Chapter Text
“Dude, the more research I’m doing, the more I don’t like the sound of this one.” Sam leaned back in the shitty chair in their shitty motel room, stretching his arms above his head with a frown.
Dean tilted his head out of the open bathroom door, toothbrush hanging from his mouth. “Why? I thought it was an open and shut wendigo case.”
Sam snorted. “You’re drooling toothpaste all over yourself.”
Dean looked down at his now wet shirt and shrugged, pulling it over his head. “So what’s got your panties in a knot this time?”
Rolling his eyes, Sam leaned forward in his chair again, waving vaguely at his laptop screen. “It may be nothing. But there’s been several rumors floating around online that indicate it might not be a wendigo at all.”
Now frowning himself, Dean spit into the sink and dropped his toothbrush into his bag on his way over to hover over Sam’s shoulder. “What exactly are they saying?”
Valiantly ignoring the fact that his brother’s naked chest was millimeters away from his back, Sam brought up window after window of internet pages. “There’s witnesses—who’ve all remained frustratingly anonymous—that claim they’ve seen glimpses of what’s actually out there killing people.” He paused, hesitant to actually reveal what some of them had supposedly seen.
Dean shoved Sam’s hand aside impatiently, scrolling down the topmost internet page and skimming through the information. Before Sam could successfully wrestle back control of his laptop, Dean let out a surprised bark of laughter.
“They can’t be serious!”
Sam shrugged. “There’s tons of websites all with completely different stories, Dean, but all of them include people disappearing under mysterious and suspicious circumstances. What if they know something we don’t? One of them has to be correct. We can’t just discount them, no matter how crazy it sounds.” He huffed out a breath. “Crazy is in our everyday job description.”
Dean twisted his neck to give his brother an unimpressed look. “Sam, are you serious? Did you even read this?” He cleared his throat before reading out loud in an exaggerated ghost story voice, “’There’s an abandoned amusement park in Wichita called Joyland. It’s been in disrepair for years . When the park closed its doors for the last time, Louie the animatronic clown went missing. No one knows where it ended up. They originally suspected the owner’s brother had stolen him because he was Louie’s caretaker, but they’ve never been able to prove it. Ever since the park closed, there have been rumors that Louie can be seen wandering the park, and anyone who dares to venture inside its gates is never….‘ Oh, come on, Sammy! You don’t really believe this crap, do you? This is like the worst girl scout camp ghost story I’ve ever heard!”
Shrugging, Sam minimized the window Dean had been reading from. “This account sounds a little more realistic, at least by our standards. ‘The rollercoaster was the site of a deadly accident in 1998, when the groundskeeper stood up under the track and was hit in the head by the car. The ride was immediately closed, and eventually reopened with a new name, ‘Nightmare’.’ No mention of the employee’s name anywhere.” Sam’s eyes shot back and forth across the screen, speed reading through the rest. “Blah blah blah the ride was never the same…it began to malfunction almost regularly…they eventually had to shut it down.... It says that by the time the park was nearing its final closing the rollercoaster had been so badly damaged it was eventually dismantled and parts of it were used to repair other parts of the park.”
Hearing no response from Dean, Sam leaned back and raised his eyebrows at his brother, willing him to catch on. “Angry spirit? Still attached to the ride that killed him? The ride that was dismantled and spread throughout the park?”
Dean snorted. “That’s stretching, Sam, even for us.” He opened another internet window. “’When I broke into Joyland with my friends, we never expected what happened next. My best friend disappeared, and I swear it sounds crazy, but she was carried away by some sort of shadow monster. We heard her screams echoing in the park but we never found her. The police couldn’t find her either, and the search party looked for days. Nobody believed me when I said I’d seen a creature take her. Even the friend I was with said it sounded like I was lying. My friend is still missing and nobody believes me.’” Dean smacked his hand on the table. “See, Sam? Shadowy creature. Carried away. She could hear her friend’s voice for a while, but nobody found her. It’s a wendigo.”
Humming a noncommittal sound, Sam flicked through a few more webpages, but they’d all been similarly vague stories, and all of them had been submitted anonymously.
Closing the laptop and slouching in his chair, Sam blew out a breath. “Dean, something about this just doesn’t feel right. And it’s not like we can interview anyone involved. The owner of the park is dead, the storage building where they kept all of their employment records burned down years ago, and the only fulltime employee who worked there died under the rollercoaster. Everyone else would have been temporary summer help and who knows how we could track them down without the original records?”
