CH 18: Sam Winchester from Supernatural

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"Stupid little troll."

Xander was growling as he walked through the costume shop. The Troll, aka Snyder, had volunteered him and his friends for trick or treat duty.

One their ONE night off!

Add to that the guns were all gone and his camos were trashed thanks to a drunken rampage by dear old dad.

He was stuck with a black spandex suit with a tear in the neckline (the only thing left in his size) and a tube of white body paint. He had a character in mind that he could play, but he wasn't really looking forward to it.

With any luck none of the jocks would know he was technically dressing like a girl.

"Xander!'

"Hiya Mrs. S."

He grinned, glad that the costume wasn't as bad as he'd feared. Yay for black cloth and minimum light, you couldn't see much. The added bands of zigzags around his shins and elbows made the costume look pretty good. He almost didn't recognize himself in the mirror with his face and hair coated with the body paint. Usual curls were stuck up in a spiked style and the paler look made his cheekbones stand out.

"That's some costume. What are you?"

"A radio personality."

Can't give away everything after all.

"Hey asshole, put her down!"

"What, you gonna make me, pet?"

Spike leered at the pale boy until he noticed the sparks flying from his fingertips. Choosing the better of two bad options he ran, opting to get even at a later date.

Xander grinned as he looked over the frat houses. Ordinarily it would take a long time to figure out what was where and how to get in.

But Maggie Walsh knew as much about him as the Scoobies did.

That is, human, late teens, male, job-hopper that can't seem to hold down a permanent position, enjoys carpentry and construction.

"Ladies and not-so-gentle-demons we have a special show for you tonight. The government is about to get it's overly nosy ass handed to them on a platter with a heaping side of told-you-so. Stay tuned for the latest updates and hits on the air!"

He let the power flow, the paint he kept on his face and arms baking and flaking off in little flecks. A zap and ozone coalesced into a skintight black suit. A thought and a snap and there was just a pile of debris on the hill and the payphone that was next to it sparking slightly.

Time to bust Oz out.