The porch lights weren’t on.
Sam stood at the step leading up to the patio, clutching the motel pillowcase tightly in his hands. His Power Rangers costume, a Red Ranger outfit shoplifted from the grocery store down the street, was already soaked through with rain and he shivered violently. He turned to look over his shoulder, his brow creased with worry.
“Are you sure, Dean?” He tipped his head up to look at his older brother, also soaked from the rain but seeming to take it in stride.
Dean nodded, giving him a lopsided grin. He wore Dad’s leather jacket in the vague approximation of a James Dean costume but he wasn’t trick-or-treating at all. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be partaking in Sam’s haul when they got back to the motel, however. Sam would end up hurling if he tried to eat all of his candy, so he didn’t mind sharing.
What bothered him, however, was the shopping bag Dean was holding at his side.
“I’ve got an idea if they don’t answer.”
Sam swallowed and went up to the door, a dark red with an inset window made spooky by the lack of light on the other side. He didn’t really want to knock—what if an elderly couple were sound asleep inside? It felt wrong to bother people who were just trying to sleep, especially old people. But Dean would keep encouraging him to do it until he did, and all he really wanted was to be in bed, out of his wet costume.
He knocked and waited for what felt like a minute before he looked back to Dean, nerves buzzing underneath his skin.
“I’ve got a lot of candy, Dean, can’t we go?”
“Try again! Maybe they didn’t hear you.” Dean’s smile melted away most of his anxiety, though that didn’t change Sam’s opinion.
He knocked harder, rapping his knuckles against the door and taking two steps back as he held the pillowcase in front of him. His heart was pounding hard in his chest.
“Trick or treat!” Dean yelled, and Sam shot a startled glance at his brother.
“Quiet!” Sam’s heart was racing now, and all Dean gave him in response was a smirk.
Sam stood there for what felt like ten minutes, but he knew that couldn’t be right—Dean wouldn’t have waited that long. He felt anxious as he stepped back, looking up at Dean as he pulled the egg carton out of the bag. They both moved out onto the lawn, Sam slipping behind Dean and glancing out to the wet road. The house across the street still had its lights on, and Sam shook Dean’s arm.
“They’re gonna see us, Dean!” He kept his voice low, but he still felt like he was putting them underneath a flashing neon sign.
Sam knit his brows together as he watched Dean pluck an egg from the carton and wind up to hurl it.
“I’ll be quick, I promise.”
The look on his face made Sam turn his head downward: the way his grin lit up his entire face made Sam’s turn bright red. They fooled around sometimes, but Sam didn’t think those feelings would bleed past the cold, unsupervised nights spent in the same bed. It was an unfriendly reminder that something wasn’t right with Sam.
But, if something was wrong with Sam, there was comfort in the fact that something was wrong with Dean, too; that he wasn’t alone in being strange.
Dean hurled six eggs at the house before Sam heard a car coming down the road. He grabbed Dean and dragged him down the sidewalk, racing fast as they could off the lawn and into the night. Dean was laughing like Sam wasn’t on the verge of going into cardiac arrest because of his stupid prank, the sound echoing through the stretch of dead air.
“Happy Halloween!” He screamed into the night.
Sam held Dean’s hand tight as they ran across the rain-dampened street, his narrow fingers lacing between Dean’s wider ones. He liked how it felt when their palms pressed flush together.
—
Only twenty minutes later, halfway across town, Sam was finished trick-or-treating. He was cold, the pillowcase was soaked, and all the houses were turning their porch lights off now. But Dean was still holding out hope for full bars, so they kept walking and trying houses.
Sam sniffled as they reached another dark house at the end of a long suburban street, and he rubbed his whimpering nose across the back of his palm. He glanced up at Dean, hoping he’d find him tired and wanting to head home but only seeing determination in his eyes. They were going to be out until one in the morning at this rate.
Dean started back up the street, popping his collar to deflect the fat raindrops soaking into his t-shirt, and Sam tailed after his brother: a loyal little duckling following the leader.
It wasn’t until they were at the cross street, standing under the sign that Dean looked back down at Sam.
“Shit, Sammy—” he cut himself off as he brushed Sam’s limp hair out of his face, his eyebrows drawing together. “Here, it’s better than nothing.”
He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around Sam’s shivering form. It hung down to his knees, and if he put his arms through it his hands wouldn’t come out the bottom of the sleeves. The most comfort it brought him was that it smelled like Dean. Sam pulled it tight around himself, like it was Dean wrapped around him.
Sam felt him grab onto the back of the jacket as they started the trek back to the motel, and of everything that Sam could have worried about, he hoped the candy wouldn’t be waterlogged.
—
It hadn’t taken long for Sam to fall asleep once they got back to the motel. He shrugged Dean’s wet jacket off of his shoulders, trudged over to the bed and collapsed before Dean could lock the door. His pillowcase of candy slumped off the side of the bed and Dean picked it up, placing it on the nightstand before he pulled off Sam’s muddy sneakers. The TV was playing It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown and Dean resisted the urge to change the channel to something scarier—preferably with blood and boobs. He guessed Sam was still a bit too young to get the appeal of slasher movies.
Dean grabbed a mini Butterfinger from the bag and popped it into his mouth as Charlie Brown had his bald head turned into a Jack o’ Lantern.
The lamp on the nightstand was casting a warm glow on Sam’s face, and Dean kept it on as he slid into bed with Sam. Dad got a single under the assumption that Dean would sleep on the couch, but Sam still liked to share. As Dean got under the covers, Sam scooted closer to him and put an arm over his brother, his cheek squished against his shoulder. His nose and cheeks were flushed red, and Dean hoped that Sam wouldn’t wake up with a cold.
He smiled down at Sam, wrapping the arm he was lying on around his back and encouraging him to stay in place. The heating situation was a joke and Sam, cold as he could be, was better than nothing.
Dean’s eyes were starting to close as the local news came on, the anchor dressed in a terrible vampire costume and speaking almost incoherently around a pair of plastic fangs. He nestled closer to Sam, feeling the dampness of his costume starting to seep into his own clothes but disregarding it. A report about an elderly couple’s house getting egged sent him to sleep.