Dean shrugged. “Sounds like good old-fashioned casing out the joint, eh Sammy?” He elbowed his brother less-than-gently and stepped over to his bed, pulling a shirt out of his bag. “Let’s get going. We’ve got us a wendigo to fry!” Emphasizing his words pointedly, Dean pulled on his shirt and started digging through the weapons bag, making sure the usual gear was packed.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine. But we’re still bringing the salt rounds. Believe me, Dean, even if it isn’t a spirit, I’d still prefer a wendigo over an evil clown any day.”
“Ow! Son of a bitch!”
Sam snorted a laugh as his brother kicked his leg out, trying to dislodge the piece of metal stuck to his pants. All of the paths had been overgrown, so they’d been forced to traipse through the tall, unkempt grass and weeds. Both of them had been tripping over and running into hidden debris from the park, but Dean seemed to be the unluckier of the two, having found the most pieces to trip over.
Having successfully flailed enough to cause the metal shard to go flying, Dean did a full body growl. “We’re gonna need about a dozen tetanus shots when we get outta this crapfest.” Rounding on his brother, he added, “And why are there so many freakin’ buildings in this place?!”
Sam released a frustrated breath. “If you’d bothered to listen to me on the way over here, you would know that most of the buildings have collapsed or been burned down by now. There’s less than a dozen left standing. But that still leaves a few rides that had extended sections of partially covered areas, like the log flume and the mining cave. And if this area doesn’t turn up anything, there’s always the acres of woods out back we can explore….” Sam gestured for Dean to take the lead, letting his grumbling older brother choose the next structure to gingerly step through.
They’d already cautiously searched two of the buildings. Some of them had second floors, but most of the wood had rotted through and there was barely anyplace to take a step without fear of falling straight through to the ground floor. The structures that had collapsed were just piles of rotting boards, some themed characters or pieces of the rides sticking out in odd places, and patches of overgrown weeds and trees attempting to reclaim the area.
Instead of entering one of the remaining buildings, Dean led them into what looked to have been part of the town square of the tiny themed village in the center of the amusement park. He walked up to an eight foot tall weirdly shaped fiberglass structure and paused, turning to raise an eyebrow at Sam, before circling slowly around it. Sam followed warily, realizing belatedly that they were looking at a giant, fat mushroom with most of its faded paint having chipped off. Once Dean got to the other side of the mushroom, he visibly startled and immediately raised his flare gun, shouting, “Holy shit!”
Sam’s eyes widened and he aimed down the sight of his own flare gun, flanking Dean as quickly as he could. As he caught sight of what had upset Dean, he understood his brother’s reaction. Tilting his head, trying to understand what he was looking at, he glanced at Dean. “Is that a…a pig?”
Dean leaned forward and prodded at it with the end of his flare gun. It didn’t react, and he visibly relaxed his stance. “What in the hell is this thing?!”
Sam lowered his weapon, eyes taking in everything. There were two rickety shutters, one of which was hanging on by a single screw, and they were framing a window-shaped hole in the side of the mushroom. Above the window were the faded, cheerfully cursive words, “Ol’ Porky the Paper Eater”. And inside the window, in all his glory, was the remains of Ol’ Porky himself. Ol’ Porky was a wooden pig head, with huge, staring, soulless eyes that were facing slightly different directions, and at the end of its way-too-cheerful snout was a large round hole.
“It’s…is that a tube? What…?” Trying to make sense of what in God’s name was staring eerily at both of them at the same time, Sam’s perplexed gaze roved over the whole structure. The phrase “paper eater” struck him suddenly, and he leaned closer to peer into the tube in Ol’ Porky’s mouth. “Wait. Is this like a vacuum? Is this some sort of garbage can?”
Dean tore his disgusted stare away from the pig and looked at his brother for a moment. “A suction powered vacuum in a tiny theme park?” He rolled his eyes before his face broke out into a grin. “Hey, Sammy, how many guys do you think tried to stick their—”
“Oh my God, Dean, shut up now.”
Chuckling, Dean turned his back on the monstrosity and continued on his way towards one of the few standing structures, a building that was decidedly leaning more to the left than it should be. Based on the name “Whacky Shack” on the crooked sign, it was hard to tell if the building was lopsided because of the deterioration or because of its original design.
