Wee!Chester fic: 101 Woodgrove St.
Wee!Chester Halloween fic made for
spn_halloween . I hope you like it!
Title: 101 Woodgrove St
Rating: Gen fic featuring young Sam and Dean, PG-13 for cursing and themes. Almost 4 000 words.
Made with the prompt: "The creepiest house on the block is handing out more than just candy on Halloween night. Sam and Dean investigate (could be current series or wee!chesters)."
A/N: I'm sorry about the angst in there. Poor boys. A million kisses to
ssstevie and
arabella_hope for their great beta-fu, they made this so much better! ♥
It may be only 7:30 but it's been pitch black for a while now. Dean studies the street, trying to guess the best candy spots by the decorations, clutching a plastic bag in one hand and his brother's tiny hot hand in the other. Sam is literally bouncing with energy beside him, pulling to go faster. He'd run around given half the chance but Dean doesn't want him to end up in front of a car.
"Can we do another street? Please?"
Dean looks down and can't help but grin at the big gap in Sammy's smile.
"Sure thing, Doogie!" If possible, the smile gets wider. "But then we'll have to think about going back home, school tomorrow and you have to go to bed."
"I know. But another street, Dean? Maybe two? It's Halloween." Sam says, intently, shaking his bag filled with candy.
"Yeah Dean, it's Halloween!" Paul parrots.
Dean laughs, elbowing his friend in the ribs to shut him up.
"I know. We're already out way late Sammy. Another street, promise. And look, isn't that Marty in a Bart Simpson costume?" Dean points to a little crowd of kids with a parent towering above, one house away. Sammy squints.
"Ohhh! Yes! Can I go with them?" Sam's already unlacing his fingers, ready to go over. Dean tugs on his little arm and gets down on one knee and readjusts the lab coat over Sammy's baby blue pajamas that are posing as scrubs, making sure he still has the stethoscope around his neck.
"Hey, look at me." Sam does, in between checking that his friends haven't moved. "Stay with them, I'll be just behind with Paul. Just one street. And be polite and say thank you, okay?"
"Yes! I will!"
He bolts and is soon mingling with little Marty, as well as ghosts and princesses around his height. A man that Dean recognizes as Marty's dad puts a hand on Sam's shoulder, then Sam points to him. Dean waves at Mr. Fisher who waves back as Paul lets out a long suffering sigh.
"Finally, we're rid of him! I don't know how you do it, he's always trailing you like a puppy."
Dean shrugs, then smiles wide. He's rarely able to do something with his friends outside of school. They've been in this town from the beginning of the school year, and for once Dean managed to make friends pretty easily. Paul is the closest friend he's had in... forever. They both love baseball, old movies and laugh at the same jokes. So yes, Dean does think they are entitled to have a little fun by themselves, since Sam is safe with the other kids. Paul has one of those rubber masks on, probably meant to look like a zombie with the amount of gore plastered on, but Dean can see his blue eyes sparkle with mischief underneath it. He points further down the street.
"Look where we are."
There it is, dark in its almost unkempt yard: the creepiest house in the neighbourhood, the place kids whisper about. In fact, 101 Woodgrove may not be the weirdest looking house Dean's ever seen (or even heard about) but it makes him uneasy none the less. It's not big, just a regular looking cottage in need of a good paint job, with a small garage on the side. There are no boarded windows, and it doesn't have turrets like those haunted houses on TV. None the less, every time Dean has to go near it, the hairs on his arms raise.
One of the reasons he doesn't like it, probably the only one that makes any kind of sense, is the guy living in it -- Mr. Walters. The house itself isn't that out of the ordinary, and Mr. Walters is not special or horribly disfigured either. He doesn't limp or have a hunched back. But the first time Dean went over to collect the money for his paper run, Mr. Walters looked at him up and down with those weird washed out grey eyes of his and Dean found himself ready to flee, every alarm on red even if there was no immediate threat.
The second time, Mr. Walters casually asked him if he wanted to come in and offered cookies and milk. Something was off, and Dean stumbled backward mumbling a "Christo". No reaction, except Mr. Walters blinking in surprise. It was almost shocking that his eyes didn't flick black like Dad said demon eyes do.
Dean asked Dad about ogres when he got back home that day. And Dad, who knows a lot of things about weird and scary stuff, said that ogres don't exist, or at least not in regular cities like Groveland.
"So?" Paul prompts, jarring Dean out of his memories. "Want to go over there?"
Dean looks at the house, then at his friend.
"And what?"
"I don't know."
Paul takes a couple of steps towards it, turns to Dean, and continues to walk backwards.
"Are you scared?"
Dean bristles. He is not a coward.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you. All those things you talk about: fighting, target practice, this," He points to the nunchaku at Dean's side. "Do you even know..."
"I can use them."
Dean is tempted to put on a show right now to prove his point but Paul laughs.
"That's why you're a ninja."
Dean grins, adjusting his black ski mask and mimicking a karate pose, one hand on the wooden handle of his nunchaku.
