were actual cracks forming in the ceiling.
Sam looked up, smiled, and then took the end of the rifle, hitting it over and over again with his one good hand with such force that the floor cracked as well, the symbol breaking.
There was a large rumbling sound, the room turned smoky and then a deep loud voice filled the room. “The Winchesters. This must be my lucky day.”
“The opposite actually.’ Dean yelled from the ceiling. “If you know who we are, then you know we are damned good at what we do.”
“But I’m better.” The voice said. It seemed to be coming from in the room, but Joyce was looking everywhere and couldn’t tell the source. “ And Dean Winchester, I know you. I know what you fear. I know how to destroy you.”
Sam suddenly doubled over in apparent pain, and Dean started cursing again but mid- “I’m going to rip your fuc-“sentence Dean started laughing instead. Joyce looked up at him in shock.
“I see him!” Dean was shouting and laughing at the same time. Jayce looked up, trying to figure out where he was pointing. He was pointing somewhere near Sam, but there was nothing there. Maybe the demon was like the clown; only people scared of the demon could see him. Although that didn’t make sense either, because at this point Joyce was plenty damn scared of the demon
“Where? Sam asked, he turned around and started toward the center of the symbol. “Where? I don’t see anything.” His gun was out, he was actually holding it with his broken arm, he must be in all kinds of pain but his focus was grim and determined.
“There. Sammy look!”
There was this strange crunching sound and suddenly the clown vanished, the room cleared and at the same moment Dean came flying down from the ceiling where he fell on Andrew, knocking them both down, followed by another string of curses.
“Where did he go?” Sam asked. “What happened?”
Dean must have had the wind knocked out of him at the very least, but he was laughing so hard tears were actually coming out of his crystal green eyes. “Look at the bottom of your shoe.”
Sam picked up first one foot and then the other and Joyce looked with him. There was something squished at the bottom of the sole of his shoe. “Is that….?” Joyce asked.
“Gachnie, or whatever the hell the demon’s name was.” Dean told her as he pushed himself up a standing position. He stomped his feet a couple times on the ground as if reassuring himself the floor was solid.
It was revolting sure and Joyce tried to look away, but instead she began to laugh. Sam took a moment, and then began laughing too. It was only when Joyce’s laughter began to veer to hysteria than Sam and Dean stopped laughing.
“Okay well that took care of the demon. I knew those huge feet of yours would be good for something someday.” Dean said as he made his way to his brother. “Glad to see you by the way and not for nothing but you look like hell.”
“Thanks,” Sam said as he scraped demon from the bottom of his shoe.
Andrew slowly stood up, he was obviously in some pain, but nothing looked to be broken. Damn.
“Let me take a look at you, what is it with you and clowns trying to kill you anyway?” Dean asked Sam as he lifted the bandage from the back of his head and began probing the cut to see for himself just how deep it was. Sam jerked away. “Stay still and stop being such a wuss. It’s a nasty cut back there but you’ll live. Of course some of your hair may have to go. Say Joyce do you happen to have any scissors?”
Joyce was now sitting on the floor, once that the danger had passed her legs would no longer hold her. She smiled as Sam knocked Dean’s hand away.
“So what do we do with this guy?” Dean asked the playful tone of his voice gone.
Andrew was no longer slimy; in fact he now resembled nothing more than a sniveling infant.
“I will be good, I promise. Just let me go and I’ll move. I’ll sell my books; I’ll burn them if that is what you want me to do. I will be good, I swear.”
“Two people are seriously hurt, you could have killed someone. Saying you’re sorry and promising to be good just ain’t going to cut it.” Dean said.
“But what can we do?” Sam asked Dean quietly. “He’s human. A stupid human, but human. We can’t go to the police and tell them he summoned a demon…”
“No.” Joyce said, pulling out her phone. “But I can tell them that he attacked me. I even have the bruises to provide it. “Joyce showed them the already forming bruises on her arms and legs where the clowns had grabbed her. For once in her life she was glad she bruised easily.
“What?” Andrew asked, turning obnoxious again. “I didn’t. They’ll never believe you.”
“The police already don’t like you. And after being chased by a killer clown, telling the police my sob story will be a cake walk. Trust me, you sir are going down.”
“That will work.” Dean said to Jayce with a smile. “Problem solved. And once you get out….” Dean continued, turning toward Andrew.
Andrew raised his arms up, “I’ll be good.”
“Or we will be back.” Sam warned.
Ten minutes later Joyce had dialed 911 and Andrew was locked inside of the room so he would stay put until the police got there.
“I hope you are taking him straight to the hospital.” Now that his adrenalin had worn off, Sam looked like he was in a lot of pain. And the cut on his head was still bleeding. It was a shame about his hair, Joyce thought. They’d probably really would have to cut it to put the stitches in.
“Better.” Dean told her, as he put the last gun into the trunk of their car. “I’m taking him to Cas.”
“Is he a doctor?” Joyce asked, as she checked Sam’s bandage one more time.
Dean laughed, “He’s better. Look we’d better get out of here before the police show up. And Joyce when you tell your story - “
“I won’t mention you.” Joyce promised.
“You were awesome.” Sam stood up and gave her a smile that just about knocked her socks off, if she had been wearing any. He handed her a card, a different one this time that had his real name on it. “Look, if you ever need us - ”
“No offense to you or your brother, but I hope to never see you again.” Joyce said as she pocketed the card.
“Me too.” Sam smiled at her once more time and then gingerly got into the car. As Dean got into the other side she heard Sam ask him, “So what was it? What did you see in there?”
“Hey, I’m not the scardey cat,” Dean scoffed as he started the car, “As many things as you are scared of, I’m shocked you made it out there alive.”
The sound of sirens approaching muffled Sam’s response. Dean turned the car around and he waved at her just as they pulled even with her on their way down the road. Joyce could swear she heard Sam say, “Bunnies?” and then they were gone.