“This building is looking at us….” Dean commented offhandedly, and Sam looked up at where his brother had pointed with his flare gun. The top of the building rose into a sharp point that was reminiscent of a witch’s hat, and there were two angled windows near the top that indeed looked like glaring eyes. Complete with the dangling sign underneath them, it looked like an angry face was frowning down at them.
“I can see why the locals consider this place haunted. It seems like it was frickin’ creepy before it even closed down.”
Sam hummed in agreement, before he mentally flipped through what he’d learned online about the park. “Dean, this is the ride that has a mine shaft inside the building, and there’s apparently two stories to it. I’m not sure if the track goes underground or not, but if it does, that seems like as good a place as any for a wendigo to hide out.” They both pulled out their flashlights, and Dean caught his brother’s eye before they moved in sync towards the entrance.
Dean had only made it two steps into the doorway before the remaining loudspeakers screeched to life all around the park. Thunderously loud pipe organ and marching band instruments blasted through the speakers, sliding in and out of tune every few measures. Slamming their hands to their ears, the brothers whipped around, trying to find the source of the sound.
“What the hell is that?!”
“How is it even playing? There’s no way there’s electricity here anymore!”
The music showed no signs of stopping, and the brothers eyed each other before Dean shrugged, still yelling to be heard over the noise. “It only started playing when we started coming in here, so I’d bet that’s a sign. Not sure what that sign means, but it’s a sign of something.”
Sam uncovered his ears, resigned to the music becoming a constant companion during their search.
Taking point again, Dean started into the Whacky Shack. Just then the music cut off mid-note. The brothers froze, their ears ringing, straining to hear any unexpected noises in the sudden silence.
“Alright, that was too freakin’ weird.”
Sam couldn’t resist baiting, “Still think it’s a wendigo Dean?”
Dean turned towards his brother with a pissed off sneer. “Alright, you know what, Sam? You can—JESUS!“ Dean’s eyes widened, and he dropped his flare gun, scrambling for the gun he had tucked into the back of his jeans. Sam spun around, reaching for his own handgun, but was too late to see what was behind him before something struck him across the face, throwing him across the room. His vision faded to black to the sound of Dean shouting his name.
Sam slowly regained consciousness to the sound of organ pipes playing uncomfortably close to his ears. Frowning and twitching, trying to rid himself of the sound, he snapped fully awake upon realizing that the reason he couldn’t cover his ears was because his hands had been bound tightly together, and he was currently dangling by his wrists from the ceiling. He shifted his weight, trying to relieve the pressure on his hands and shoulders, and he could barely balance on the tips of the toes of his boots. The rope was tied too tightly for him to wriggle his hands enough to free himself.
Shifting his attention to his surroundings, he startled in realization that he was hanging up in the building he and Dean had started to explore, and that about ten feet in front of him was a massive organ taking up the entirety of the wall. At the very top it was identified as a Wurlitzer Pipe Organ, but Sam didn’t take the time to dwell on anything else after noticing that there was something sitting at the organ’s keys. Immediately upon identifying what he was looking at, Sam’s entire body stiffened, and he felt cold sweat begin to trickle down his back. Unable to look away, Sam watched frozen with apprehension as the figure sitting on the organ bench continued rocking from side to side in time with the music. The instruments in the organ kept blaring, and every so often their notes would warble and warp into something sinister and eerie for a few seconds before returning to their cheerful tune.
Just as Sam realized that there was a mirror attached to the music stand overlooking the organ’s keys, Louie the clown turned its head to stare directly at Sam’s reflection. Sam’s breath froze in his throat, and his body went completely rigid with instant terror. The animatronic clown began waving at him in the mirror, still rocking its body back and forth to the rhythm. The song began to slow down, warbling beyond all recognition, before it finally stopped with one last prolonged dissonant chord that echoed throughout the room.
In the sudden silence, Sam could hear his frantic heartbeat thudding in his ears, and he wasn’t proud of the whimper that escaped when Louie slowly spun around on the bench to face him directly. The animatronic moved agonizingly slowly to its feet, and as soon as it took its first step towards him instant panic jolted through Sam as if he’d been electrocuted.
He had to get out get out get OUT
Sam thrashed frantically, but all the good his writhing did was rubbing his wrists raw and swinging himself back and forth, the toes of his boots scraping along the floor. Meanwhile the clown kept shuffling closer, the poofy, flowy costume swaying and its ceramic shoes clacking on the hardwood floor.
