A big thank you to Youngest Ones Rule for beta'ing this story. She made this story so much better!

This is Halloween

by Silwyna

"Sammy, come on. We gotta go." Ten year old Dean Winchester called for his brother from the other side of the school playground.

Sam looked over from the monkey bars he was hanging from; a wide smile spread across his face when he spotted his big brother. Jumping down, he ran toward Dean, picking up his backpack on the way.

"Hey, Dean. I got a star in Math." He beamed when he reached his brother.

"That's awesome, Sammy." Dean smiled, patting his brother's back proudly. He had quizzed his little brother for this test all weekend, not always voluntarily, as Sam's only focus for the whole time had all been math, but it had obviously paid off. He knelt down in front of Sam and pulled up the zipper of Sam's jacket and fixed his scarf. "Where's your hat?" He asked.

"I'm not cold." Sam insisted.

Dean scoffed. It was below 40 F° and Sam's cheeks were flushed from the cold. He raised an eyebrow and it didn't take longer than a second before Sam reluctantly pulled his hat from his bag. Watching smugly as his brother put it on, Dean pulled an arm around Sam's shoulder and started walking. "Let's go. Dad's making Pasta and I want to be home before it gets mushy."

"I'm hurrying." Sam nodded earnestly and started racing ahead.

"Okay, okay, I get it." Dean laughed, grabbing his brother's jacket and pulling him to a stop. "Don't worry, we'll make it in time."

Together, the brothers left the Rice Creek Elementary School behind and walked toward the small apartment they had been living in for the past two months. It was only a fifteen minutes walk and Dean had been able to convince his father to let them make the short walk alone instead of having their father pick them up every day. Dean made sure he and Sam always made it home in time, without exception; he didn't want to give his dad any reason for not to trust him. He was proud to be the only 10-year-old in his class who was allowed to walk the distance on his own.

"You think he's going to say yes?" Sam asked excitedly after a few minutes.

"Yes to what question?"

"You know." Sam drew the words out, rolling his eyes at his brother's ignorance.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Sammy." Dean grinned.

"De-ean."

Laughing, Dean nudged his brother's side with his elbow. "We'll see what his mood is, okay?"

"He was in good mood this morning. He didn't even burn the toast." Sam pointed out optimistically.

"Yeah, well, we'll see." Dean replied vaguely. He knew Sam was looking forward to going trick or treating tonight, but he didn't want to get his brother's hopes up. Their father's mood could change from one moment to the next. A lot could have happened while they were in school. A new hunt, a bill that couldn't be paid, nosy neighbors – it didn't take much to dampen their Dad's mood. Then there was this time of year – in two days … his mother … it will be six years …

This time of the year was never easy for the elder Winchesters, yet Dean did his best to not let Sammy notice. His brother knew about their mom's death, of course, not all the details, just enough. Sam didn't remember, not like Dean and his father did. To him, it wasn't a memory to haunt his dreams. It was a story he had been told once, when his questions had become too much and their dad had sat down with him and gave him all the answers he could bare to share. Sam knew their mom had died in a fire, nothing more.

"Dean." Sam pulled his brother out of his thoughts as he tugged at his jacket. "We have to go on the other side." He whispered.

"Huh?" Dean looked up and then rolled his eyes. They were only a few feet away from 65 Lincoln Road, an old, vacant three-story house that – according to his fellow students – was haunted by the former owner, a grouchy old lady, who every Halloween tried to lure kids into her house to kill them. Dean had told his Dad about it – after all, you could never be too careful. His Dad had assured him though that there was nothing to the story. There had been no reported murders in the street during the last ten years, so the house was safe. Dean had forgotten all about it then.

That was, until Sam's classmates had picked up the story as well and had shared it with his little brother. Since that day, Sam was reluctant to go by the house. Dean had done his best to prove to his brother that it was just a story, not a real haunting, but for all the bogus stories Sam had believed him over the years, this time he refused to do so.