"Yeah, and don't forget my natural stealth."
Paul guffaws and Dean takes a deep breath, tries to sound careless.
"C'mon, let's go see what Walters is doing."
Now that they're approaching the house, following the edge to stay in the shadows, Dean feels a shiver of excitement. He's careful not to step on twigs or dry leaves, walking silently like Dad taught them, but it's of no use with the racket Paul is making with his big boots.
When they reach the wall, Dean flattens himself against it and Paul mimics his every move. They go near a window, where there are flashes of blue light. Dean risks a peek inside and sees Mr. Walters, in a wife beater and old jeans, sprawled on the couch and eating chips. He's watching an old Dracula movie and Dean can't help but approve of the choice on Halloween night.
"Ah, yuck."
Paul exclaims softly and Dean can see that the old paint, peeling from the house like dead skin, is sticking to his coat. Paul gestures that he wants to go towards the garage. A swarm of kids running for the door make them duck for cover, but they take the advantage of the diversion when the group yells "Trick or treat!" to run to the garage.
"I've always wondered what's in there," Paul whispers.
Dean looks around and sees a dead potted plant that must have been hung up with a metal wire; it now lays abandoned on the side. He twists and turns the wire until he breaks a bit of it off. Paul comes to look over his shoulder
"What are you doing?"
Dean shows him the old lock on the garage's door.
"Wanna go see?"
Paul bites his lip; nods and Dean works on the lock that gives in so easily, it's not even worth the gasp Paul makes. Dean opens the door and slides in, Paul in tow, and when he closes it behind them it's so dark, he can't see a thing. Dean takes the flashlight he has from the waistband of his black sweats and places it under his chin, whistling to attract Paul's attention before turning it on.
"Boo!"
Paul jumps in surprise and yelps when there is a scurried noise to his left half a second after. Dean laughs and catches a scared squirrel in the beam.
"You sissy!"
"Shut up," Paul hisses, a hand on his chest like he's trying to still his heart.
They start snooping around, finding that there's nothing interesting in the garage after all. There are plastic chairs, a lawnmower and some dirty power tools, chopped wood, skis, and boxes full of old junk. They don't find any old chests or chains, shackles, or jars full of eyeballs; not even old magazines. Dean shuts off his flashlight and cracks the door open, and since there appears to be no one watching, they both slip out and put the lock back in place. Dean looks at his friend, who now has his mask pulled off his face and is looking around, as to make sure there is no one near.
"Now what?"
With a smile that screams trouble, Paul opens his oversized coat and fishes out what is padding his fake gut: toilet paper rolls. He hands one to Dean, who hovers for a second. If they get caught... the punishment will be epic. But Dean really hates Mr. Walters, and it's maybe wrong but so tempting. The gang at school will be impressed, of that he's sure.
Hoping Dad will never find out, Dean throws his roll over the garage, as Paul puts his mask back and does the same. The two projectiles leave a trail of white in their wake, twisting in tree branches before they thin and disappear on the other side. Dean's blood is rushing in his veins and when Paul grabs his candy bag and runs away through the neighbors yard, he does the same, laughing so hard his sides hurt.
When they reach the street, they almost collide with a group of kids. Instinctively, Dean looks for his brother, eyes jumping from one to the other. Sam's not there and Dean thinks he's probably got the wrong little group until he sees Marty and his dad, coming over. There's nothing funny anymore when he scans the group again and there's still no Sam, no little figure trailing behind either.
"Where's Sam?"
A little girl dressed as an angel looks around and shrugs.
"Sam? I don't know."
Dean goes to Marty's dad, worry rising fast.
"Uh, Mr. Fisher?"
The man looks down at him.
"Yes?"
Dean tries to smile.
"Where's my brother? I don't see him."
Mr Fisher looks around, frowning.
"Sam? Oh, he's just behind, he kept trailing off. I saw him just a minute ago, he was going to this house, he'll surely be right over."
He points towards 101 Woodgrove, making Dean's teeth cringe. He thought an adult would look out for Sam, keep an eye on him. Dean is pretty sure that if he hadn't mentioned Sam, Mr. Fisher would just had left without him.
"Alone?"
Mr. Fisher nods, as if it's perfectly normal.
"Yeah, he went back a second time because they gave mini chocolate bars. Said you were just behind anyway."
The driveway isn't visible from where they are, hidden by the edge. Maybe Sam's walking towards them right this moment; will round the corner and be ready to go charm candy out of the little old lady next door. Mr. Fisher keeps talking.
"You got it, Dean? You'll wait for your brother? We really have to go home now, it's past the time I had to bring Jasper, Andy, Sally and Eric home. And Marty's had enough."
Dean still doesn't see Sam, and it's not normal that it takes more than a minute. He thinks Mr. Fisher should be worried too; hopes he'll offer to come to Mr. Walters' house with him but he's clearly in a hurry to leave, gathering his little herd.
