Dean Winchester was beginning to have some serious regrets—namely the most present was the one that was chasing him through the Biloxi City Cemetery, wielding a large butcher knife. Surprising though, the knife wielder wasn't what scared the agile, spiky-haired hunter—what scared him was what his pursuer was wearing.
Sam was all decked out in an over-the-top clown costume: big, bushy red hair, polyester striped outfit in bright reds, blues, and yellows, big red shoes, and make up that would make Tammy Faye Baker blush. Sam was a damn clown and it made the elder Winchester regret daring his kid brother to wear the stupid thing.
In Dean's defense, at the time he didn't know the costume was possessed. No, he found out that little jewel of information a couple of hours ago and by that time Sam was already dressed up. He'd dared Sam to wear the thing because the elder hunter knew how petrified Sam was of clowns. He never expected Sam to take the dare, never in a million years. Funny how his own joke was coming back to bite him in the ass…
Normally, the brothers didn't bother with Halloween mostly because they dealt with demons and ghosts on a daily basis. Somewhere it had to be written that the nightmarish creatures took Halloween as a night off from terrorizing clueless people, especially when every time this season came around a hunt was hard to find. So Sam (loathing the day more than clowns), and Dean decided they could have the night off as well.
Passing through Biloxi, Mississippi, Dean had found a flier advertising for a Halloween party at one of the local night clubs. Not one to pass up a chance to let loose, he'd convinced Sam to join him, although his sibling had been rather reluctant.
As soon as they had checked into the Budget Inn for the night, they'd found out about Josette's, a locally well-known costume shop, from the motel manager. After getting directions, they'd found the old warehouse establishment with relative ease.
Dean wished he'd never come up with the idea to pick out each other's costumes. In retrospect, it was such a bad judgment call on his part, but not just because his brother was currently a homicidal clown. No, he'd somehow let Sam dress him as Robin Hood—green tunic, green tights, stupid feathered hat, and some kind of brown slippers that were supposed to suffice as shoes. The regrets just kept piling up for Dean.
Dean should have known something was up with Sam's costume as soon as the clerk checked them out. She seemed almost hesitant to let the costume go, but Dean had flashed his brilliant smile and the woman seemed to forget all about her hesitation. Now, running through the cemetery, Dean could see the look on the clerk's face like a huge neon sign. Note to self: When clerk seems leery about letting something go, pay attention!
As soon as Sam put the costume on, a wave of something…hinky seemed to wash over him. His eyes took on a maniacal glint, he grew agitated, and his voice became cold—almost as if a demon had possessed him. Dean knew that couldn't be a demon because of the charms Bobby Singer, a fellow hunter, had given them, but before Dean could fully comprehend what was going on, Sam had pushed him into the dresser, causing to older hunter to black out. When he finally came to, Sam was gone.
Dean didn't waste any time as he tore out of the motel and headed right back to the costume shop. Once there, he'd found out from the clerk that the clown costume had been around for years, being passed down every Halloween. Elliot Reece had made it back in 1980 for a well-known lawyer, but the lawyer had grown impatient with the old costume designer when he still didn't have it in time for a Halloween gala. Instead of waiting for Elliot to put the finishing touches on it, he'd killed the designer and took the costume.
Later that night, after the gala, the lawyer was apparently murdered in his apartment, but there was no sign of forced entry or any evidence left behind. Every Halloween since that night, whoever came into possession of the costume, either murdered someone or was murdered themselves. Well, Dean wasn't going to let either of those scenarios happen to Sam—there was no way in hell that was going to happen.
After asking the clerk if she happened to know where Elliot was buried and garnering a weird look from her, Dean found out the man was buried at the Biloxi City Cemetery. Tossing her a hasty "thanks" Dean was on his way to the old cemetery, speeding through every red light, not caring if the police came after him or not. He had to stop the spirit before it could claim his brother.
The only problem with Dean's brilliant rescue plan was that Sam was waiting there for him. The tall, lanky shaggy haired hunter casually leaned against the cemetery gate, playing with the blade of his knife. This led to a few smart ass comments from Dean, Sam getting pissy, and finally the chase through the cemetery.