So for the last two weeks, every time they neared the old house, Sam made him go to the other side of the street until they had left the house behind. It was annoying, but Dean hadn't yet found a way to deny his little brother, when Sam pleaded with him using those big brown eyes.

"It's just a house, Sammy." He groaned.

Sam kept looking at him with these puppy dog eyes of his and with another eye-roll, Dean took his hand in his, checked the street for any cars, and walked with his brother in tow to the other side of the road.

"You know, if Dad knew about this, he'd make you go into the house, not just pass it on the same side of the street." Dean said.

"You promised you wouldn't tell him." Sam looked at him wide-eyed.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just saying."

They walked in silence for a little while, Dean became lost in his own memories again, when Sam pulled him out of his thoughts.

"You think we should tell him?"

"Tell who what?" Dean asked dumbfounded.

Sam gave him the look that said he expected Dean to know exactly what he was talking about.

"What?" Dean shrugged.

"The house, Dean. Maybe Dad could do something about it." Sam whispered conspiratorially, as if he was afraid the house's spirit could overhear them.

Dean swallowed down a lump in his throat. Sam didn't know anything about what their father was doing. Or did he? "What do you think he could do about it?" He asked warily. The darn kid was getting smarter every day.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. He could … he could call someone to catch the ghost."

"Catch the ghost?" Dean chuckled, relieved that obviously, Sam knew nothing.

"Yeah, like the Ghostbusters. I bet Uncle Bobby could do it."

Dean shook his head as he tried to follow his brother's thoughts. "You think Bobby is a Ghostbuster?" He had stopped calling the older man "uncle" about a year ago, having declared himself to be old enough to be treated as an adult. Of course Bobby had just shrugged it off, saying that he didn't care one way or the other. Dean hadn't missed the glint of joy in his eyes though when Sam had continued to call him "Uncle Bobby".

"He has all kinds of ghost books in his house. He could be one." Sam replied.

Dean nearly stumbled over his own feet and stared at Sam in surprise. "How do you know what kind of books Bobby has in his house?"

"I read part of one."

"You …" Dean bit his lip. He knew that teaching his brother how to read early would kick him in the ass some day. "Don't … don't go near any of his books, okay?"

"Why not?"

"Because … because they're grown-up books." Dean stated.

"But Uncle Bobby gave it to me."

"He gave you one of his books to read?" Dean asked exasperated.

"Yeah. He said I could look at the pictures, but not to color in it. I don't think he knew I could already read." Sam added proudly. "But I could."

"Yeah, obviously." Dean sighed. "It doesn't matter though. Bobby isn't a Ghostbuster. They just exist in the movie."

"You sure?" Sam asked disappointed.

"Absolutely."

"But who takes care of ghosts then?"

Dean didn't know what to say. He wanted to assure his little brother that ghosts weren't real, that there was no reason to be afraid; but he couldn't do that, could he? He knew ghosts were real and many other bad things as well. One day Sam would know too. Once their dad decided Sam was old enough; he would tell him all about it, and then Sam would know he had lied.

This was a pain Dean couldn't bear. Till this day, he hadn't dared to admit to his little brother that even Santa was a lie. He needed Sam to believe in him and to not be scared – because if he didn't, then Dean was afraid that the only good thing in their lives would just disappear with it. He needed Sam to believe for them both.

"Dean?" Sam looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"The police." Dean cleared his throat. "Um, it's some kind of secret department, you know?"

"Like the CIA?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah, yeah, exactly. Like the CIA." Dean breathed out in relief. He hoped it would satisfy his brother … for as long as possible.

When Sam didn't bring the subject up again, he thought he had been successful.

---SPN---

When Dean stepped into their apartment and smelled only stale air, he immediately knew something was up. No Pasta.

"Dad?" He called, letting their father know they were home.

"I'm hungry." Sam stated, slipping out of his jacket, cap, scarf and backpack already lying in a heap on the floor. Before Dean could stop him, he ran into the kitchen.