"Okay, I got it," Dean lets out reluctantly, gesturing to Paul to come over. He never should have let Sam of his sight. Dad is going to kill him if anything happens to Sam. Maybe he should go get Dad?
But he needs to find Sam, can't run all the way to the apartment and come back, it would take too much time. He's walking briskly towards the driveway, crossing his fingers that Sam is just there, but no sign of him. The house is as dark and ominous as it was when they first got here, as if it has swallowed Sam whole. Not caring if he's being seen now, because it's not a game anymore, Dean runs to the house, followed by Paul.
"You think Sam is in there?"
Dean doesn't even answer, I hope not, I hope not, I hope not, please let him be okay and immediately goes to look in the living room window. He can't help but smile in relief when he sees Sam sitting on a chair, smiling as he looks through his plastic bag. All the air rushes out of Dean. He's about to knock on the window to get Sam's attention, when Mr. Walters enters the room with a glass of milk and Dean feels cold all over, the relief fading fast. He can't believe Sam accepted to go into a stranger's house like that.
Dean runs to the door and rings the bell, prepares a fake smile and what he's going to say: "Hi Mr. Walters! I saw my brother come in. Thank you but we have to go now, our father is waiting for us." His heart is hammering in his chest. And why is it taking so long? He rings the bell again; resists the urge to bang on the door urgently. Paul, who's still looking in the window, whistles.
"Dean! Dean, we have to go get a grown up, something's not right."
Panic rises in Dean's chest.
"What? What's going on?"
"Well, nothing! And that's the problem. You heard the bell, it works! But he's staying there with Sam. He won't open."
"Is he doing something to Sam?"
"No, not really..."
But Paul's looking scared and that means he thinks something is about to happen soon. Dean can't let anything happen to Sam; it's his fault he's in there. If no one opens, he's going to get in by himself; pick the lock if it comes to that. But as he tries the door handle, it gives in to his surprise. He's not about to complain about that though, but for a second he wishes he had a gun. No one argues with guns. Next year he'll dress up as a cowboy, be prepared.
He takes the three steps to the living room entry and freezes, seeing Mr. Walters crouched in front of Sam, talking so softly Dean doesn't understand what he's saying. Sam isn't smiling like he was two minutes ago; not until he sees Dean and then his grin is back full force. Mr. Walters sees Sam's attention shift and he turns; sees Dean and smiles too, but it's not totally friendly.
"Hey," Dean croaks as Paul gets to his side. Paul seems just about to run out. "Huh. Hi. Sam, we have to go."
Sam tries to stand up but Mr. Walters stops him with a hand on his shoulder.
"Hi there, Dean," he says, nodding a welcome to Paul too. "You're with Sam?"
"He's my brother," Sam says, and starts to fidget.
"Really?" Mr Walters indicates the couch with his chin. "Sit down boys, there's no rush. Do you want a glass of milk too?"
Dean shakes his head; sees from the corner of his eye that Paul does the same.
"No. No thanks. Come on Sam."
Mr. Walters points to the little table just left of Dean, full of candy bars.
"I have lots of candy left. We could eat some, maybe watch a movie."
Dean can't stop moving his eyes from Mr. Walters' face to the hand on Sam. If he would just let Sammy go...
"No. No thanks."
Walters winks at them.
"Why don't you go Trick or Treat with your friend a bit more? Have some fun? Sam will stay with me and you can pick him up on your way home."
Dean blinks, bewildered.
"What? NO! You can't... no. Sam comes with me."
Paul chimes in.
"Yeah, we want Sam to come with us."
Sam shimmies out of the chair but Walters catches him by the wrist and smiles down at him. Says playfully, "Hey Sam, buddy! Don't you want to stay?"
Sam is frozen, looking up at Mr. Walters, then at Dean.
"No, I want to go with Dean."
He pulls a bit to free his hand. Dean just can't stand it anymore. He steps forward.
"You can't force him to stay."
Mr. Walters' eyebrows rise.
"I'm not forcing anyone to do anything."
He's still holding Sam though. Dean makes another step forward and as he speaks, a hand slips to his nunchaku.
"Then let him go."
Mr. Walters smiles, his teeth white and sharp. Dean gets it then: he's not an ogre, he's a shark. And they have to get away now.
"Or what?"
There is a lot of mockery in the tone, and Sam's the one who answers vehemently.
"Or Dean will kick your ass!"
Mr. Walters laughs out loud at that, and Dean thinks this won't go without a fight. He lets his candy bag down, takes out the nunchaku, and crouches a bit.
"Ooooh! I'm terrified! How old are you, boy? Eight? Nine?"
Dean presses his lips together; he won't dignify this taunting with an answer. Sam puffs up though.
"Hey! He's ten!"
Walters laughs again, obviously enjoying himself.
"Well, that changes everything then. You're a super ninja, aren't you Dean?"
Sam tries to get out of Walters' grasp with a bit more force, and seeing his little brother trapped makes Dean see red.
"I swear, if you don't let my brother go, I will hurt you."
