A/N: This is a joint-fic, written by myself (Penultimate) and my closest friend (sakuraXkatsuya). The idea for this fic spawned at 1:00 a.m., when I was unable to sleep and the two of us were discussing a clown doll by the name of Pickles, as well as the fact that Jared Padalekci should be punished for not shaving or cutting his girly hair (honestly, if you've seen Room 401 you will understand; his hair is as long as mine...). The result was the following. If you are from the Roadhouse, please do not hunt us down with pitchforks and torches. If you are simply a curious reader, we would like to request the same. Reviews are welcome, and appreciated. Even flames (see note in disclaimer).
And now, we present you with why Sam Winchester is afraid of clowns. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: We own nothing. (So technically, we cannot be blamed for the fact that we wrote this fic. After all, if it weren't for Eric Kripke and their lot, we never would've written this in the first place. So if you've got a problem, take it up with them. But if it would really just make your ship sail to flame us, go right ahead. We'll laugh at you cruelly and talk about what an idiot you are. In reality, it would make our day, too. Give us something to do rather than talk about Bambi. So flame us. I dare you.)
Sam clutched his father's fingers tightly in his small hand, cutely swinging his arm back and forth. It was a wonderful autumn day, and they were experiencing something the Winchesters rarely received: free time. Deciding that it was Sam's turn to choose their day's event, it was no surprise when the six-year-old demanded that they attend the 'Fun Fair,' a traveling carnival that the boy had seen advertised on TV for weeks. Feeling that he was too old for stupid stuff, Dean had quickly protested. However, John Winchester happily obliged his youngest, for it had been ages since he had seen such an eager look in his son's eye.
It was, at this particular point in time that the three Winchesters walked along the beaten path strolling among countless booths, tents and rides. Sam was overwhelmed by all of it, but there was no doubt that the thing he was most excited to see was the main attraction, being The Clown Show. The young brunette had always adored clowns, finding them to be delightful little joy bringers. Dean continuously insisted that they were 'stupid.' Either way, the youngest Winchester was quite hypnotized with them. He even possessed a miniature stuffed clown, which he had adoringly dubbed 'Pickles.' When it's tummy was pressed, the cute plush would say phrases such as 'I love you!,' 'You're my special friend!,' and 'Please play with me!' It would also have the tendency to move its arms in such a manner as to hug whoever activated its mechanisms. Sam, in love with his little toy, took it everywhere, and he had even attempted to bring it into the carnival, but John had made him leave it back in the Impala.
Yes, it was true the child was a bit of an obsessive little psycho, but still the obsession was so lovably cute that John saw no harm in it. With that bit of comfort he had gladly agreed to take Sam to see The Clown Show. He had also given Dean five dollars to spend however he wished (as well as to bribe him to have a day sans the insults). All in all, it looked as though today would be a very enjoyable day for all three boys. And with that thought in mind, and a few minutes to spare before the Clown Show began, it was decided that Dean would be permitted to spend some time playing the carnival games. Stopping at a dart game, Dean eyed a Metallica poster ripe for the taking. Forking over a dollar to the vender, he was given three darts, and his father loomed behind him expectantly.
As the two older boys were concentrated on the game, Sam became distracted by a figure standing between two booths across the path. The figure was shadowed at first, but as it stepped out of the darkness it became quite obvious who this man was: a clown! A clown with a bright red nose and matching, poofy hair. A clown with white face paint and a red smile painted across his already-grinning lips. A man with a funny, technicolor suit and twinkling eyes. One of the funniest clowns that Sam has ever seen!!! He beckoned to little Sammy, and a smile drew across the child's face. Checking to make sure that his father and brother were still caught up with their game, Sam skipped across the path to the clown and stared up at him in awe.
"Hello, little boy," the clown speaks happily. His voice carries warmth and laughter to the little one's ears, and the sound is almost enough to tickle his ears. "What's your name?"
"My name's Sam!" the small brunette answered, giggling in a most adoring manner.
"Well, Sam, my name's Icky! And as you can see, I'm a clown here at the Fun Fair. Tell me something, Sam. Do you like clowns?"