Sighing, Dean followed him, ignoring his own grumbling stomach. He'd been ignoring it all afternoon. Social Studies had been hardest! Maybe he should have better spend his lunch money on, well, lunch.

"Dean?" Sam stood in the middle of the small kitchen, staring at his brother with wide, disappointed eyes. "We're too late."

"I don't think so, Sammy." Dean sighed.

Before he could say anything else, John stepped into the kitchen as well. "Good, you're back."

"Hey, Dad." Dean looked warily at his father and the duffel bag he was carrying.

"I'm hungry." Sam complained from behind him.

"I've put some money on the counter, so you can order some pizza. Travis called, he's two towns over and needs help with a case." John explained.

"Okay." Dean nodded.

"Are you leaving?" Sam asked.

"Just for the night, Sammy. I should be back tomorrow afternoon." John said.

"But …"

"Sammy." Dean glared at his little brother.

"You listen to your brother." John said sternly. "I don't want to hear any complaints when I get back."

"But …" Sam bit his lip as if thinking about whether he should continue or not.

Dean glared at him and when Sam looked at him with a stubborn expression, he knew his brother wouldn't stay quiet.

"What about Halloween?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam, shut up."

"What about it?" John asked.

"We were gonna go trick or treating."

John looked confused between his two sons, too stunned to say anything for a moment. "We never go trick or treating."

"We could this year." Sam said hopefully.

"Sam, let it go." Dean tried to pull his brother back. "It's okay, Dad. I got this."

"But Dean, you promised." Sam whined.

"I didn't."

"You did."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did …"

"Boys!" John barked.

The brothers immediately stilled and looked sheepishly at their father.

"Dean?" John looked at his eldest, waiting for an explanation.

"I said …" Dean quickly glared at his brother. "… that I would ask you if I thought that … uh …"

"If?"

"If you were in the right mood." Sam jumped in helpfully.

Dean wanted to strangle him.

John raised a brow. "Really?"

"What I meant was … I … " Dean stuttered, trying to find the right words.

"I have to go now." John brushed his boys off, not having the time or patience to deal with their needs now. "I want you boys to stay inside. And don't stay up too late, you both have school tomorrow." He was moving quickly, finishing the packing of his bag.

"But Dad …"

"Sam, you heard what I said." John said sternly.

"Can't we just go for an hour? Before it turns dark?" Sam pleaded.

"Sam …"

"I want to wear my costume. Please, Daddy."

"You have a costume?" John asked perplexed. His actions ceased.

"Dean made it." Sam replied proudly. "I'll be a ghost."

Dean blushed and looked sheepishly at his father. "I just cut a hole in a blanket." He mumbled embarrassed.

"Really." John said. "And what is your costume?"

"I'm too old for that." Dean stated dignified.

"He's a secret agent. Like you, Dad." Sam grinned happily.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean groaned.

"Secret agent?" John raised a brow at his son.

If possible, Dean blushed even more.

"Please, Daddy." Sam was using his puppy dog eyes on his father now.

Like his eldest son, John wasn't immune. Obviously his sons had planned this for some time and were looking forward to it. And there wasn't really any harm in it, was there? It was a lively neighborhood. The streets would be filled with people. And John had trained Dean well enough to trust him to know what to look for. It would be fun and Sam had never really experienced Halloween before. It would also save him money on treats. They deserved this.

There was no reason to not allow them to go. This was a night like any other.

Except it wasn't. It was Halloween and this night was destined to attract every spirit and evil creature in the neighborhood.

When he saw both his sons looking at him hopefully, Sam more openly than Dean, he couldn't help but give in. "All right. One hour. And you'll be home before six! And …"

"Thank you!" Sam cried out happily, throwing himself at his father and wrapping his arms around him.

Dean had a wide grin plastered on his face.

John unwrapped Sam's arms from his waist and knelt down in front of him, looking him intently in his eyes. "You stay at your brother's side, understood? You don't move away from him."

"Yes, Sir." Sam beamed.

John glanced at his eldest expectantly.