All of this is hilarious to Mr. Walters. Dean has never used his nunchaku on someone outside of practice, but he knows he's good and fast. He has destroyed many mannequins, hitting on the weak spots; knows where to strike for maximum damage. He assesses the space between him and his adversary, three times his size but unarmed and not expecting actual opposition. He starts counting in his head: if Walters doesn't let go of Sam in the next 30 seconds, Dean's going to have to do something.
Holding Sam's hand up, obviously to goad him, Walters taunts.
"C'mon boy, show me what you can do. I'm curious now."
Dean shakes his head, stepping to the side. Positions himself, possibilities lining up.
"I don't have to show you anything."
Walters smile is cold, sharp.
"Humor me."
If Sam could only get out of there, they'd be okay. All they need is a diversion, so Sam can pry himself out of the grasp on his wrist. Dean looks at his little brother and he can see in his eyes that Sam is steeling himself for it, ready to react on cue. He's crouched a bit, ready to explode. Dean starts twirling the nunchaku, slowly. Walters huffs, as if he's disappointed he was right.
"That's all you can do? Twirl it?"
Dean smiles slowly, more to bare his teeth than because he's finding any of this funny. If Walters wants a show, he'll have it. Dean starts his usual routine, the one he's so comfortable with it's like putting slippers on, his grasp sure on the handles and his confidence rising. He can totally do this. He swings the nunchaku above and around his torso, faster and faster. Mr. Walters whistles softly, clearly surprised if not impressed. On the next pass, Dean strikes, sending the nunchaku handle to snap on the plastic bowl of chips on the table, which sends both the bowl and its content in a loud "whack" directly towards Mr. Walters' head.
Sam reacts as Dean expected, twisting against Walters' thumb to get out of his grasp. He dodges as he gets free. It all goes very fast, but just as Dean is recuperating the nunchaku, Walters tries to catch Sam again and it's instinctive, Dean strikes again, this time hitting Walters on the wrist and there's a crunch followed by a loud curse. Sam runs behind Dean, who shields him as they go for the door. Sam cries out.
"I'm going to tell my dad!"
Holding his injured arm, Walters huffs.
"If you know what is good for you, you won't tell anyone anything." He's beet red, mad. "I'll just let everyone know that you're lying, that I caught you little punks TP-ing my garage, even how you broke in."
Paul's eyes are wide and Dean knows that Walters' right, they are screwed, no one will believe them. Walters is almost spitting out his words.
"That's right, I saw you. Sent your little brother as a diversion, Dean?"
Dean is horrified that he could even say that; hopes Sam doesn't believe it. He grabs Sam by the hand and squeezes hard. Paul opens the door; runs out without waiting. Dean shakes his head vehemently.
"No. No way. I would never do that. You're a sick fuck, asshole. Stay the hell away from Sam."
Dean pulls Sam towards the street, as fast as he can, Dean almost dragging Sam. They're followed a bit by Walter's derisive laugh until the door slams shut. Dean and Sam catch up with Paul two houses over, and they all stop to breathe, air coming out in short puffs.
Around them, the world is going on like nothing has happened, little kids laughing as they hurry to decorated houses and parents smiling in the street. It's surreal and Dean's blood is thumping in his ears, proving he didn't dream any of it, the fear still sharp.
When he looks down, he sees that Sam is crying silently, as if he's trying to keep it in but just can't. Dean falls to his knees and hugs him, hard, and Sam clings to him. He starts to dry Sam's tears with the sleeve of his black sweater, shushing him.
"It's okay Sammy, it's okay. We'll never go near that horrible house or that bad man again, never."
Sam nods, his big hazel eyes still brimming with tears and his lower lip quivering.
"Dean," he whispers.
"What?"
Sam looks so sad, and he speaks so low that Dean almost doesn't hear.
"My candy bag. It's in there."
Dean's heart squeezes at that, because there is absolutely nothing he can do about it. He personally doesn't give a damn about the candy; his is over there too. Dean's just happy they're out and safe. It's late and Dean wants nothing more than to go bury himself under the covers and forget all of this ever happened.
He does know that if they go home empty handed, there will be questions, and he's not ready to tell Dad what happened, how he failed to keep Sam safe. He tries to compose an enthusiastic smile.
"Hey, it's a bit late, but we can still do a couple of streets, Sammy! What do you think?"
Sam just shakes his head, looking at his feet.
"I just want to go home."
Dean hugs him some more, before getting up.
"Yeah. We'll go home."
"Hey, Sam."
It's Paul, his zombie mask off and looking more serious than Dean has ever seen him. He holds his candy bag out to Sam, who hesitates a bit before taking it.
"Here. Have mine." He smiles. "I don't like candy that much anyway."
Which Dean knows is the biggest lie ever. Yet when a small smile breaks on Sam face and he lunges to hug Paul, Dean almost does the same. Their eyes meet and Dean mouths "Thank you." Paul smiles back and winks.
They each take one of Sam's hands and start the walk home, forcing themselves to joke and act as if everything is okay, but feeling in their bones that Halloween will never be the same.