"I - I love clowns!" Sam's cute little tone came quickly. So fast, in fact, that he doubled up on some of the words as he spoke. "I've even got this - this one clown! He's a - a stuffed clown, and - and his name is - is Pickles!"
"That's wonderful!" Icky laughed, patting his robust belly in a humorous way. "You know something Sam? I've been watching you. And you, little one, are the perfect boy! You see, every day I put on a special show. And only one special child is allowed to see my special show. From the moment I saw you I knew that you were the special child to see today's special show! Whaddya say, Sam? Would you like to see my special show?"
"I'd love to see the special show!" he chirped. All thoughts of his father and brother were lost as Icky extended his gloved hand to lead him to this show of wonder. Sam placed his miniscule hand into Icky's palms, and the clown slowly led Sam deeper between the booths. The two skipped along for a moment or so until they came to a rather small tent, which had been placed off to the side as not to be in the way. It was made of thick canvas, and painted a bright, beautiful scarlet. Icky led Sam into the tent as the wondrous, tinkling carnival music played from a nearby speaker. Once inside, the little Winchester gasped in awe.
Half of the tent was devoted to a sort of dressing room, with a vanity holding all clown makeup, and a wardrobe full of different clown suits and shoes. However, the rest was adorned with all sorts of carnival-esque decorations. There was a small, circular platform in the center of the tent, painted all red with purple triangles painted up and down the sides. In the corners were bouquets of balloons tied together, each a different color. As Sam stared at every detail of the tent, Icky busied himself with closing the tent flap and tying it shut.
Apparently this show was extra secret.
"So, Sam, are you ready to see the show?" Icky chuckled, and as he turned to look at the Winchester he found him nodding quickly. A renewed chuckle roared from his chest. "Okie dokie then! Why don't you have a seat right over there on that little platform, alright?"
Again Sam nodded feverishly, and skipped over to the platform where he took a seat. He hummed along to the carnival music, swinging his legs back and forth. In all honesty, he was imagining a wondrous show to be displayed before him that would put the public Clown Show to shame. There would be several clowns, dancing and laughing, throwing pies and such at each other while getting pure joy out of simply entertaining their cutest little audience.
Icky, however, had other things in mind. He watched small Sam for a moment, then very slowly walked towards him, his smile never fading. "So tell me, Sam, how old are you?"
He held up six digits with an accompanying pipe of, "I'm this many!"
"Six, huh? I think you're the youngest one I've had this week. But the younger the better." His clownish, goofy smile widened slightly, and it seemed to take on a darkened tint to it. However, the eager little boy didn't even notice, and hardly paid any attention to what his newfound friend said.
"When's the show gonna start, Icky?"
"Oh, soon, very soon. Who brought you to the carnival today?"
"My daddy. But Dean came, too."
"And who is Dean?"
"Dean's my big brother. He's a meanie-head, though. He thinks clowns are stupid. But I think that he's stupid."
"Sounds that way to me." Again, the smile widened slightly. By now, though, it seemed humanly impossible for his lips to spread any wider. "Sam, do me a favor?"
"Take off your belt." When Icky first gave the order, Sam seemed a tad apprehensive. However, when Icky added the words, "We need it for the show!," Sam was quickly sliding the belt off and handing it over to Icky. The clown smiled in approval, and turned away from Sam, though did not move. The child heard a faint popping noise, as well as that of what sounded like a zipper being undone, but he could not be sure so thought nothing of it.
Another moment of stillness and silence, Sam was getting bored. When was the show going to start?
Finally, after what seemed to be eternity, Icky said in his warm voice, "Are you ready for the fun to begin, Sam?"
"Yes, yes, YES!"
"Good," the clown nodded. He turned to face Sam once more and closed the foot-long gap between himself and the platform. Lifting his white-gloved hand he gently placed his palm on the boy's shoulder and forced him to lie down on the wooden cylinder. Quickly he hoisted himself up onto the platform, legs bent under him, one on each side of the brunette so that he was straddling the small frame. Now the body was trapped below him, and at his mercy, and so Icky's fingers quickly fumbled with the fastenings of Sam's pants.
