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Story notes:
This was my response to the UnGen Halloween challenge. I hope you all enjoy it :D
Chapter notes:
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Sam Winchester doesn’t like Halloween.

Actually, Sam Winchester loathes and despises Halloween with every fiber of his being, but for less obvious reasons than his older brother probably thinks. And he doesn’t mind this one thing being a secret, as un-secretive as it really is.

Because Dean shies away from this kind of topic, this kind of conversation. Sam tries to get him to open up, but it’s mostly useless since Dean has to do it on his own or not at all.


They’re walking home from school when Sam looks up and asks, “Do you think Dad will let us go trick-or-treating this year, Dean?”

Dean snorts, in that all-knowing, big brother kind of way and says, “Trick-or-treating is for babies, Sammy, and I‘m not a baby.”

Sam sniffs and wraps his hand tighter around Dean’s fingers. He doesn’t mention how he saw Dean staring at that pirate costume the other day when they went shopping for new boots.


Sam could be described as the wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve type of guy, and he knows this. He’s used to Dean teasing him about acting like a girl.

He usually gets Dean back by putting hot sauce in his coke when he‘s not looking.


Sam prods him, ignoring the rule about sharing their feelings. Dean may not open up easily, but Sam never stops trying.

“How could you do it, Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes from where he’s sitting on the bed, the torn skin on his cheek the smallest reminder of the night before (not to mention the cast on his leg, the sling around his arm, and the fact that he was unconscious and bleeding all over Sam’s hands for nearly twenty minutes on their way to the hospital).

“Do we really have to talk about this? Because my head is killing me and I’m not in the mood to sit here and listen to you mope.”

“I’m not moping,” Sam huffs. He moves a little closer when Dean turns to grab his water. “I could have dodged it, Dean.”

There’s a loud gulp as Dean sips, and he keeps his gaze from meeting Sam’s.

Sam wishes he would look him in the eye, but he’ll never say it out loud, because Dean would call him a pansy.

Dean won’t look at him because he knows Sam can see right through him.

They’re quiet for a few minutes now, watching news reports about tainted Halloween candy, Sam slowly inching closer until he’s wedged in between the wall and Dean’s good shoulder. If his older brother is annoyed by the touch, he doesn’t say so.

Finally, “I wasn’t going to let you get mauled by a freaking werewolf, Sammy.”

But Sam already knows that.


Dean does take Sam trick-or-treating that night. They’ve made their own costumes.

Sam is happy until they get pushed around on their way home by some older kids who decided to pick on his superhero cape. Dean doesn’t take lightly to Sam getting picked on.

They spend the rest of the night in the ER, Dean’s face beaten bloody. He’ll have a scar on his forehead to remind Sam for the rest of his life how Dean almost died for a plastic pumpkin full of candy.


It’s Sam’s first (and probably only) chance to go to an actual costume party at a school where he actually has a few friends, and even likes a girl, who likes him back.

“But I have a date, Dad! Can’t I just be a regular teenager for like, once in my life!” He’s fourteen and whining like a four year old, but who cares?

“We need you, Sam. I don’t wanna hear anymore, alright?” John says it in that way where Sam knows he shouldn‘t open his mouth again.

He retaliates by shutting his bedroom door a lot harder than he needs to.


“A haunted hayride?”

“Think we’ll meet some hot chicks? I bet we’ll meet some hot chicks, they dig haunted hayrides.”

Sam cringes at the old slang. “We’ll be digging their graves if we’re not careful, Dean. This trail is seriously haunted?”

“Would Dad have sent us here if it weren’t?”

Sam shrugs. He’s not sure he knows anymore.

But when he’s clamping his t-shirt down on Dean’s thigh, the blood soaking through so heavily Sam can hear it squelching beneath his fingers, he remembers just how much he hates this job, this life, this damn day.

Always this day.


“It’s not as bad as it looks, Sammy.”

Dean is lying sprawled out on the ground holding his gut, blood dripping through his fingers. Sam is far from convinced.

“I don’t care! You‘re lying in a pool of your own blood, Dean!”

Dean winces and Sam isn’t sure it’s because he’s yelling or because his brother is in that much pain. It sure as hell looks painful.