The End
spn_halloween . I hope you like it!
Title: 101 Woodgrove St
Rating: Gen fic featuring young Sam and Dean, PG-13 for cursing and themes. Almost 4 000 words.
Made with the prompt: "The creepiest house on the block is handing out more than just candy on Halloween night. Sam and Dean investigate (could be current series or wee!chesters)."
A/N: I'm sorry about the angst in there. Poor boys. A million kisses to
ssstevie and
arabella_hope for their great beta-fu, they made this so much better! ♥
It may be only 7:30 but it's been pitch black for a while now. Dean studies the street, trying to guess the best candy spots by the decorations, clutching a plastic bag in one hand and his brother's tiny hot hand in the other. Sam is literally bouncing with energy beside him, pulling to go faster. He'd run around given half the chance but Dean doesn't want him to end up in front of a car.
"Can we do another street? Please?"
Dean looks down and can't help but grin at the big gap in Sammy's smile.
"Sure thing, Doogie!" If possible, the smile gets wider. "But then we'll have to think about going back home, school tomorrow and you have to go to bed."
"I know. But another street, Dean? Maybe two? It's Halloween." Sam says, intently, shaking his bag filled with candy.
"Yeah Dean, it's Halloween!" Paul parrots.
Dean laughs, elbowing his friend in the ribs to shut him up.
"I know. We're already out way late Sammy. Another street, promise. And look, isn't that Marty in a Bart Simpson costume?" Dean points to a little crowd of kids with a parent towering above, one house away. Sammy squints.
"Ohhh! Yes! Can I go with them?" Sam's already unlacing his fingers, ready to go over. Dean tugs on his little arm and gets down on one knee and readjusts the lab coat over Sammy's baby blue pajamas that are posing as scrubs, making sure he still has the stethoscope around his neck.
"Hey, look at me." Sam does, in between checking that his friends haven't moved. "Stay with them, I'll be just behind with Paul. Just one street. And be polite and say thank you, okay?"
"Yes! I will!"
He bolts and is soon mingling with little Marty, as well as ghosts and princesses around his height. A man that Dean recognizes as Marty's dad puts a hand on Sam's shoulder, then Sam points to him. Dean waves at Mr. Fisher who waves back as Paul lets out a long suffering sigh.
"Finally, we're rid of him! I don't know how you do it, he's always trailing you like a puppy."
Dean shrugs, then smiles wide. He's rarely able to do something with his friends outside of school. They've been in this town from the beginning of the school year, and for once Dean managed to make friends pretty easily. Paul is the closest friend he's had in... forever. They both love baseball, old movies and laugh at the same jokes. So yes, Dean does think they are entitled to have a little fun by themselves, since Sam is safe with the other kids. Paul has one of those rubber masks on, probably meant to look like a zombie with the amount of gore plastered on, but Dean can see his blue eyes sparkle with mischief underneath it. He points further down the street.
"Look where we are."
There it is, dark in its almost unkempt yard: the creepiest house in the neighbourhood, the place kids whisper about. In fact, 101 Woodgrove may not be the weirdest looking house Dean's ever seen (or even heard about) but it makes him uneasy none the less. It's not big, just a regular looking cottage in need of a good paint job, with a small garage on the side. There are no boarded windows, and it doesn't have turrets like those haunted houses on TV. None the less, every time Dean has to go near it, the hairs on his arms raise.
One of the reasons he doesn't like it, probably the only one that makes any kind of sense, is the guy living in it -- Mr. Walters. The house itself isn't that out of the ordinary, and Mr. Walters is not special or horribly disfigured either. He doesn't limp or have a hunched back. But the first time Dean went over to collect the money for his paper run, Mr. Walters looked at him up and down with those weird washed out grey eyes of his and Dean found himself ready to flee, every alarm on red even if there was no immediate threat.
The second time, Mr. Walters casually asked him if he wanted to come in and offered cookies and milk. Something was off, and Dean stumbled backward mumbling a "Christo". No reaction, except Mr. Walters blinking in surprise. It was almost shocking that his eyes didn't flick black like Dad said demon eyes do.
Dean asked Dad about ogres when he got back home that day. And Dad, who knows a lot of things about weird and scary stuff, said that ogres don't exist, or at least not in regular cities like Groveland.
"So?" Paul prompts, jarring Dean out of his memories. "Want to go over there?"
Dean looks at the house, then at his friend.
"And what?"
"I don't know."
Paul takes a couple of steps towards it, turns to Dean, and continues to walk backwards.
"Are you scared?"
Dean bristles. He is not a coward.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you. All those things you talk about: fighting, target practice, this," He points to the nunchaku at Dean's side. "Do you even know..."
"I can use them."
Dean is tempted to put on a show right now to prove his point but Paul laughs.
"That's why you're a ninja."
Dean grins, adjusting his black ski mask and mimicking a karate pose, one hand on the wooden handle of his nunchaku.
"Yeah, and don't forget my natural stealth."
