A/N: Hello folks, here's a little Halloween story I came up with. It should be completed by Halloween. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

A junkyard could have been an adventure playground for two boys, that is if those boys had a normal childhood. The brothers currently living at Bobby Singer's, though, did not live an apple pie life. Most of the year, they were on the road with their father, John Winchester.

Always a new town.

Always a new school.

Always the new boys in a place they did not belong.

And occasionally, their father dropped them off at Bobby's, usually when he suspected he would be involved with a case for a long time.

Nine-year-old Sam did not have any problem staying with his Uncle Bobby as he liked to stay in the same place for longer amounts of time. His thirteen-year-old brother Dean on the other hand, usually seemed to get a strong case of wanderlust after a couple of weeks. So Sam was not surprised that he had turned into a bad-tempered douchebag after being stuck for more than two months.

August had turned into October.

Not surprisingly, Sam had turned into a poster schoolboy.

Bobby's home had turned into some sort of spook house, which was a surprise.

During October, their father's hunting friend had taken to collecting everything Halloween. A fake skeleton dangled from the rafters above the front porch, along with synthetic spider webs, a giant spider, and several pumpkins sitting on the floor. The decoration did not stop outside but continued from the entrance, over the living room, to the kitchen. Jack O' Lanterns, ghosts, zombies, more spider webs and much more scattered around the whole house.

Except Dean's half of the room he shared with his brother during their stay.

"I don't understand your obsession with Halloween," Dean groused while reassembling the weapon he had cleaned, "You know better than those spoiled brats at school."

Rolling his eyes, Sam refused to answer. Instead, he stuck his nose deeper into his books.

Snorting, Dean recalled how Sam came to the junkyard with other boys from his class, showing them around the decorated parts of the house. Uncle Bobby had even rigged fishing line to make one of the plastic skeletons move in a playful attempt to scare the boys. Apparently, they had a lot of fun which made Sam happy, and that made the whole charade justifiable in Dean's book. Still, he had problems comprehending his little brother's change of mind, so he insisted, "C'mon, Sammy. You've always disliked Halloween. What makes this year any different?"

Shrugging lopsidedly, Sam kept his head down.

"Sammy...?" Dean prodded. Having cared for his little brother ever since he was four-years-old and had carried him out of the fire that had killed their mother, the elder Winchester brother knew the moods of his sibling well. Right now, it was clear Sam simply did not want to share what was on his mind, most likely because he thought that Dean would not approve.

"Don't you have homework to do?" Sam tried to deflect.

"Samuel Henry Winchester."

Hearing his full name, the younger brother's head snapped up. Glowering at Dean, he tossed an eraser at him.

"Cute," Dean chuckled as he intercepted the projectile aimed at his head. "Now, Sammy... What's up?"

Heaving a sigh, Sam replied, "I still don't like Halloween."

Expecting more, Dean leaned forward, forearms supporting him on the tabletop. Once more, though, he had to push, "Then what is this really about?"

"I just like being like them," Sam finally admitted.

Astounded, Dean sat back up.

"So what?" he queried with disbelief, "You put up with all the Halloween paraphernalia in order to be liked by your new friends at school?"

Sam shook his head.

"No," he mumbled, looking down at his school books. "I'm trying to feel normal."

Dumbfounded, Dean reached out for his brother's hand.

"Sammy..."

Pulling away, Sam rested his hands on his lap. Out of hazel-green speckled eyes, he peeked up at his brother from under his bangs.

It needs to be cut, Dean thought, even though he knew quite well that Sam liked it best when it was long. Maybe because he wants to hide he's what he sees as different? Dean wondered with regard to what Sam had just told him.

"Dean? Will you go with me?" Sam then asked timidly.

Caught on the wrong foot due to his musings, Dean blurted, "Go with you where?"

Squinting up through his bangs again, Sam eyed him somewhat hopefully, "Trick-or-treating."

Even though Dean could understand why his brother wanted to share the traditions with his friends, he did not quite see why they should have to dress up as monsters and go from house to house to collect sweets. Especially for one reason.

"Sam, aren't you too old for that?"

"I'm only nine," Sam huffed.

"Nine's old enough, Sammy," Dean argued, "You're a big boy now. Certainly..."

"Still a kid!" Sam pouted, going on stubbornly, "We're both kids, Dean."

"Right, dude, we're kids," Dean came back roughly, "But that type of thing's for babies."

Brusquely pushing his chair back, Sam stood up and yelled, "Stop talking like you're Dad! You're not my father! You're my brother!"

Dumbstruck, the elder Winchester could just stare at his younger sibling.

"I know Dad wants us to be hunters," Sam hoarsely continued, sounding astonishingly mature for a nine-year old, "Would we try and have a Halloween if we were stuck at some rundown motel? Of course not. Like Thanksgiving with an extra big portion of chicken wings." While Sam spoke, his features fell and his voice became whiny. "Dean... let's do this now. Be kids for one night. Just this once."

Grimacing, Dean picked the gun back up. Knowing that arguing was fruitless because he would cave in the end anyway in order to make Sam happy, he relented, "All right. We're going. But don't think I'm gonna wear a costume."

Seeing the delight in his little brother's eyes was worth the compromise.

"C'mon, Sammy, let's get Bobby and do some more target practicing."

"I'm not done with my homework yet," Sam complained.

"It's getting dark early," Dean declared. "Let's practice now, finish your school stuff later."

Heaving a sigh, Sam went with his big brother.

xXx

On October 31, Sam was bursting with enthusiasm. As Halloween fell on a Saturday this year, neither one of them had school. Without the distraction, he was barely capable to contain his excited energy, bounced around in his seat during breakfast, running around the kitchen when they cleared the table, and he could hardly concentrate on his homework that he was supposed to complete before engaging in any festivities. By the early afternoon, his brother was fed up with his antics.