“Dude, stop with the freaking out, would ya, and help me up.”

Sam cringes and pulls out his cell phone. “Don’t you dare move, Dean, or I swear I’ll finish what that damn monster started.” It’s an empty threat, and Sam knows Dean knows. He still tries.

“It’s not even that deep! I can stitch it up myself.” He’s shaking and Sam notices but doesn’t say anything. A few hot tears escape his eyes and he brushes them away as he fumbles to open his cell phone.

“What did I say about chick-flick moments?” Dean growls, still pretending it doesn’t hurt that much. He’s trying to grab the phone out of Sam’s hands.

“This isn’t a chick-flick moment, Dean, it’s a Die Hard moment!” Sam dials 911 and pushes Dean’s hand away.

With a sigh, Dean clutches his other hand to his stomach. “As long as I get to be McClane.”

“Ha!” Sam snorts as the phone rings. “Right now, you’re the random guy who dies.”

Sam watches his eyes drift closed and the last thing out of his mouth is, “At least I’m not the lame-ass sidekick.”


They make it back before the dance and nobody is bleeding. Sam is so relieved that he only punches Dean once when he says Sam looks like a girl in his Prince Charming costume.


One of the Fraternities on campus is having a Halloween party. Sam wants to stay in the dorms and hide under his blankets, holding his breath, waiting for the night to just end. But Jess insists, so he pushes the knot in his stomach down, grins and bears it.

Bobby calls a little while later.

“He’s in surgery right now, they haven’t said much after shockin’ him back to life.”

Sam will spend the next few hours in the bathroom throwing up and everyone will think it’s because he’s had too much punch.


It’s his fourth period algebra teacher who pulls him from the crowded gymnasium and gives him the news.

Sam suddenly can’t feel his feet.

When he finally gets to the hospital, his brother is conscious. He tries to apologize, but Dean won’t let him finish.

“Kinda funny though, right?” Dean says into Sam’s hair. He’s clutching his older brother as tightly as he can without hurting him. “Get rid of a whole house full of angry spirits without a scratch, only to get plowed into by a drunken son of a bitch on my way to school to pick you up.”

He laughs a short, breathless laugh. Sam has nightmares about it for months afterwards.


Sam can’t sleep. He can’t stop staring at Dean’s crumpled form. He’s clutching, moaning, and Sam isn’t sure why.

They had been laughing just an hour ago.

He calls Dad in and Dean curses. Sam doesn’t care, and Dean can yell all he wants later. Sam just wants to make sure he’s around to do it.

“Up you get, Dean. Let’s get you to the car.” John practically carries Dean to the truck, Sam close behind.

He has a ruptured spleen, and Sam realizes he could have died because of it. Because a bunch of stupid kids go to stay at that stupid haunted house every stupid Halloween.

He finds out later how Dean failed to mention being thrown into the side of a table by a very irritated poltergeist.


It’s a few days before Halloween. Dean’s last Halloween.

“Dean, please, just…let’s stay in, alright? Please?” He’s begging. He can hear it in his own voice, and, God, he would beg forever if it came down to it.

Dean is confused, Sam can see it in his eyes. He can always read his brother’s eyes.

“Why? There’s a costume contest going on in the bar down the street. Sexiest costume.” Dean waggles his eyebrows and licks his upper lip, smiling that damn playful smile. “I’m not missing that.”

But Sam insists. He throws himself up against the door.

“I’ll get beer. And Pizza. Candy? Let’s get candy corn! And movies! Halloween? Nightmare on Elm Street? You love those movies!”

And he’s still begging. He’s pleading, his eyes are darting around wildly, unable to focus. He can’t see, he can’t think.

“What the hell, Sammy? You hate candy corn.” But Sam can’t say anything else.

Dean relents, decides he wouldn’t mind spending the night in since he’s tired, anyway.

Sam relaxes. For a little while, at least.

His brother is in the bathroom at 2:30 in the morning throwing his guts up. Turns out the candy corn was tainted.


Sam Winchester doesn’t like Halloween.

He sits in the hospital, watching the rise and fall of his very pale brother’s chest and remembers. He remembers how he always wants to forget.

He remembers how he can’t.
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