Which brought Dean to his current predicament. He knew the kid could run. Hell with those giraffe legs, Sam practically leapt after him with every stride, and he was making it damn hard for Dean to find Elliot's grave. Hefting his small weapons bag over his shoulder, he darted behind a large crypt. He let out a sigh of relief as he saw Sam run past him. Finally allowing himself to catch his breath, Dean looked up and nearly fell over in shock.
Lady luck must have really been on his team because he was standing next to Elliot Reece's grave. Not only that, Elliot's grave was a crypt which would make this salt and burn so much easier. Easier than the alternative anyway, which until this point, Dean had been seriously wondering how he was supposed to dig a grave and keep Sammy the Clown at bay at the same time. Not that it was going to be a piece of cake right now, but this Dean could handle a little bit better.
Making sure Sam was nowhere around, Dean darted to the entrance of the crypt shining his flashlight on the lock. Seeing it was rusted, he knew it would take little effort to break into it. Hefting up his flashlight, he brought it down on the lock and it fell apart, falling to the ground.
"Deanie, is that you?"
Deanie!? What the hell? Sam was so going to pay for calling him that.
"Come on, Deanie…don't you want to play?"
Not particularly…no. Pulling the door open, Dean stepped inside the crypt, shining his flashlight all around. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and tickled his face as he stepped closer to the tomb. So, maybe he wasn't going to have to dig, but pushing that lid off wasn't going to be a walk in the park either. Setting down his bag on the stone floor, Dean braced himself and took a deep breath.
Grunting with exertion, he pushed against the lid, managing to move it a few inches.
Okay, Sam using the sing-song voice was definitely something Dean wouldn't forget for a long time. It was creepy on so many levels, Dean couldn't even begin to describe it. Bracing himself once again, Dean pushed against the lid and let out a whoop of joy as it went crashing to the ground, crumbling into a few large pieces.
"I know where you are, Deanie…"
Well, I wasn't exactly being quiet, Sammy. A deaf man could tell you where I was…
Leaning down to dig in his bag, he dug around pulling out the canister of salt and lighter fluid. Looking at the doorway to make sure Sam wasn't around, Dean sprinkled a generous amount of salt over Elliot's corpse. Throwing the empty canister over his shoulder, he popped the lid off the lighter fluid and sprayed it on top of the salt.
"Deanie, are you hiding from me?"
Dean looked up to see Sam smiling at him from the doorway, the knife glinting menacingly in the moonlight. "Seriously, Sammy…you've got to drop this 'Deanie' crap." He dug a box of matches from his jacket pocket.
Sam tilted his head to the side. "It's not safe to play with matches, Deanie."
Before Dean could even react, Sam launched himself at him, the knife held high above his head. Dean managed to sidestep Sam, though it was difficult since the space in the crypt was so confining. He turned back towards Sam just as his brother launched himself at Dean again, this time succeeding in cutting Dean's arm. Dean pulled back in pain, grasping his arm and dropping the matches.
"Son of a bitch!"
"Such language, Deanie. You know you shouldn't talk like that."
"Sam, listen to me…this isn't you. You're possessed."
Sam took a deliberate step towards Dean. "You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you?"
Dean looked around frantically for the dropped matches, hoping that luck was still on his side. He had to burn the bones now before Sam could succeed in killing him. Feeling around blindly with his hands, he felt his fingers brush the small box. Grasping them quickly, he pushed past Sam, knocking him into the wall. As he heard the knife clatter to the floor, he struck the matches and tossed them into the grave without a word.
Sam let out a painful yell and Dean looked on fearfully as his brother writhed wildly on the ground. After a few seconds, Sam stilled and all was quiet except the crackling of the fire.
"Sammy…you with me?"
Sam slowly pushed himself against the wall, glancing at Dean in confusion. "What the hell happened?"
Dean barked out a laugh. "You don't wanna know." Grunting in pain, Dean leaned down and retrieved his bag and flashlight. Then holding out his hand, he helped his brother off the ground.
"Dean, you're hurt," Sam said, glancing at the blood trailing down his sibling's arm.
Dean gave it a quick look. "Nah, it's just a scratch."
The brothers walked out of the crypt, not bothering to clean up their mess. As they walked towards the black 1967 Chevy Impala, Dean nudged his sibling. "Hey, Sammy?"
"Remind me not to dare your ass to do anything again."
Sam removed the clown wig and tossed it to the side with a laugh. "Whatever you say, Deanie."