Young Sam was just now starting to panic, the realization of what was going on hitting him hard and fast. Not that he was exactly sure what was happening, but he knew that it couldn't possibly be a good thing. He tried struggling against the large man above him, and when his zipper was being fiddled with he tried to strike at him. But it was all in vain, for nothing was going to stop this clown. What else was there to do? Hadn't Dean once told him that if someone ever grabbed him or tried to hurt him he should scream? So he screamed, his shrill little voice using all of his might to reach its loudest level.
Icky only laughed as he succeeded in undoing Sam's zipper. Words leaked with building joy as he slid his captive's pants down to his ankles. "Sorry, Sam, but nobody can hear you. You hear that carnival music? Your little screams can't be heard over that. Not even if someone was standing at the very canvas of the tent would they hear you. So scream all you want. It makes it so much more fun."
Despite the information, Sam continued to scream. But with the growing scream, Icky's laughter grew as well. He struggled with Sam's underwear for a moment, which took some working with as Sam's legs were flailing about. Yet he was triumphant once more, and was swift in slipping away his own clothing. Little Sam tried to cover himself with his hands, feeling horribly exposed and vulnerable. Yet again, it was of no use. Icky pinned his little arms above his head with only one hand, and it was then that Sam felt weaker than he had ever felt before.
He realized that no one was coming to save him. Not his daddy... not Dean... No one would be there to save precious Sammy. No one would be there to save him from this wretched man. Nothing and no one could protect him now. Absolutely nothing. And as the realization washed over him, so did the fear... and the loneliness... and the foolishness...
Icky slowly leaned over Sam, pressing himself down onto him hard. His face lowered to be only an inch away from Sam's, and in seconds the brunette was no longer screaming, but his sounds were being muffled by rouge red lips. The kiss was so hard and vicious that Sam's eyes widened. He felt Icky's tongue breaking through his feeble lips, and felt the slimy intruder as it wormed its way around in his mouth, tickling at his own tongue in a sick and disgusting way. The six year old could feel the tears pricking at his eyes. But he tried not to cry, not to be weak... Hadn't Dean once told him that crying was for babies?
Sam was still thoroughly confused, wondering exactly what this was and only sure of one thing - that it was bad - when he felt Icky's free hand gently stroking at his inner thighs. It gave him goosebumps all over his skin, and made him struggle against the hold the clown had on him. But thoughts of the tickly feeling ceased when a whole new feeling erupted from between his thighs. He hardly knew this feeling, having never really experienced it so brutally before. However, he knew the word for it.
It was a tearing, burning, searing pain that came from right between his thighs. It felt as though he was being torn into... As though something that didn't fit was being squeezed into him. The tears broke through his eyes and streaked down his face, and muffled screams and groans and cries were issued against Icky's lips and tongue. Every once and a while the mouth would back off of his only so that both could draw breath, and Sam would wail out in a plea to anyone that could hear to please come and help him. But only seconds later would the lips and tongue return and resume their earlier work. The pain continued and only strengthened as Icky's weight came crashing down on his small self, the clown's body rocking back and forth on his. The horrid pain continued for several long, agonizing minutes and then the rough, hardness that had been shoved up inside him was withdrawn.
Poor, poor Sam could feel blood oozing out between his legs, coating his thighs and even running onto the backs of his knees. Remnants of the pain could still be felt, and his tears came quickly and without remorse. Icky's mouth finally backed off of his, and he smiled happily down at Sam, who was screaming and wailing once more. The clown frowned in mock sadness, though the laughter in his eyes was always pleasant.
"What's wrong, Sam? Not having fun?"
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" he cried.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I can't do that."
"The show has only just begun,--"
"And my entertainment is much more important to me,--"
"HELP ME, PLEASE!!!"
"Than your pathetic little innocence, or happiness, for that matter."
"The show must go on."
It was, without warning, that Icky's form descended on little Sam once more. There was a moment, and the pain had returned, exploding within him as it had the first time. It was just as bad as the first, and Sam screamed and wailed bloody murder. Screamed for Dean, for daddy, for help, for God... But none of these things came. Icky's head lowered and his hand and mouth gently roamed all over Sam's delicate little body. The feelings that they brought gave him goosebumps of terror and pain, and he wished that it would all just be over. But there was no end in sight as Icky went in and out of Sam, licking and sucking at various parts of his body, tickling at his legs and chest with his fingers, stroking and groping at him with his hands. Constantly he would force the small boy into painful and complicated positions, and Sam could do nothing but oblige him as he was violated in every possible way. Nothing could stop this sick, perverse man... and nothing could save this poor, defenseless six year old...