Paul guffaws and Dean takes a deep breath, tries to sound careless.
"C'mon, let's go see what Walters is doing."
Now that they're approaching the house, following the edge to stay in the shadows, Dean feels a shiver of excitement. He's careful not to step on twigs or dry leaves, walking silently like Dad taught them, but it's of no use with the racket Paul is making with his big boots.
When they reach the wall, Dean flattens himself against it and Paul mimics his every move. They go near a window, where there are flashes of blue light. Dean risks a peek inside and sees Mr. Walters, in a wife beater and old jeans, sprawled on the couch and eating chips. He's watching an old Dracula movie and Dean can't help but approve of the choice on Halloween night.
"Ah, yuck."
Paul exclaims softly and Dean can see that the old paint, peeling from the house like dead skin, is sticking to his coat. Paul gestures that he wants to go towards the garage. A swarm of kids running for the door make them duck for cover, but they take the advantage of the diversion when the group yells "Trick or treat!" to run to the garage.
"I've always wondered what's in there," Paul whispers.
Dean looks around and sees a dead potted plant that must have been hung up with a metal wire; it now lays abandoned on the side. He twists and turns the wire until he breaks a bit of it off. Paul comes to look over his shoulder
"What are you doing?"
Dean shows him the old lock on the garage's door.
"Wanna go see?"
Paul bites his lip; nods and Dean works on the lock that gives in so easily, it's not even worth the gasp Paul makes. Dean opens the door and slides in, Paul in tow, and when he closes it behind them it's so dark, he can't see a thing. Dean takes the flashlight he has from the waistband of his black sweats and places it under his chin, whistling to attract Paul's attention before turning it on.
"Boo!"
Paul jumps in surprise and yelps when there is a scurried noise to his left half a second after. Dean laughs and catches a scared squirrel in the beam.
"You sissy!"
"Shut up," Paul hisses, a hand on his chest like he's trying to still his heart.
They start snooping around, finding that there's nothing interesting in the garage after all. There are plastic chairs, a lawnmower and some dirty power tools, chopped wood, skis, and boxes full of old junk. They don't find any old chests or chains, shackles, or jars full of eyeballs; not even old magazines. Dean shuts off his flashlight and cracks the door open, and since there appears to be no one watching, they both slip out and put the lock back in place. Dean looks at his friend, who now has his mask pulled off his face and is looking around, as to make sure there is no one near.
"Now what?"
With a smile that screams trouble, Paul opens his oversized coat and fishes out what is padding his fake gut: toilet paper rolls. He hands one to Dean, who hovers for a second. If they get caught... the punishment will be epic. But Dean really hates Mr. Walters, and it's maybe wrong but so tempting. The gang at school will be impressed, of that he's sure.
Hoping Dad will never find out, Dean throws his roll over the garage, as Paul puts his mask back and does the same. The two projectiles leave a trail of white in their wake, twisting in tree branches before they thin and disappear on the other side. Dean's blood is rushing in his veins and when Paul grabs his candy bag and runs away through the neighbors yard, he does the same, laughing so hard his sides hurt.
When they reach the street, they almost collide with a group of kids. Instinctively, Dean looks for his brother, eyes jumping from one to the other. Sam's not there and Dean thinks he's probably got the wrong little group until he sees Marty and his dad, coming over. There's nothing funny anymore when he scans the group again and there's still no Sam, no little figure trailing behind either.
"Where's Sam?"
A little girl dressed as an angel looks around and shrugs.
"Sam? I don't know."
Dean goes to Marty's dad, worry rising fast.
"Uh, Mr. Fisher?"
The man looks down at him.
"Yes?"
Dean tries to smile.
"Where's my brother? I don't see him."
Mr Fisher looks around, frowning.
"Sam? Oh, he's just behind, he kept trailing off. I saw him just a minute ago, he was going to this house, he'll surely be right over."
He points towards 101 Woodgrove, making Dean's teeth cringe. He thought an adult would look out for Sam, keep an eye on him. Dean is pretty sure that if he hadn't mentioned Sam, Mr. Fisher would just had left without him.
"Alone?"
Mr. Fisher nods, as if it's perfectly normal.
"Yeah, he went back a second time because they gave mini chocolate bars. Said you were just behind anyway."
The driveway isn't visible from where they are, hidden by the edge. Maybe Sam's walking towards them right this moment; will round the corner and be ready to go charm candy out of the little old lady next door. Mr. Fisher keeps talking.
"You got it, Dean? You'll wait for your brother? We really have to go home now, it's past the time I had to bring Jasper, Andy, Sally and Eric home. And Marty's had enough."
Dean still doesn't see Sam, and it's not normal that it takes more than a minute. He thinks Mr. Fisher should be worried too; hopes he'll offer to come to Mr. Walters' house with him but he's clearly in a hurry to leave, gathering his little herd.
"Okay, I got it," Dean lets out reluctantly, gesturing to Paul to come over. He never should have let Sam of his sight. Dad is going to kill him if anything happens to Sam. Maybe he should go get Dad?
