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FIC: Carnival of Souls (3/10)
Title: Carnival of Souls (Part Three)
Rating: Adults Only (rating is for violence)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: None (Dean, Sam, John - no 'cest, just the wonderful fucked-up family we all love)
Warnings: The story might get gory in the later chapters.
Summary: Pre-Series fic. Sam left his family to get away from the world of demons and ghosts. But when that world follows him to Stanford, Sam does the one thing he swore he'd never do: he calls his father.
Disclaimer: You don't seriously think I own Supernatural, do ya?
Previous Chapters: Part One | Part Two
CARNIVAL OF SOULS
Part Three
Friday Morning
Pages from the file Sam put together were spread all over the floor and both of the beds. Dean stood in the middle of it all, sorting through the information while he waited for Sam to come back from his date at the library.
Sammy did a thorough job with his investigation; Dean thought even John would be impressed. There was very little in the Palo Alto news articles to indicate a supernatural element was at work, but Sammy kept digging until he'd found it. Dean picked up a newspaper clipping with an article about a missing girl. Like most of the other articles, the newsprint bore multiple smudges from Sam's fingers. He wondered how often Sammy read and re-read all of these articles before he tried to call their father.
Why hadn't Dad picked this up? It was true that there was nothing in the articles themselves that hinted at a supernatural element, but Dean, unlike his little brother, knew that anything happening in Palo Alto would ping John's radar. A year earlier, John found an article about two fatalities in a car wreck near Stanford. There was one quote, just one, that implied the accident might not have been the kids' joy ride it appeared to be. On the strength of that and nothing more, John had insisted they hit the road. John was alert for any hint of the supernatural near Sammy...or any excuse to come here and see his son. From a distance, of course. It was always from a distance. Sam had no idea John Winchester had ever been in Palo Alto.
Dean had no plans to enlighten him.
The door opened and Dean looked up. He relaxed when he saw it was Sam and grinned when he saw the coffee tray and brown bag his brother was carrying.
"About time, Sammy! I'm starving!" He stretched out his good hand for a coffee.
"Dude, put that stuff away. Mark could be back any time."
Dean gathered up the papers and pushed them untidily into the folder; the cast on his hand made him fumble. He couldn't wait to get the damn thing off. He'd never realised how much he used his left hand until he couldn't...and it freaking itched. Lesson learned: never stand on chairs while hung over.
Sam handed him the bag and a coffee. Dean sat on Sam's bed and opened the bag. It contained a chunky toasted sandwich, still warm, swimming in melted cheese. Perfect.
Dean took a big bite. "I don't see how," he began with his mouth full, "you connected this carnival to the deaths in Florida and Washington."
Sam seemed to be concentrating very hard on prising the plastic lid off his coffee cup. He didn't answer.
"Come on, dude. This thing in Washington...there was a carnival there, too, but it's not the same one. And in the Florida incident there's nothing. No carnival, no circus..."
"It was a Monster Trucks rally."
Dean raised his eyebrows. "Monster Trucks? Seriously? So what's the connection?"
"I don't want to tell you yet."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded.
"I'll explain when you've seen the carnival," Sam said firmly.
Dude, you always hate it when Dad pulls the need-to-know thing. Why're you doing it to me? Dean stared at Sam for a moment, but he was used to this from their father. Sammy must have a reason for this secrecy, irritating as it was. Dean shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich. "Well, let's go."
But Sam shook his head, setting his coffee down on the desk. "I've got a lecture in half an hour. You can go ahead without me if you like, but I'd rather meet you after my class."
Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sammy always thought school was more important than hunting, but this was his hunt! "A lecture? Skip it."
"No!" Sam looked so shocked you’d think Dean had suggested blowing up the lecture hall or something.
Dean put the sandwich down and advanced on Sam. "Hey. You wanna hunt this thing, or – "
Sam stood up straight, forcing Dean to look up at him. His eyes were determined. "I'm done hunting, Dean. I mean it. I'm trying to build a life here. A future. Without y– without Dad and his crazy obsessions."
Without you. Dean heard it, loud and clear. Well fuck, if that was how Sammy felt... "What’s the deal here, Sammy? You call for help, but the dangerous stuff is up to me? I never took you for a coward." Dean turned his back on Sam, stalking over to the window.
Behind him, he heard Sam say, "I'm not a coward. I'm just not skipping my class."
