Responding with, 'Where the hell would you get that' to a bat is a stupid thing to say. How was I supposed to know they had an emergency kit in the trunk? And even if I did, holy water wouldn't be at the top of my list. So I stand at the circus entrance watching Tim skedaddle to the car and rummage through to come back with three Dasani water bottles.
" How do you make sure you don't drink it by accident?" I feel the need to ask.
Tim shrugs, " It's not like it would hurt us if we did. Though none of us drink Dasani water anyway, so even if we did forget, we would be less likely to drink it;" He looks at me with a crazed expression, reminding me of Wes's face whenever he'd bring up the Fenton–Phantom conspiracy, " I swear whatever they do to that water makes it gross."
" I don't know; it's never really bothered me," I say with a shrug, "I'd just take what I could get."
Tim waves a water bottle in front of my face, " you ready?"
I look around the grounds to see it full of people, " not here; it's too crowded." Then, finally, my eyes wander over to a deserted corner, and I gesture, " Why don't we try over there?"
Tim just nods, and we head over. The closer we get to the area comes a wretched stench. 'Of course, the only unoccupied area is behind the porta-potties.' Tim unscrews the water bottle and starts to pour without even warning me. Just before the water hits me, I yank my arm back and exclaim, "Wait!"
" What?" he questions, " I thought you wanted to test it."
"Yeah, but not on my arm." Did the smell of cotton candy make him lose all his brains? I pinch at my eyes and huff, "What if somebody saw us come over here, and the water does work? What if it leaves a mark? It can't be somewhere someone would easily see."
Tim crosses his arms and says with an exasperated tone, "Where do you suggest I pour it then?"
I wordlessly pull up my pant leg and gesture for him to get with it. I sharply inhale as the water hits my skin. It doesn't hurt per se, but it stings. It's like the leftover sensation of a hard slap or a limb going numb. It starts in one place, where the water hits, radiating outwards until it feels like pins and needles are prodding my skin.
"That's enough," I hurriedly tell him, and he stops the flow of water. The pain recedes as soon as he stops, and the feeling from the water droplets running down my leg lessens to a tingle.
Tim spews out, "How was it? Was it bad? Does it hurt? Does it not hurt?"
" I'd give it a three out of 10. it doesn't hurt, but you can feel it."
He closes up the water bottle, having used about a quarter of it, and asks, "Do you think it'll be any help against Showenhower?"
" Honestly, It depends. It might make the weaker ones back off, but it would be a bit more than an annoyance for the others."
"So no good then?"
" I didn't say that. If they have ghosts under their control, I don't want to hurt them. They'd be innocent in all this."
" But Danny, what if we don't have a choice?"
" There is always a choice. If things get out of hand, can you get the others to leave it to me?"
" There is no way Bruce will agree to that."
"That's why Im not asking Bruce; I'm asking you."
" Danny–"
" I don't want anyone to get hurt," I tell him seriously, " but if things go south and if someone makes a wrong move–"
" We're all highly trained; we can handle this," Tim tries to reassure.
I look into his eyes; I can see his conviction, " fine," I say, giving in, " but if it gets to be too much–"
" Which it won't," he interjects.
" Pull back."
Tim opens his mouth to argue again when an unnatural crackle sounds off in the air. A husky voice says, " Last call for all wandering Ghouls and Ghosts to head to the big top as our performance is about to begin. You have five minutes to find your seats," then another crackle sounds, marking the end of the announcement. We look at each other and rush off toward the big top.
To say finding the others was a hassle would be a lie.
Everyone besides the people still lined up at the vendors has already headed on inside. Standing a ways away from the entrance are the others. Their backs are turned to us when we arrive, so none of them see us when Dick cries out, "This is blasphemous!"
I stop Tim from announcing us and give him a smirk as I creep up behind Dick. I stand on the tips of my toes and whisper in his ear, with a hint of ghosts speak in my voice, and ask, "W̷̜͛h̶̨̄ȧ̴̗t̸̠̑'̵̹̽s̶̊ͅ ̷͇͐b̵̌ͅl̸̲͗a̷̗̕ş̵͠p̶̟̈́h̶̛̤e̷̺͆m̴̼̔ọ̶̃u̵̖̕ṡ̵̡?" causing the man to shriek and whip around to face me.
"Don't do that!" Dick exclaims as soon as he sees it's me.
I can't help it as laughter comes tumbling out, "You should have seen your face!" My laughter soon dies as Captain Furry catches my eye. "Come on," I say defensively, " I was just trying to joke."
"A mission is no place to joke," Bruce says in a low voice.
" Yeah, but this isn't a mission," I say slowly with a raised eyebrow, " this is a family outing."
" You've got to admit, B, it was funny. But did you see the look on Dickfaces face? I wish the replacement had his camera that could have been the family's Christmas card," says Jason.
" We're Jewish," says Damien.
"Huh, I didn't know that; you'll learn new things every day," says Jason in a mock surprised tone.
"Can we just go in now," says Tim, " the show starts in a minute."
Bruce looks at his watch, stares at each of us before looking back between Jason and me, and says defeatedly, "Will you two at least attempt to behave?"
"Scouts Honor," we both say In tangent, causing him to huff and make his way towards the Big Top.
Damien nudges my shoulder, "You were a scout?"
I just smile, "Nope."
As we walk into the tent, we start hearing the sounds of the circus. There's music playing, like an eerie music box, similar to that weird startup in Melanie Martinez's songs.
