Not Just the Family Business

Carnies

"A killer clown?" Bee asked. "Are you kidding me?"

"Listen no one is more upset about this than Sammy," Dean said as he drove us. "Isn't that right? He used to cry when Ronald McDonald commercials would come on TV."

"At least I'm not afraid of flying." Sam and I had divided the folder and were cross-referencing research.

I chuckled. "You're afraid of flying?"

"Planes crash," Dean said.

"And apparently clowns kill," Sam said. "By ripping parents to pieces and leaving kids unharmed."

"Sound like every kid's nightmare," I said.

Bee cleared her thought. "This was at a carnival right? How do we know it's not just a Carnie in a clown costume?

"The folder says the cops have no leads. The carnival was packing up to leave town, so all the employees were tearing down equipment. Everyone has an alibi," I said.

"Besides, the girl says she saw the clown vanish into thin air. The cops say it's trauma, of course," Sam added.

Dean frowned. "Could be something. These murders ever happen before?"

"According to the file, 1981, Bunker Brothers Circus. Same M.O.," Sam said.

I reread the page I had. "Three deaths all at different locales, which makes a poltergeist nearly impossible."

"It could be attached to a cursed object that would help it move from town to town," Sam said.

"What are we going to do? Check every single object at the carnival?" Bee asked.

Dean sighed. "Why did we even take this job?"

"I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do," Sam said, tension rising in the rusty, confined space of the van.

"What Dad would have wanted?" Dean's voice was on the verge of shouting.

"Yeah. So?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nothin'."

There was a lot of silence in the car for a while. Eventually, Bee fell asleep. I couldn't help but notice that she had nursed two different flasks for most of the ride. Sam slowly dozed, too, the file still open on his lap.

"So, what's your story?" Dean asked.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Couldn't I ask you the same thing?"

"Ask away. I'm an open book," Dean said.

I eyed him skeptically in the rearview mirror. "John was your dad, right?"

Dean's jaw tightened. "He was. He's the one that taught us to hunt."

"My parents knew your dad. That's how I know Ellen." I returned my focus to the files. "They all used to hunt together before we were born."

"How long have you been in the business?" Dean asked.

I pursed my lips. "Probably since I was five or six. That's when Mom let Dad teach me how to use a gun. How about you?"

"I was four when this demon killed my mom," Dean said.

Images flashed across my eyes. I squeezed them shut to press them down. "I'm so sorry."

"I feel worse for Sam. He was only six months old. He never got to know her." Dean drew in a deep breath. "How about Bianca? Is she your sister?"

"No, but we were basically raised like sisters," I said. "Our parents both hunted together. They stayed together after the falling out with your dad and Ellen. We traveled all over with them. It was a different life, but we survived."