But he needs to find Sam, can't run all the way to the apartment and come back, it would take too much time. He's walking briskly towards the driveway, crossing his fingers that Sam is just there, but no sign of him. The house is as dark and ominous as it was when they first got here, as if it has swallowed Sam whole. Not caring if he's being seen now, because it's not a game anymore, Dean runs to the house, followed by Paul.
"You think Sam is in there?"
Dean doesn't even answer, I hope not, I hope not, I hope not, please let him be okay and immediately goes to look in the living room window. He can't help but smile in relief when he sees Sam sitting on a chair, smiling as he looks through his plastic bag. All the air rushes out of Dean. He's about to knock on the window to get Sam's attention, when Mr. Walters enters the room with a glass of milk and Dean feels cold all over, the relief fading fast. He can't believe Sam accepted to go into a stranger's house like that.
Dean runs to the door and rings the bell, prepares a fake smile and what he's going to say: "Hi Mr. Walters! I saw my brother come in. Thank you but we have to go now, our father is waiting for us." His heart is hammering in his chest. And why is it taking so long? He rings the bell again; resists the urge to bang on the door urgently. Paul, who's still looking in the window, whistles.
"Dean! Dean, we have to go get a grown up, something's not right."
Panic rises in Dean's chest.
"What? What's going on?"
"Well, nothing! And that's the problem. You heard the bell, it works! But he's staying there with Sam. He won't open."
"Is he doing something to Sam?"
"No, not really..."
But Paul's looking scared and that means he thinks something is about to happen soon. Dean can't let anything happen to Sam; it's his fault he's in there. If no one opens, he's going to get in by himself; pick the lock if it comes to that. But as he tries the door handle, it gives in to his surprise. He's not about to complain about that though, but for a second he wishes he had a gun. No one argues with guns. Next year he'll dress up as a cowboy, be prepared.
He takes the three steps to the living room entry and freezes, seeing Mr. Walters crouched in front of Sam, talking so softly Dean doesn't understand what he's saying. Sam isn't smiling like he was two minutes ago; not until he sees Dean and then his grin is back full force. Mr. Walters sees Sam's attention shift and he turns; sees Dean and smiles too, but it's not totally friendly.
"Hey," Dean croaks as Paul gets to his side. Paul seems just about to run out. "Huh. Hi. Sam, we have to go."
Sam tries to stand up but Mr. Walters stops him with a hand on his shoulder.
"Hi there, Dean," he says, nodding a welcome to Paul too. "You're with Sam?"
"He's my brother," Sam says, and starts to fidget.
"Really?" Mr Walters indicates the couch with his chin. "Sit down boys, there's no rush. Do you want a glass of milk too?"
Dean shakes his head; sees from the corner of his eye that Paul does the same.
"No. No thanks. Come on Sam."
Mr. Walters points to the little table just left of Dean, full of candy bars.
"I have lots of candy left. We could eat some, maybe watch a movie."
Dean can't stop moving his eyes from Mr. Walters' face to the hand on Sam. If he would just let Sammy go...
"No. No thanks."
Walters winks at them.
"Why don't you go Trick or Treat with your friend a bit more? Have some fun? Sam will stay with me and you can pick him up on your way home."
Dean blinks, bewildered.
"What? NO! You can't... no. Sam comes with me."
Paul chimes in.
"Yeah, we want Sam to come with us."
Sam shimmies out of the chair but Walters catches him by the wrist and smiles down at him. Says playfully, "Hey Sam, buddy! Don't you want to stay?"
Sam is frozen, looking up at Mr. Walters, then at Dean.
"No, I want to go with Dean."
He pulls a bit to free his hand. Dean just can't stand it anymore. He steps forward.
"You can't force him to stay."
Mr. Walters' eyebrows rise.
"I'm not forcing anyone to do anything."
He's still holding Sam though. Dean makes another step forward and as he speaks, a hand slips to his nunchaku.
"Then let him go."
Mr. Walters smiles, his teeth white and sharp. Dean gets it then: he's not an ogre, he's a shark. And they have to get away now.
"Or what?"
There is a lot of mockery in the tone, and Sam's the one who answers vehemently.
"Or Dean will kick your ass!"
Mr. Walters laughs out loud at that, and Dean thinks this won't go without a fight. He lets his candy bag down, takes out the nunchaku, and crouches a bit.
"Ooooh! I'm terrified! How old are you, boy? Eight? Nine?"
Dean presses his lips together; he won't dignify this taunting with an answer. Sam puffs up though.
"Hey! He's ten!"
Walters laughs again, obviously enjoying himself.
"Well, that changes everything then. You're a super ninja, aren't you Dean?"
Sam tries to get out of Walters' grasp with a bit more force, and seeing his little brother trapped makes Dean see red.
"I swear, if you don't let my brother go, I will hurt you."