Standing in the middle of the entrance is a clown.
Not one of those happy-go-lucky ones that you see at most circuses, oh no. My eyes stay trained on Dick as I watch him trip over Air at the sight of it. This one's bald; their exposed skin is painted white. Its eyes are red, but no glow in sight. Its eyelids and under eyes are dark, bruised purple. Triangles are painted from his eyebrows until the middle of his forehead, though it could be farther up as it's without hair. I can't really tell. It looks like its skull has been stitched together by wire and zippers. Between the openings is skin that looks flayed, still oozing with blood. However, parts of it look to be old as some places have pus. Its mouth is open wide in an all-teeth smile, worse than the Jokers. It's wearing a two-piece jumpsuit of red and black. It's adorned with tiny skulls and splatters of red. As I get closer, I can tell it's not a design but some kind of blood. Parts of it look rusted over, and I can smell him as I walk by.
He reeks of death.
I watch as he snaps at people as they walk by, having a hand stretched out with long cracked fingernails, just barely coming in contact with the circus patrons. He moves closer every once in a while to the guests that have food snapping at them. One might say he was making a joke, that's what clowns are supposed to do, after all, but its eyes are ravenous.
A call of "Wait" is yelled from behind me. I look back to see the rest of the family still standing there.
I turn around," You guys coming?"
While Bruce, Damien, and Tim look fine, Dick and Jason both look like they're going through the five stages of grief all at once. Damien pulls Dick by the arm to get him moving. Each step he takes is fumbled as he reluctantly goes with him.
Jason, on the other hand, won't budge.
I turn to Dami and Dick, "Why don't you two go find our seats? I'll be up with them in a second," and walk over to the others without waiting for their reply. When I get to him, his eyes flash back in forth between blue and dark toxic green.
" what's wrong?" I ask.
He talks low and fast, but all I can make out is, " ..Those fuckin, mother fuckin clown– joker soul wannabe–" I can feel his emotions; sorrow– sorrows–fear–anger–anger–fear radiating off of him.
"Can I help?" I ask.
"Danny, I don't think–" Tim starts, but I cut him off.
" Jason," I say, trying to push calm–safe at him, "I can help, but only if you let me."
"Hmm," 'What do you mean? How can you help?' Demands Bruce.
I don't answer him.
"Jason," I say one more time, prodding a response.
It takes a moment for him to find my eyes, " How?"
"I can take your anger, your fear, not all but some, and redirect it," I say, causing Bruce to stiffen beside me, " it'll help you calm down. I'll only do it if you say so; if you don't want it, I won't. One of us can always walk you out."
Jason's eyes leave mine and look over my shoulder towards the clown, they stay like that for a moment, but his eyes eventually make their way back to mine, "Do it."
I gently take both of his hands and pull. I watch his eyes fade from green back to Blue, and his body sags in relief.
"Jaylad–"
" I'm fine," he says, " let's just find our seats."
I take Jason by the arm, trusting the other two to follow behind. I make sure I'm between him and the clown. We spot Damien and Dick in the crowd and make our way over, but we never lose the stare of the clown. Once we get there, not a word is said, but a look of understanding passes between Dick and Jason. Bruce and Tim sit down just in time as the lights dim.
A crack of a mic sounds from overhead, and a hissy voice says, "Welcome Ghouls and Ghosts to Circus Gothica! A place for all your nightmares to come true."
The Spotlight dances around overhead, going across the crowd until it finally stops in the center of the ring. They're caped and hooded. They have a staff in hand.
"Are you ready for your nightmares?" They cackle, "Because they're ready to meet you."
At the end of the words comes a bang the lights go out. The lights come back flickering, and screams are heard throughout the tent. Clowns are running throughout the stands, snarling at those they pass. Until every stairway has a clown standing right in front of it. Three in each stairway, one at the top, one in the middle, and one at the end trapping everyone in their seats.
"Oh, you thought they'd be in the ring?" The hissy voice says, laughing, "Don't worry, your nightmares are only beginning." People come from the sides of the tent and go spewing into the ring. They look almost Normal, but things like their walk would be off, their movements aren't fluid, it's like they're a puppet on a string.
" uh," Dick starts hesitantly, "We've got a problem."
Our attention turns to him, " what is it?" Tim asks.
" Those people, they're not from here."
" What do you mean, Richard?" demands Damien.
"Do you guys remember how I was out most of the day with Babs, the day Danny came home?"
"Yeah?" says Jason.
"We went to a carnival; they were only in Gotham for two weeks, so we went on the last day. That contortionist," he says, pointing to a woman crawling about on the floor towards the ringmaster, " The one in the purple leotard, the one with rhinestones, she was there. Her outfit is the same."
"Do you recognize any of the others?" asks Bruce.
"The man juggling fire. There's something wrong with them; they're not moving right. they're skinnier than they should be; they look like they lost 20 lbs in a few weeks."
" Their eyes," Damien cuts in, " have you noticed? They're red."
Their heads swivel to me as of asking for an exclamation when the hissy voice speaks again, "Who's ready to join us in the ring," They take off their cape and hood to reveal a head full of spiky black hair and red eyes. The clothing is a mixture between out of Catwoman and a dominatrix, and they're covered in tattoos that stand out against their dark glowing green skin, Behold a glowing red scepter in their hand as they say, " I am Lydia, the ringmaster of circus Gothica, and I'll be taking care of you this evening."
" Fuck."