Dean didn't turn around. "Whatever, dude," he said dismissively. He wanted to provoke Sam.
Sam was silent for a moment. Dean heard him moving stuff, but stayed where he was, staring out of the window, seeing nothing.
Then he heard the door open again. "One o'clock. I'll meet you outside," Sam said. "Don't forget to lock my door."
The keys hit Dean squarely in the middle of his back. The door slammed, and Dean was alone again.
By twelve-thirty, Dean had calmed down, finished his breakfast and cold coffee, met Sammy's roommate (football jock – dull as a rusty blade despite his apparently fine taste in movies) and was sitting in the Impala outside the building where Sam was still in his lecture. It was almost like they were kids again; Dean waiting in the car for Sammy to finish school. But they weren't kids, and Dean was still smarting from the blow Sammy delivered back in his room. So hunting was crazy, was it? Dad was crazy? Until Sam needed help, that was. Fuck you, Sammy. What's crazy is letting this stuff go on all around you and doin' nothing.
The view was nice, at least. Three girls walked by, two blondes and a redhead, laughing among themselves. Dean turned the music up as Pink Floyd declared We don't need no education... The sudden blast of sound made the redhead turn toward the Impala. She saw Dean watching her and smiled his way. Dean returned her smile, but she didn't stop to chat. Well, he wasn't in the mood anyway.
Dean pulled out his cellphone and called his father. John answered on the second ring.
"Hey, Dad, it's me. How's the poltergeist?"
"Feisty," John grunted. "What about you?"
"There's definitely something here," Dean reported, watching the redhead's ass as she walked away. "Sammy did some good research. There's a travelling carnival that seems to be the centre of it. We're about to check it out."
"Any idea what we're facing?"
"No, sir. I can rule some things out from Sam's groundwork. It's not a spirit. It doesn't leave much of its victims behind so I'm thinkin' it's a creature of some sort. Hungry. I can tell you more after I've done some recon."
"Good. Recon only, Dean. Remember – "
"No hunting until you get here," Dean repeated obediently. "Yes, sir."
"Call me later."
"I will." Dean saw Sam emerging from the building in a crowd of students. He ended the call hurriedly.
The girl Dean remembered from the night before was at Sam's side. She was really cute: African-American, her hair braided into tight cornrows, lovely pouty lips... Dean had been getting somewhere before Sam interrupted them. Sam claimed she was gay...not a chance. Sammy had to be yanking his chain.
Dean caught the end of their conversation as the approached the Impala.
"...don't know, Rache," Sam was saying. "I really don't have time for – "
"What are you, a eunuch?" Rachel sounded exasperated. "C'mon, Sam. You said you think she's sexy. She wants to meet you. And you'd rather study?"
"I didn't say that!" Sam protested.
Dean grinned to himself. You go, girl!
Rachel nodded. "Fine, then it's settled. Saturday night."
"Sounds like an offer you can't refuse, Sammy," Dean smirked.
Sam glared at him. "It's Sam."
Oh, sorr-ee. Dean smiled at Rachel. "You free Saturday, sweetheart?"
She smiled back. "Sorry, I have a date." She looked him up and down appraisingly. "Bet I could find someone for you, though."
Sam opened the car door. "Dean," he said warningly.
Dean sighed. "Yeah, Sam, I know." To Rachel he added, "Saturday, then?"
Sam climbed into the car. "She's not gonna sleep with you, dude."
"Yeah, you told me, college boy. Can we go now?" Dean started the engine.
The carnival filled a field just outside town. An adjoining field was being used as a parking lot. Dean found a space for the Impala under a tree. He checked his gun before they left. He half-expected Sam to argue with him packing the gun, but Sam said nothing.
The carnival seemed just like any other. Loud fairground music filled the air, competing with the shouts of the carnies reeling in the marks and the laugher of children. The smells of hot dogs, cotton candy and butter drifted through the air. There were the usual collection of rides for the kids: a helter-skelter, merry-go-rounds, a funhouse and a ghost train, a huge Ferris-wheel...nothing out of the ordinary at all.
"So," Dean said as they walked toward the carnival, "are you gonna spill the big secret?"
"It's not a secret, Dean, but you've got to trust me. There's a reason I haven't told you yet."
"What reason?"
But Sam was already striding ahead.