"Understood, Sir." Dean said happily.

"Fine." John sighed. "I'll call you from Travis' place. You better be back home by then."

"We will." The brothers shot out in unison.

John nodded. He didn't like it. But he couldn't keep his sons cooped up inside all the time. He needed to let loose every once in a while. If only it wouldn't be this hard.

---SPN---

John was ready to go. The house was secured and the Impala packed. He had given Dean the usual instructions and had told Sammy to listen to his brother. All he needed to do now was start the car's engine.

The only problem was that his youngest had made himself comfortable in the Impala's passenger seat, looking at his father with expectant eyes.

"Sammy, if this is you behaving, I might have to reconsider your Halloween trick or treating." John sighed.

"I'm behaving." Sam shot out quickly. "I just have to tell you something really important." He added in a whispered voice.

"And what is that?" John asked with a raised brow.

"It's about old widow Daisy." Sam went on in his conspiratorial tone. "She's going to kill someone tonight."

John looked at his youngest perplexed. "Who is widow Daisy?"

"She lives in this old house. We walk by it every day from school. It's haunted." Sam said earnestly.

John groaned, remembering where he had heard that name before. "Did Dean tell you about this?" He would have to have a serious talk with his eldest when he was back.

"No." Sam shook his head. "Dean doesn't believe it's true. But I know it is."

"Do you." John said dryly. "Look, Sammy, I really don't have time for this right now. We can talk about it when I'm back."

"But Dad, she's going to kill someone else tonight. She does so every Halloween."

"That's just a story, Sammy. It's not true." John assured him. "And if it were true … what do you think I could do against a ghost?" He'd asked the last question warily, almost afraid of the answer. He kept waiting for the day that his youngest would find out everything about the world they were living in. He had been shielding him from it all for so long– he wasn't sure if he was ready to lose the last part of innocence this family had left.

"You can catch him. That's what secret agents do, right?" Sam replied, looking at his father with the kind of hero worship he usually reserved for his big brother.

John felt a huge lump build in his throat. "I'm not a secret agent, Sammy."

"I know I'm not supposed to know. Don't worry, Dad, I won't tell anyone."

"Sam …"

"Can you catch her, Daddy?"

"Sammy, listen. This story of that woman haunting the house and luring in kids to kill them … it's not true. It's just a story." John said sternly, looking intently at his son.

"But …"

"No but, Sam. Ghosts, they're not …" He swallowed and cleared his throat. He needed Sam to believe this. Just a little while longer. "They're not real. They're just stories to scare little kids like you and your friends. And I'm not a secret agent." He added as an afterthought.

"But …" Sam looked at him, disappointment displaying on his face. "But you're always gone. I thought …"

"That's because of my job. One day, you'll understand."

Sam stayed silent for a while, looking thoughtfully down at his hands. After a few minutes he looked up at his father again. "You sure about ghosts? Because that house feels creepy."

"I'm sure, Sammy. You trust me, right?"

Sam nodded.

"Good. Now don't worry about it any longer. Go back inside and have a fun evening with your brother. Okay?"

"Okay." Sam nodded.

"Good boy." John smiled, ruffling his son's hair. "Now get out of this car."

"Bye, Dad." Sam hesitated a moment, then threw himself at his father once more and gave him a tight hug.

Swallowing down another lump in his throat, John returned the hug, reveling in the closeness with his son – a closeness that he experienced way too seldom with both of his boys.

"Love you, Daddy." Sam said; he gave his father a quick kiss on the cheek before he jumped out of the car and ran into the house.

John cleared his throat and quickly wiped a tear from his eye. Sometimes the love he felt for his children seemed too much to hold in. In moments like this, he wished he could give them a normal life. He wished he could get out of the car and go back to his sons, enjoy the evening with them together. Protect them. Keep them save.

But that's the reason he was leaving. To get rid of the evil that might one day turn against one of his children. This was his way of protecting them.

Taking a deep, determined breath, John started the car and drove away.

TBC