It stopped just short of Sam’s personal space. The huge multicolored ruff around the clown’s neck brushed up against Sam’s heaving chest, and he violently threw his upper body backwards, scraping his boots against the ground to kick and flail his way out of its reach. Unfortunately he was strung up too high off the ground to be able to control what his body could do, and the rope forced him to stay relatively still and swing quickly back towards Louie. Frantically scrabbling at the floor with his boot tips, Sam just managed to stop his forward momentum mid-swing.
The animatronic stood motionless, simply watching Sam with its bright blue glass eyes. Louie’s head was glossy, though its shine had dulled over the years, and the painted facial features had smeared and partially worn off in places, giving the clown’s crooked, blood red grin a grotesquely twisted appearance. The only sound in the room was the soft creaking of the rope as Sam’s body trembled so hard he was practically vibrating, and the harsh panting breaths that were punching in and out of him. Between gulps for air, Sam kept trying to work his voice past the lump of fear in his throat, but he couldn’t make a single sound, not even to call for his brother.
All that changed when the clown suddenly jerked back into movement, and Sam sucked in a particularly loud terrified gasp. Louie’s facial expression remained frozen on its ceramic face, even as its realistically flesh-colored hand raised slowly towards Sam’s face. Rearing his head back as far as possible, whimpering noises escaping with every panicked exhale, Sam was finally able to force a choked sound out of his tightening throat.
“N…n-no…”
Louie’s cold ceramic hand slid across Sam’s cheek, and his body stiffened as his vision whited out. Completely immobilized by terror, Sam’s subconscious did the only thing it could.
“DEAN!”
Dean kicked down the rotting door, angrily wiping blood out of his eye from the head wound he’d received when Louie had thrown him completely through the wall of the Wacky Shack like a goddamn cartoon character. Taking only seconds to locate Sam, he aimed his gun and fired a salt round into the bastard threatening his little brother.
Louie immediately crashed to the floor, and Dean made his way over to his brother, a concerned frown on his face. Something was wrong. “Sammy?”
It seemed that once Sam had forced his brother’s name out, a switch had been flipped. Between each rasp for breath, he was repeating no no no and stuttering Dean’s name over and over again, seemingly unable to stop.
“Sam? Hey, Sam, he’s gone. It’s me.” Dean brushed the hair out of Sam’s face, trying to get him to focus on him, but his brother’s eyes were glazed over and unseeing and Sam flinched violently away from the contact, voice rising in volume and desperation as he repeatedly called out Dean’s name between gasps for air. “Sam! Dude, take a breath! You’re gonna pass out!”
Dean debated whether to leave his oblivious brother hanging for a few more minutes or to cut him down. It was obvious Sam was too far gone in his head to even realize Dean was there, and that gave Dean a twinge of panic of his own, but he tamped it down for now. He was (begrudgingly) sure it really was a spirit they were dealing with, and the salt rounds would only work for so long before the bastard came back for round two. Not wanting to startle his brother into an even worse panic attack, he avoided his usual tactile comfort of patting him on the shoulder before turning away to start searching the room for what the spirit could be connected to.
“Alright, Sammy. Just gonna check over Chuckles here, see if there’s anything….” Dean turned the animatronic over and pulled at the costume, but nothing stood out to him. “I’ll just be on the other side of the room, Sam. Be right back.” He headed over to the Wurlitzer organ that sat ominously staring down at them. Pleading with whomever would listen that it wouldn’t be a random instrument hidden inside that he’d have to dig for, Dean started by checking over the wooden bench the clown would sit on while “playing” the organ. As he moved to the front of the seat, he noticed that the spot for the clown to sit on wasn’t painted the same color as the rest of it. Bending down for a closer look, he realized that there was something carved in it.
“’Roller Coaster Car 1’, huh? Clever, guys.” Rolling his eyes at the lack of imagination that went into naming the ride, he peered around the room for a crowbar or something to wrench the piece of wood off the seat. “Really? A whole park of wreckage and there’s not one damned…” He trailed off, eyeing the bench, then shrugged, picking the whole thing up. Thankfully it wasn’t too heavy, and Dean headed straight for the window and dropped it carelessly down to the ground. Pulling the weapons bag off his shoulder, he grabbed the salt and lighter fluid, pouring both out the window.
Hearing scraping sounds from his left, he yanked the lighter out of his pocket and snapped it open, quickly lighting it and dropping it onto the clown’s bench. Just as it lit in an impressive little fireball, he turned to see that Louie had started to stand up, only to seize grotesquely, enveloped in flames, before the spirit dissipated and the clown was left behind in a heap of ripped tatters and rusted metal. It was apparent that the spirit had been keeping some semblance of normalcy to Louie’s appearance, and Dean noted in disgust that the paint on the clown’s face had almost completely worn off, leaving just the glass eyes staring out of a blank ceramic face.
