Milk Duds
It is a chilly October day in a sleepy Midwest town. Smashed pumpkins, dead leaves, and bits of debris blew across the empty motel parking lot. Well mostly empty for a shiny black '67 impala. Tucked into a tiny box of a room Sam Winchester is hunched over tick tapping away on his laptop. Close by, Dean is sprawled over a sofa with a book laid across his chest and the tv a dim flashing light in the background. To be honest the book was really boring and dry. He had been reading the same sentence for the last ten minutes and was ready to give up on this dusty bit of medieval literature. He closes the book raising a little plume of dust which would be almost comical if it didn't make him sneeze. "Dean we're supposed to be doing research." Sam chided him.
"Dude. Halloween movie marathon." he waved his hand in this direction of a screaming Jamie Lee Curtis. "Man, she used to be pretty hot." Sam just rolled his eyes at his brother. "You're gross." Dean chuckled. The movie rambled on, eventually turning into Stephen King's It. The wind howls outside and the sun starts setting, bringing an eerie orange light through the cracks in the blinds. Sam drug his laptop over and sat on the floor in front of the sofa. Both Winchesters flinch as Bev gets yelled at by her militant father and tries to scrub away phantom blood. Dean grits his teeth as Bill builds his younger brother a newspaper boat, knowing that the monster will get Georgie soon. No movie could scare Dean as a kid. Except this one. Strange that a film about childhood fears could scare the boy who knew what lurked in the dark. It was scary because it could be real. One of the many things that went bump in the night could take dad and Sam and then Dean would be alone.
There was a loud banging at the door like someone with a least eight fists was pounding on it. Dean and Sam jumped. Dean gripped a knife and slowly approached the door. On the other side, over the clatter of fists on metal, he could hear the distinct and oddly creepy sound of adolescent laughter. God damn kids. Dean tosses the knife onto one of the empty twin beds. He grabs a flashlight, flicks it on, and yanks the door open. The kids on the other side were likely expecting a little old couple on vacation, not over six feet of ass kicking, monster hunting, angry Winchester. "Can I help you?" he growls.
One of the girls dropped a pillowcase of candy and a handful of eggs which cracked and spilled their contents on the ground. After a moment of deer in the headlights, panic-stricken staring, the group split and ran. "That's what I thought!" Dean called after them, stooping to pick up the candy. He slammed the door and rustled around in the half full pink floral pillowcase. "I think I just pulled a reverse trick or treat. You're in luck Sammy." He grinned as he pulled out a yellow rectangular box and tossed it in Sam's lap. He stuck his thumb under the cardboard lid and pulled it open, stuffing a handful of chocolate and caramel in his mouth.
Dean had possibly gone trick or treating once. He couldn't remember it, and he knew Sam had never gone. Demons killing your mother and a hunter for a father tends to put a damper on normal childhood activities. Still Dean made it a point to get Sam his favorite candy as a gift each Halloween. It became one of those odd little Winchester traditions like pepperoni omelets on Easter, or watching The Wall after getting stuffed silly on Thanksgiving.
Sam could talk your ear off about the origins of jack 'o lanterns but had never carved one. Dean had once made a chart of the best 'sexy' Halloween costumes, but never got the chance to wear one. And either brother could write books upon books of information about any monster you could name. "Want a beer?" Dean called from the tiny sectioned of kitchenette. Sam nodded, abandoning his laptop on the floor and commandeering half of the sofa. Dean flopped down next to him and handed him his beer. It had run through and turned to some horrible remake of an 80's slasher flick. They took turns yelling at the tv and chomping on Sam's box of milk duds. People in horror movies always did the stupidest things. Teens ran around screaming, splitting up, going places alone, and practicing unsafe sex. Not the way to survive in that situation.
The night wore on, playing such late night favorites as Creepshow and Tales from the Darkside. These always seemed to be on some channel in the middle of the night ever since Dean could remember. He had seen them both a million and one times during his life in crappy motel rooms. They too were part of life as a Winchester. Some time between midnight and two in the morning Sam had drifted off to sleep and was leaning heavily on Dean's shoulder. He was snoring lightly and had chocolate on his face like a little kid. Dean quickly took a picture with his phone.
So maybe they never went trick or treating. They did alright.