Damn it, Sammy! Dean hurried to catch up with him. They passed a line of kiosks with the usual fairground games: people throwing hoops or balls to win cheap toys and stuffed animals. Dean spotted a shooting range, though, and thought he might try that out later. Girls were always so impressed by a guy who could shoot straight.
Sam stopped beside the towering helter-skelter. "This is the last place the first victim was seen."
Dean looked around. On his left a tall lattice fence separated him and Sammy from the small crowd of parents and children lining up to pay for their fun. The bored-looking kid taking their money sat in a kiosk painted with orange and green stripes. On the right was the red, white and blue canvas of the big-top tent. Where they stood, Dean saw nothing out of the ordinary.
"What do you see, Dean?" Sam asked. He was watching Dean intently, as if he expected some reaction.
"Nothin'," Dean answered truthfully. "Except that kiosk should be declared illegal. Orange and green?"
Sam wasn't smiling. "Look at the ground."
What for? Dean looked down. The ground beneath their feet was green grass, somewhat trampled, a few patches of bare earth showing through. There was some litter around the edges: candy wrappers, discarded snow cones and cigarette butts. There were a few small flowers or weeds around the edges. He looked more closely, seeking signs of sulphur or scorch marks, ectoplasm...anything. "What am I supposed to be seeing, Sammy?"
Sam stepped closer to the lattice fence and crouched down. "Okay, now feel it," he said. No one else would have picked up the little tremor in his voice, but to Dean he sounded worried or nervous.
"Dude, what are you talking about?" But as soon as Dean knelt beside Sam and touched the ground, he understood. The grass close to the fence wasn't trampled, so it should have felt cool and supple under his hand. But what his fingers encountered was hard and dry. Dead grass.
Dean grasped a handful of grass and pulled. It came away easily. The blades of grass changed before his eyes from green to grey-brown. Dean closed his fist and the grass crumbled.
He stared at Sam, momentarily speechless.
"You see it now, don't you?"
Dean looked from Sam to the ground at their feet. He saw nothing green any longer. It was as if all the colour, all the life, drained from the scene before his eyes. Everything: the grass, the flowers, was dead.
"I see it," Dean said. His voice came out unevenly and he cleared his throat. "Dead ground." He dropped the grass he was holding, rubbing his hands on his pants and straightened up.
Sam stood, too. "Once you've seen it, the illusion stays broken," Sam explained. "That's why I couldn't tell you earlier. You had to see it for yourself, man."
"Yeah...I get that." What the hell could do this? Dean swallowed against the pit of fear beginning to build inside him. "Sammy...how did you manage to see this?"
"When the first kid went missing I did some digging." Sam smiled a little. "Old habits, I guess." He began to walk, still talking. "I didn't really expect to find anything, but...well, I found the stories about what happened in Washington. One detail that struck me was the state of the field when the carnival left. Some local environmentalists made a real fuss about it. I thought, maybe there would be some signs here. Once I touched it, like you did..."
Dean could feel the dead grass now, crunching beneath his boots.
"Dean, I've read about some things that can befoul the earth, but...what could hide it like this?"
Dean shrugged, hoping the casual gesture would hide how freaked out he was feeling. "Dude, I have no idea. It's got to be a spell of some kind, a glamour. It's damned powerful to affect all of these people at once." He looked around them, trying to see the extent of the effect. Then he looked up. "Sammy, let's ride the Ferris wheel."
"What? Why?"
"'Cause the view from up there will be somethin' to see."
Dean bought them a pair of hot dogs with all the trimmings. Sam paid for them to get on the Ferris wheel. The wheel was about eighty feet high, covered with coloured lights that would probably be spectacular by night. By day it looked dull, the white paint chipped and the red plastic seats faded by sunlight.
They finished their dogs while waiting in line. Finally, they clambered into one of the faded seats and allowed the attendant to lower the safety rail, locking them in. Dean hated that.
"So..." he grinned at Sam, "that Rachel chick..."
The Ferris wheel began to move, slowly, then stopped to let the next load of passengers aboard.
Sam sighed. "Not again. Dean, if you want to hook up, I'll point you to the nearest party. I'm sure you'll find more than your share of sorority girls in search of a bit of rough."
"I can hook up without your help. But you...were you turning down a date?"
"Oh. That."