Kicking the thing out of the way, Dean moved back in front of Sam. By now his eyes were fluttering on the edge of unconsciousness, and his power of speech had been reduced back to soft whimpers in between pathetic gasps for breath. “Sam? Hey, it’s gone now. Sam . Come on, man, snap out of it. Sammy!” Dean was seriously starting to freak out. Sam had never had a reaction this bad before, and certainly not one that had lasted this long.
“Okay, kiddo, let’s get you down now.” Sam didn’t acknowledge Dean at all, nor did he react when Dean wrapped a supportive arm around Sam’s back. Biting his lip as anxiety shot through him anew, he flipped his knife out and sawed through the rope. Sam came loose with a soft groan, legs completely unsupportive and his full body weight crashed into his brother. Dean staggered for a moment, valiantly trying to keep Sam upright, but ultimately both brothers fell heavily to their knees.
Dean grimaced from the hard landing, but quickly sucked it up and ignored the twinge in both kneecaps. He pushed Sam’s limp shoulders backwards to peer at his face. “Sam? Hey, you in there?” With a gentle shake, Dean tried to bring Sam’s awareness back to reality. “Sammy. Hey, come on, man. Slow it down. You’re gonna pass out at this rate. Sam? You hearin’ me?”
Well past concerned, Dean shifted his grip on his brother to support him in one arm. He rested the other hand over Sam’s rapidly heaving chest, feeling his lungs stuttering. “Sam. I’ve got you. Sammy? You’re missing the mother of all chick flick moments here. Just breathe with me, okay?” He started rubbing his hand gently over his brother’s frantic heartbeat.
Trying not to panic at the lack of response, Dean clenched his fist and gave Sam a firm sternal rub, hoping this would jar him into awareness. After no reaction, he tried again, and this prompted a breathy moan and a flicker of discomfort on Sam’s otherwise checked out expression. “There you go. Come on.” Changing tactics, Dean switched hands and gently slapped Sam’s cheek, desperate to rouse his brother. “Alright, Sam, come back now. Sam? Whoa --SHIT!”
Dean scrambled to catch his little brother as Sam finally lost his grip on consciousness and went completely limp, nosediving straight to the floor. “Dammit, Sam!” Heaving his brother back up and resting his head in the crook of his arm, he used the other hand to check for a pulse. Relieved to find Sam’s heart beating strongly, steadily slowing from its previous racing, he also took note of Sam’s evening out breaths. He lowered his head to his brother’s chest for a moment, giving himself time to let his own nerves settle.
“Alright, Sammy. You take a break now.” He gently lowered his brother’s unconscious body to the floor, brushing his hair out of his face. “I’ll take care of Tim Curry over here so you don’t try to pull another oxygen-free moment.”
Not waiting for a response he knew he wasn’t going to get, he got to his feet and kicked the remains of the animatronic clown over towards the window. Gathering its now ragged frame up, Louie’s ceramic head fell backwards and folded the whole clown body in half. Dean grimaced in disgust. “Think I’ve got a better idea now of what Sam finds creepy about you assholes.” He dropped the body unapologetically out the window. Taking a certain pleasure out of salting and soaking the clown with lighter fluid, he watched with satisfaction as the whole thing caught fire with an impressive whoosh.
A shuffling sound to his left struck Dean with sudden déjà vu, and as he turned to look from the smoldering remains outside the window to make sure there wasn’t another unwelcome visitor, he heard a familiar groan. Sam’s head rolled from side to side a few times as he started to regain consciousness, and as Dean started towards him, he saw Sam’s face twitch into a frown. Dean rushed the rest of the way to his brother’s side just as Sam’s breathing quickened and he sat bolt upright with a shout.
“Dean!”
“Whoa, hey, you’re okay Sammy, I’m right here.” Dean gripped Sam’s upper arms, trying to gain eye contact with his wide eyed, panting brother. “Sam, slow it down or you’re going to pass out again. Sam!” He shook Sam once, and his brother’s gaze finally caught onto his. “Hey. You hearin’ me?”
Sam shuddered hard, his eyes breaking away to dart around the room. Dean shook him again, more gently this time. “Sammy. Hey. It’s gone. I burned the bitch. Just you and me now, okay little brother?”