As all of these events transpired, John and Dean were racing about the park, searching for their youngest. Where had he gone!? He was there one moment, gone the next! What could've happened to him!? Weren't you watching him!? Have you seen a little boy, six years old, brunette, quite cute, goes by the name of Sam!? Sammy!? SAMMY!?
Dean was racing in and out of booths, tents, asking everyone he saw if they'd seen his little brother. God, what the hell had he been thinking!? Sam was his responsibility, whether their father was present or not... Stupid Metallica poster... Sammy, where are you...
Finally, the Winchester came to a stop beside a small, scarlet tent, which appeared to be vacant. The flap door was closed and tied shut, so there was no point in entering. Rather, he bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He'd been running for a good half-hour, searching... He glared at a large speaker set high on a poll only a hundred feet away. It tinkled out loud, carnival-like music that made Dean want to throw up. Or maybe it wasn't the music... maybe it was the fear...
And inside the tent - the same small, scarlet tent next to the annoying speaker; the same tent that Dean stood outside at this very moment - his brother was raped and molested. And his brother screamed and screamed, wailing and crying and calling out his brother's name and all the while wondering why his brother wasn't bursting into the tent, rescuing him from this horrible pain... This horrible, wretched, perverse nightmare that should never be occurring.
And that was when he heard it. Heard the hoarse, pre-teen voice shouting, "SAMMY!? SAMMY, WHERE ARE YOU!?!" It was Dean. Oh, sweet, merciful God it was Dean. Dean, who would soon burst into the tent, guns blazing, dad over his shoulder with the most hell-bent look on his face. And they would massacre the clown and take Sam up in their arms and apologize a hundred times, and then a thousand times more. They would hold him and hug him and cry over him. They would ask him if he was okay and question how could they have ever let him be compromised into such a horrid situation?
"DEAN!!! DEAN I'M IN HERE!!! HELP, DEAN!!! GET DADDY! HELP ME!!!"
But Dean would never hear little Sammy's screams, for as Icky had said, the carnival music drowned out the small, terrified voice. And after standing there for a minute or so, thinking of where Sam would go if he was all alone and scared, Dean quickly took off running again, shouting his little brother's name. And Sam watched from the corner of his eye as his brother's silhouette, once visible through the canvas, disappeared without ever even having looked towards the tent.
He's not going to save me... he doesn't know I'm here... he isn't coming... Dean... please...
As if he was reading Sam's mind, Icky chuckled hysterically, pulling out of him again and whispering into Sam's ear, "No one can hear you, Sammy. No one is going to save you. You're mine... all mine..." His voice, which had gone horribly and terrifyingly cold for the latter statement, retrieved it's warm chuckle as he mouthed onto the small ear, teething it slightly, and shoved himself back into the six year old with sinful glee. And with that warm chuckle he whispered into his ear again, past Sam's screams of anguish, "I love you, Sammy. I love you so very, very much."
It was about an hour and a half - an hour and a half of excruciating torture, pain and anguish - that Icky finally made his final dismount. Sam, now, was worthless to him. After all, once the surprise and terror have worn off and the exact realization of how fucked a child was, the fun sort of died away. So he tossed a towel to Sam to clean himself up, tossed his belt back to him, and took a step or so back, smiling at his most recent prey. At first Sam didn't move. Just lay there, motionless. But soon reality snuck its way back and he took the towel, wiping away the blood and other bodily fluids from his body. So small, so frail, so broken... He was silent as he cleaned himself and pulled his underwear and pants up, and all the while Icky watched him like a satisfied lover. Once he had finally fastened his belt, the child stood silently, as though awaiting instructions.
"I'm very proud of you, Sam. You did very well, and I hoped that you enjoyed my little show. I know that I did." The latter was accompanied with a deep chuckle. Icky surveyed the brunette for a moment, looking him up and down before striding over to one of the balloon bouquets. He plucked a string from the bunch, and then came back to Sam, bending down in front of him. "Hold out your hand."