Dean knew he'd needled Sammy. "Spill it, dude," he ordered with satisfaction.
Sam shook his head. "It's nothing. Rache has been trying to fix me up since – " He broke off as the wheel moved again, raising them higher. "Never mind."
"So why are you turning her down?" Dean pressed. They weren't yet high enough to see everything.
Sam looked at him. "Because Dad's coming. That's not gonna put me in a party mood."
Dean remembered Sam's without you from earlier. "Do you hate" (me) "Dad that much?" he asked, damned sure he didn't want to hear the answer.
"No! I don't hate him. I hate that he refuses to respect my life. My choices."
The Ferris wheel moved again and they were at the top. Dean glanced down at the field below them. He thumped Sam's arm. "Dude, check it out."
Sam looked down. So did Dean.
From the top of the Ferris wheel, they could see the entire carnival, and much more. The whole of the field below them was dead ground. The grass, the trees that edged the field, everything was dead.
"Holy crap," Sam breathed. "Dean...what could have done this?"
Dean didn't answer. He knew what they were facing now. He had seen it before.
Also posted at AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2899
no subject
I like how true to the characters your Sam and Dean are, there's just the right amount of poking, angsting and prodding from Dean's side about Sam's attitude towards (him,) their dad, hunting, school and girls. And you effortlessly weave it into the outer plot, which, by the way, gets more and more creepy and interesting. Can't wait to see what Dean knows about what's going on.
Great job!
no subject
And you effortlessly weave it into the outer plot, which, by the way, gets more and more creepy and interesting.
LOL! I'm glad it seems effortless! Trust me, it's not.
It's cool that you're finding the main plot creepy. I'm a tad nervous about that; when I get to the reveal it's either going to be super cool or cheesy as hell.
Thanks again!
no subject
(Anonymous) 2007-02-07 05:14 pm (UTC)(link)But a lot of the times John has really screwed up with his kids. I don't think he communicates that well with them (which is not a surprise when it seems that he has had arguments with most of the people who were at least once his allies), and he puts far too much burden on Dean's shoulder for taking care of his brother when that should be John's job. The way he leaves them for days at a time in just a motel room would be considered child abuse in most places that I know. His obsession can make him overlook the damage he's doing to his sons.
So (after an unnecessary character analysis) writing him as somewhat sympathetic character who usually comes across as a hard-ass but with good intentions is hard to do. Particularly, without long or lots of paragraphs that explain his thoughts process which just seems out of character for him and can really bog down a story. Don't feel discouraged if you have a hard time with him. You do it well.
With regards to be people not commenting on a general story. Of course, some people focus on one type of genre over another. But in my case, I didn't see this on some of the boards that I have seen your other stories, i.e. Cry Wolf, that I check on a normal basis. I only ran into it yesterday because I periodically go to the individual's site of some of my favorite writer (which you are one).
Anyways, I hope that you post another chapter soon.
no subject
John is a hard character to write well. So often people portray him as being a real bastard.
"Bastard" is a valid interpretation, I think. There must be some reason for the depth of the conflict between John and Sam. As a father, he's made a lot of mistakes, bordering on abuse. But it's also true that he loves his sons.
he way he leaves them for days at a time in just a motel room would be considered child abuse in most places that I know.
I don't think so. Neglect, certainly, and enough for child services to conclude he's not a fit father. But not abuse. It qualifies as abuse if you factor in leaving a ten-year-old with a loaded shotgun and expecting him to use it, though.
His obsession can make him overlook the damage he's doing to his sons.
Hmm. Yes and no. We get the "obsession" part from Sam, and he's not exactly a reliable source when it comes to John. As we learn more about the family, I think much of Sam's attitude is misunderstanding: he assumes John is motivated by vengeance but the reality is far more complex. I try to write John as he is, not how others see him; not easy, as he's appeared so little in canon, but I'm coming to understand him, I think.
But in my case, I didn't see this on some of the boards that I have seen your other stories, i.e. Cry Wolf, that I check on a normal basis.
Oh, no you wouldn't have. With Cry Wolf, I was almost finished with the first draft when I started posting. In this case, I'm flying seat-of-my-pants. I won't post on the boards until I know for sure the story will be finished. I believe it will be, but I'm not at the point where I can make promises.
Anyways, I hope that you post another chapter soon.
I'm trying to post one per week.
Thanks again for the feedback!