The endearment seemed to calm something in Sam, and he sagged forwards, completely exhausted. His forehead landed on Dean’s shoulder, and his body gave another weak tremble.
Dean kept one hand under Sam’s arm, and used the other one to grip Sam’s neck. “Just breathe, Sam. I’ve got you.” He tilted his head to the side to peek over at his brother’s face. “Hey. You with me now?”
Sam nodded into Dean’s shoulder, then pushed himself upwards. Dean was relieved to note that Sam’s breathing had slowed down to mostly normal, but Sam was pointedly avoiding making eye contact. Barely suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Dean squeezed the back of Sam’s neck before sliding his hand up to the side of his face. “Sam.”
Sam glanced up at Dean, then quickly away, scowling lightly.
Dean did roll his eyes at that. “Come on, Sam. I’m not gonna laugh at you.”
Sam finally made eye contact with his brother, but only to give him a look of complete skepticism.
Unable to keep the grin off his face, Dean amended, “Well…not today, anyway.”
Sam scrubbed his hands over his face. “Ugh, shut up, Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
There was a comfortable silence between them, before Dean clapped his hand on Sam’s cheek none-too-gently. Sam squawked indignantly, slapping Dean’s hand away, and Dean laughed as he got to his feet and helped his brother up.
Watching Dean repack the weapons bag, Sam smirked. “…I knew it wasn’t a wendigo.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“I’m never gonna let you live it down….”
“Alright, that’s it.” Dean threw the heavy duffel roughly into Sam’s stomach and turned his back on his brother’s startled whoosh of air. He headed down the stairs to the exit without bothering to make sure Sam was following him.
Sam threw the bag’s strap over his shoulder before rushing to catch up to his brother, an unrepentant smile on his face the whole time.
Dean didn’t slow his speed, not even when he exited the building and strode off through the darkened remains of the amusement park towards where they’d left the Impala. “Sympathy time is over.” Dean turned his head to continue yelling over his shoulder. “I mean it, Sam. Expect no mercy from me. I’ve got a list.”
Sam huffed an unimpressed scoff. This ought to be good.
“Oh, yeah,” Dean continued. “I’ve had years to come up with this stuff, but never really had a reason to inflict it on you.” Dean turned back to his brother, walking backwards with a glare. “Yet.”
Sam shot him a bitchface. “Really, Dean?”
“Yup!” Dean popped the ‘p’ before spinning back around to watch where he was going. Gingerly stepping over the frame of one of the collapsed rides, he called back over his shoulder, “I’m gonna make a mix tape of the IT soundtrack and play it in the Impala every day. I’ll even keep balloons inside my Baby just for you, and I’m gonna tape Tim Curry’s face to your side of the dashboard.”
By now Sam could hear the smile in his voice, and he fought to keep his own composure.
“Oh, I’m serious, Sammy. Prepare to have pictures of clowns bombarding you every day from now on, little brother. Hell, I’m gonna wake you up every day this month in clown makeup.”
Unable to hold it back any longer, a snort of laughter escaped from Sam.
Dean, meanwhile, didn’t once break stride as he continued listing new horrible things to do to Sam in retaliation, turning around to walk backwards for a few steps when he’d suggest each one. “I’m gonna stop at every McDonald’s we drive by for the next year. I’m gonna record calliope music on my phone and play it at all hours of the night. I’m gonna make sure to buy you every clown doll I can find, and you’re gonna have so many of them hiding everywhere you’ll be finding them in all the pockets of your pants.”
By now Sam was laughing so hard he was having trouble keeping upright, staggering left and right under the weight of the bag that was still hanging over his shoulder.
Not even bothering to hide his shit eating grin, Dean slowed his pace to allow Sam to catch up with him. Throwing his arm around Sam’s shoulder in a false moment of camaraderie, he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “I’m going to buy a clown mask and put it on the pillow next to your face every night so it’s the first thing you see when you wake up.”
Sam shoved him away, still chuckling, as they reached the Impala. “You’re such a jerk.”
Faking a look of hurt, Dean opened the trunk so Sam could dump the weapons bag inside. “Don’t be a bitch, Sammy.”
Sam rolled his eyes as they climbed inside the car. “Are you done yet?”
Dean shrugged, smirk back in place, and started back to their motel.
“You know, you think about clowns way too often for it to be healthy, Dean. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“I’m gonna hire a clown for your birthday, Sammy. Just you wait.”