"Sammy!" Dean called out for him with hardly suppressed annoyance. "Let's go outside and use the good weather for combat training!"

"Why don't ya give the kid a break?" Bobby snorted from where he sat at his old wooden desk over a pile of hefty looking tomes.

"I promised to go trick-and-treating with him," Dean scoffed. "I'm not going to have him so wound up by the time we leave that he'll be running around like a chicken with its head cut off."

"It's Halloween, Dean," Bobby scolded, putting a slip of paper between the pages before he slapped the book closed. Eyeing the boy closely, he implored "That's what kids do. You should know, you're one of them."

"I'm not a kid," Dean retorted, "I killed a ghost a few months back."

"You helped your Daddy salt and burn some bones, it's not the same thing, kiddo."

"Well, it won't be Halloween until after dinner," Dean shot back. "So I'm going to take my kid brother and go and train fro a bit. We haven't made as much progress as I'm sure my Dad would've expected us to by now."

Pressing his palms on top of the thick volume, Bobby mustered as much calm as possible, "John's not going to be worried about how much train ya've done, boy. By the time he gets back, he'll just be happy to see ya."

"Will he?" Dean challenged.

"Of course, you idjit," Bobby snapped. "He's your father."

By a hair's breadth, Dean would have laughed. Yes, John was their father. Ever since their mother's death, though, he also was their teacher and drill sergeant. Dean recalled how his father first took him out for target practice, putting up some bottles, and having him shoot at them. Back then, he had been six or seven. Younger than Sam was when he got his first lessons. Being the older brother, he was expected to take care of Sam and protect him. And it went without saying that he needed to prepare his brother for whatever challenges came their way.

Dean knew full well that he not always fulfilled that responsibility.

"You're right," he heard himself say. "But we should still practice. Can't hurt after all."

"Dean?" Sam queried, as he came running into the room. "Did you say something about training?"

"Yep, Sammy," Dean confirmed, still keeping his gaze on Bobby. "Just for an hour or so."

"Okay," Sam agreed, his face falling.

"Oh, c'mon, Sammy," Dean tried to encourage him. "You like to learn new fighting tricks, don't you?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, but it did not sound convincing.

"C'mon," Dean winked at him. "I still have a lot of those up my sleeve."

"Okay..."

With little enthusiasm, Sam trotted out of the house and down the stairs. Actually, he liked to train with his older brother. Dean had always been there for him for as long as he could remember and to whom he looked up to. Dean was not just his brother, he was his hero. More so than their father.

Right at that moment, Sam had other things on his mind besides training.

"Alright, Sammy," Dean challenged, stepping up behind him and taking him unexpectedly by the shoulder. "Show me..."

A yelp escaped the older sibling when Sam whirled around, taking his arm and twisting it in a way that sent Dean into the dust.

"Very good, Sammy!" Dean cheered as he rolled over his shoulder and came back up to his feet.

There was little that made Sam Winchester happier than approval from his big brother.

With considerably more enthusiasm, he parried Dean's next attack.

xXx

In the late afternoon, Sam and Dean came inside to have an early dinner with Bobby. The seasoned hunter had managed to cook a pumpkin stew. Surprised, the boys saw that the dish was being served in the hollowed out pumpkin shell. Dean saw Sam's eyes widen with delight which made him smile fondly. Sam rushed over to the table and scooted into his chair, eagerly eyeing the meal. Smirking to himself, Dean sat at the table as well.

"Did ya boys have fun?" Bobby asked, skeptically taking in the fresh bruises and abrasions, not to mention they were covered in dirt.

"Dean showed me two of his tricks," Sam proudly declared. "I got to floor him four times!"

"That's great," Bobby agreed, casting a suspicious look at Dean. Hand to hand combat was not exactly what the seasoned hunter had imagined for the boys' Halloween. "What else did ya do?"

"We practiced with our hunting knives and shot at targets," Dean threw in. "Sam's getting better and better."

"Great," Bobby nodded, reaching for the ladle. "Then you've earned to be served first."

Scooping a generous portion into Sam's bowl first, Bobby then turned to Dean.

"Your dad called while ya were outside," he said as he served the elder brother with stew, quickly cutting him off, "Told me not to call ya in. He sends his best... wants ya to know that he'll be busy with this case for at least another week."

Rolling his eyes, Dean picked up his spoon. That was typical of their father and it was exactly the reason why he had not bothered to speak with his son. Dean just wished he knew more about John's current hunt. Maybe he would not feel as restless as he did if he knew what the hunter was up against. He would not feel as if he was letting him down because he was not there to back him up.

I'm exactly where he expects me to be, Dean told himself. Watching out for Sammy.

With a sigh, he dug into his stew.

"It's yummy, Uncle Bobby," Sam piped up, speaking around a mouthful of beef and pumpkin.

"Sammy..." Dean scolded gently.

"Ease up, Dean," Bobby remarked, "you're not his father."

"No, Bobby," Dean shot back, glaring at the grizzled hunter, "I'm not. But still, he shouldn't be talking with his mouth full."

"Just eat your stew, boy," Bobby demanded brusquely, then turning to the younger brother, "Thanks, Sam, I'm glad you think it's good."

"It really is, Uncle Bobby," Sam declared steadfastly. "I don't remember if we ever had anything like it."

"Half-burned and overcooked?" Bobby chuckled with a mischievous wink.

"Homemade stew."

Hearing his brother say that in such an earnest way, Dean suddenly lost all his appetite. He had no desire to be reminded of all the small things the family had sacrificed. Shoving his plate away, he stood from the table and left without excusing himself.

tbc...