Step Right Up (Part Two)
Status: Part 2 of 3
Word Count: 3.9K
Category: Mini-series; Behind-the-scenes canon compliant; Mystery; On-the-case
Rating: (Older) Teen & Up
Character(s): Sam, Dean, various circus folk, special guest star
Warnings: Mild references to sexual activities; show-level violence
Author’s Note: Post-story
Overall Summary: Sam is trapped in what’s left of a burnt-down circus while attempting to assist a tormented soul, when a mysterious ringmaster arrives.
In the time it took for them to cross the threshold of the tent, she stood before him as immaculate as she must’ve been the day she died, costume perfect, make-up intact, no wound, no evidence any of the horror had ever happened. She extended a hand to him. “Come, come! I will make sure you have a seat in the front.”
Sam was hesitant, thinking it would upset her to be reminded she wasn’t exactly on the corporeal end of things, but he reached out - and found she was as solid as he. Her grip was tight as she pulled him toward the front. The dainty golden band on her finger was cool. She was warm.
“Here!” she announced, once they’d reached mid-row.
He sat, saying, “I thought this was only for clowns. I don’t, ah… I don’t want to take up someone’s seat or anything.”
“There is plenty of room. They will not mind - you are my guest! Now, let me find… find….” She had turned to face the ring as she spoke, the joy slipping away, her face crumbling into disappointment, confusion, concern as she scanned the area.
More of the rickety folding chairs, like the one on which Sam sat, in rows of four along the perimeter of the tent. The curtains on the sides of the rings, where performers would wait for their cues. Small, squatty, brightly-painted stands for the animals to perch upon when performing their tricks in the small ring to the right, the knife-throwing target and a table full of knives in the one to the left. And last, there it was, the high wire in the middle of the center ring, for her debut, the event of the night. The metal of the ladders leading up to the platforms were shiny in the glow given off by those ever-present strings of bulbs that were never-ending, powered by some unseen, otherworldly generator.
Her eyes lit on the safety net, stretched taut below the wire, and she brought a hand to her chest as she gasped, backing up, her legs bumping into the seat of the chair next to Sam, and she sunk down onto it. Sam didn’t want to push her, hurt her more than she already was, but the need to make her understand her situation trumped it. So he took the window of opportunity.
“What do you remember?” he asked, gentle a tone as he could muster.
“They would not miss this… I do not understand where they are….” She trailed off, fussing with the band on her finger, rotating it as she continued to look around, her brow furrowed in thought.
She nodded. Then she turned her head sharply to look at him, asked the same question from when they first met. “Can you help me find them?”
He gave the same answer. “I can try.” A pause. “Tell me the last time you remember seeing them.”
“I… I just ran into them, before… no. No, after I met you… and after…. after….”
Sam was surprised when she suddenly grabbed his hand, more so when, in a blink, they stood in front of the truck, across from a long wooden wagon with a narrow sign above the door frame reading FORTUNE TELLER. People milled around, but paid them no mind. Sam involuntarily gripped her hand tighter when he realized he was surrounded on all sides by clowns.