Sam did as he was told, and flinched slightly as Icky lifted his own. The clown laughed again, but slowly and gently tied the string around the boy's wrist. Sam's eyes followed the string upward to find a baby-blue colored balloon floating there on the other end of it. Icky's smile widened.
"It's a prize, for being such a good little boy." The man rose to his feet, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder and steering him towards the tied-down canvas flap. His fingers worked at untying the material, and he spoke as he worked. "Now, I'm always very careful, so you'll have no bruises. You'll only be very sore for the next few days. Unless someone else is fucking you at home, or you open your little mouth, no one will ever be the wiser, and you can just pretend like this never happened." Icky turned to Sam, the flap untied and now wavering slightly in the breeze, and smiled broadly, patting his cheek. "Good bye, Sammy. I hope you had a nice time at the carnival today." He roared with laughter as he shoved Sam out of the tent, and that was that.
That was that.
The six year old stood quietly, arms at his side, balloon floating over his head. He felt so hurt, so dirty, so tainted... He felt wrong in so many ways. Why had he been so stupid? To be lured off as he had been... it had been so obvious, so clear... And yet he had been idiotic enough...
He walked very slowly back to the dart game where he had last left his dad and Dean. The Metallica poster was still there, and Sam wondered if that was his fault, too... He stood quietly beside the booth, too sore to sit down. The pain was still there, burning and eating away at him just as much as the shame...
He was there for what must've been another fifteen minutes, but time really didn't matter to him at the moment. What did matter, however, was when a voice erupted from a good 500 feet away. The voice that belonged to his big brother.
"SAMMY!!!" Dean shouted, suddenly sprinting towards him. As soon as he reached his brother he enveloped him in a hug, holding him close for a whole two minutes. "Sam, where the hell were you!? We've been looking for you for two hours now!!!" As Dean worried over his brother, their father seemed to magically appear out of thin air. He spotted both of them together and was beside them in an instant, drawing Sam up in his arms and smothering him. The reunion was short-lived, however, for John's relief was soon replaced with his anger.
"WHERE WERE YOU!?" he bellowed at his youngest, never minding the passersby who stared at him awkwardly and pitied the poor little thing being yelled at. "WE WERE WORRIED SICK!!!"
"I went to get a balloon," Sam said quietly, looking down at his shoes. He had not looked either Dean or his father in the eyes once. "I got lost."
"Didn't you hear us looking for you?" Dean asked from his side, for once being the calmer of the two oldest Winchesters. Nevertheless, Sam just shook his head. His big brother could tell that something was wrong, but what it was he couldn't be sure. The look, though, in his eyes, was a frightened and sad look. Dean quickly turned to his dad. "Dad... let's just go back to the motel. He's probably had just as good of a scare as we had looking for him... After all, he's okay, isn't he? Let's just... just go back to the motel and then you can punish him."
John looked at his oldest for a long moment, and was quiet. But finally he nodded and gently grabbed hold of Sam's shoulder just to make sure that he didn't disappear again. Leading his two sons out of the amusement park and into the parking lot, Sam said nothing, and the other Winchesters were equally quiet. Once they reached the Impala, the six year old struggled to sit without wincing, but was able to shift his weight onto his side and reduce the pain a bit. Everyone else got settled, John in the driver's seat and Dean at shotgun, and once all seat belts were fastened John had revved up the old Metallicar and was thundering down the road.
It was about two minutes later that Sam first noticed the fourth occupant of the vehicle. The small, plush clown named Pickles rested silently beside him, gazing at him with twinkling, plastic eyes. Its red hair was as frizzy as ever, its nose as round, its lips as rouge red. Very slowly the brunette picked the toy up and held it in his lap, the terror in him slightly rekindled. His grip on the toy tightened in fear, and as it did the mechanism was activated and the clown said in its sweet, robotic voice: "I love you!"
The window was rolled down and before John or Dean realized it the clown was thrown out the window, and Sam whispered quietly, "I hate you."
Dean turned quickly in his seat to see what had happened and once he realized he craned his neck to stare at his little brother. "Sam... what was that about? I thought you loved that thing!"
The little boy was quiet. He rolled up the window and sat facing forward, staring blankly at the seat before him, never once looking to his older brother.
"No. I hate clowns."