All of this is hilarious to Mr. Walters. Dean has never used his nunchaku on someone outside of practice, but he knows he's good and fast. He has destroyed many mannequins, hitting on the weak spots; knows where to strike for maximum damage. He assesses the space between him and his adversary, three times his size but unarmed and not expecting actual opposition. He starts counting in his head: if Walters doesn't let go of Sam in the next 30 seconds, Dean's going to have to do something.
Holding Sam's hand up, obviously to goad him, Walters taunts.
"C'mon boy, show me what you can do. I'm curious now."
Dean shakes his head, stepping to the side. Positions himself, possibilities lining up.
"I don't have to show you anything."
Walters smile is cold, sharp.
"Humor me."
If Sam could only get out of there, they'd be okay. All they need is a diversion, so Sam can pry himself out of the grasp on his wrist. Dean looks at his little brother and he can see in his eyes that Sam is steeling himself for it, ready to react on cue. He's crouched a bit, ready to explode. Dean starts twirling the nunchaku, slowly. Walters huffs, as if he's disappointed he was right.
"That's all you can do? Twirl it?"
Dean smiles slowly, more to bare his teeth than because he's finding any of this funny. If Walters wants a show, he'll have it. Dean starts his usual routine, the one he's so comfortable with it's like putting slippers on, his grasp sure on the handles and his confidence rising. He can totally do this. He swings the nunchaku above and around his torso, faster and faster. Mr. Walters whistles softly, clearly surprised if not impressed. On the next pass, Dean strikes, sending the nunchaku handle to snap on the plastic bowl of chips on the table, which sends both the bowl and its content in a loud "whack" directly towards Mr. Walters' head.
Sam reacts as Dean expected, twisting against Walters' thumb to get out of his grasp. He dodges as he gets free. It all goes very fast, but just as Dean is recuperating the nunchaku, Walters tries to catch Sam again and it's instinctive, Dean strikes again, this time hitting Walters on the wrist and there's a crunch followed by a loud curse. Sam runs behind Dean, who shields him as they go for the door. Sam cries out.
"I'm going to tell my dad!"
Holding his injured arm, Walters huffs.
"If you know what is good for you, you won't tell anyone anything." He's beet red, mad. "I'll just let everyone know that you're lying, that I caught you little punks TP-ing my garage, even how you broke in."
Paul's eyes are wide and Dean knows that Walters' right, they are screwed, no one will believe them. Walters is almost spitting out his words.
"That's right, I saw you. Sent your little brother as a diversion, Dean?"
Dean is horrified that he could even say that; hopes Sam doesn't believe it. He grabs Sam by the hand and squeezes hard. Paul opens the door; runs out without waiting. Dean shakes his head vehemently.
"No. No way. I would never do that. You're a sick fuck, asshole. Stay the hell away from Sam."
Dean pulls Sam towards the street, as fast as he can, Dean almost dragging Sam. They're followed a bit by Walter's derisive laugh until the door slams shut. Dean and Sam catch up with Paul two houses over, and they all stop to breathe, air coming out in short puffs.
Around them, the world is going on like nothing has happened, little kids laughing as they hurry to decorated houses and parents smiling in the street. It's surreal and Dean's blood is thumping in his ears, proving he didn't dream any of it, the fear still sharp.
When he looks down, he sees that Sam is crying silently, as if he's trying to keep it in but just can't. Dean falls to his knees and hugs him, hard, and Sam clings to him. He starts to dry Sam's tears with the sleeve of his black sweater, shushing him.
"It's okay Sammy, it's okay. We'll never go near that horrible house or that bad man again, never."
Sam nods, his big hazel eyes still brimming with tears and his lower lip quivering.
"Dean," he whispers.
"What?"
Sam looks so sad, and he speaks so low that Dean almost doesn't hear.
"My candy bag. It's in there."
Dean's heart squeezes at that, because there is absolutely nothing he can do about it. He personally doesn't give a damn about the candy; his is over there too. Dean's just happy they're out and safe. It's late and Dean wants nothing more than to go bury himself under the covers and forget all of this ever happened.
He does know that if they go home empty handed, there will be questions, and he's not ready to tell Dad what happened, how he failed to keep Sam safe. He tries to compose an enthusiastic smile.
"Hey, it's a bit late, but we can still do a couple of streets, Sammy! What do you think?"
Sam just shakes his head, looking at his feet.
"I just want to go home."
Dean hugs him some more, before getting up.
"Yeah. We'll go home."
"Hey, Sam."
It's Paul, his zombie mask off and looking more serious than Dean has ever seen him. He holds his candy bag out to Sam, who hesitates a bit before taking it.
"Here. Have mine." He smiles. "I don't like candy that much anyway."
Which Dean knows is the biggest lie ever. Yet when a small smile breaks on Sam face and he lunges to hug Paul, Dean almost does the same. Their eyes meet and Dean mouths "Thank you." Paul smiles back and winks.
They each take one of Sam's hands and start the walk home, forcing themselves to joke and act as if everything is okay, but feeling in their bones that Halloween will never be the same.
The End