The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphors (halfshellvenus) wrote,
The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphors

Supernatural Gen Fiction: Candy Apples and Vampire Teeth

Title: Candy Apples and Vampire Teeth
Author: HalfshellVenus
Characters: Dean and others (Gen, some AU)
Rating: PG
Summary: Five Halloween Trick-or-treat monsters Dean didn't face as a child.
Author’s Notes: Kid!Fic written for spn_halloween prompt #91. Some of the stories are a bit AU, but that's how these things usually go.


The Fairy Princess
The first time Dean was a cowboy for Halloween, he was four. He had the hat and boots and vest, a plaid shirt and jeans, and a brown and white stick-pony to ride from house to house. The neighbors pinched his cheeks, but he got a ton of candy and it was one of the best Halloweens ever.

At age five, Dean had a ghost costume, which he decided later was boring. At six he was a Ninja warrior, which was very cool. But the costume was mostly black, and his parents spoiled it by making him wear a pair of dorky lights on the front and back so cars could see him.

At seven Dean decided to relive past glories and be a cowboy again. He was too old for the stick-pony, he told his mother—he wasn’t a baby anymore. So the pony stayed at home in its forgotten corner of the toy closet. Mary had found Dean a leather vest with matching chaps, and they were the most awesome things ever! He even had a set of fake six-guns and little spurs on his boots. For a week, he came home from school and dressed up in his costume, pulling his guns on himself in the mirror and practicing looking deadly.

Halloween night was warm and humid that year, as Dean and Mary walked down the street from house to house.

Julia Stevens came the other way down the sidewalk just as Dean and Mary turned the corner.

“Hi, Dean,” she said, fluttering her dark eyelashes and giving him a goopy smile.

“Hi, Julia,” he answered. “Why do you have wings and a crown?”

“I’m a fairy princess!” she said, twirling so he could see the whole effect.

“That’s silly,” Dean laughed. “There’s no such thing as fairy princesses. You should pick either princess or fairy, not both.”

Julia stopped in mid-twirl. “There are so fairy princesses!” she said, whacking Dean with her sparkly pink wand.

Dean backed away in astonishment, rubbing his arm.

“Why do you have to be so mean, Dean Winchester?” Julia stomped her foot at him and ran off after her mother.

“What’d I do?” Dean asked plaintively.

“Never insult a lady’s clothes, her hair, or her shoes,” Mary said with a hint of a smile. She put her hand around Dean’s shoulder, guiding him up to the next house.

“Her shoes?” Dean said, like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

Girls were weird, he decided, as he stepped forward to ring the doorbell.

Except for Mommy, who got him this costume and made him cookies, and sometimes explained stuff (sort of).

Dean smiled. Mommy was the best.

The Axe Murderer
“Daddy, do you think Sammy knows what Halloween means this year?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” John chuckled. “Seems to me you were almost three before you finally understood what to do with the candy you got. You always liked the costumes, though.”

“I still don’t see why we can’t have Halloween every day,” Dean grumbled.

“I’m pretty sure every kid your age wants to know exactly the same thing.”

“Daddy, wook— punkin,” Sammy pointed. They turned up a walkway lined with plastic pumpkins and ghost candles and Dean rang the doorbell expectantly.

“Mooah-ha-ha-ha-ha!” a voice rang out. Dean grabbed Sammy and crowded back against their father.

The door opened into a dark entry way, where a high-school kid lurked with a bloody plastic axe and a maniacal grin on his face. “Come for a piece of something?” he snarled.

“Daddy!” Dean shrieked, burying his face in John’s leg.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” John bellowed.

“It’s… uh… it’s Halloween,” the kid said tentatively.

“Scaring a bunch of little kids like that—I oughta come in there and tan your hide right now!” John said, holding Sam and Dean close.

“Sorry!” the kid said. “I didn’t…I wouldn’t…here.” He thrust the bowl of candy at them.

“Do you think that makes up for terrorizing my boys with your sick costume?”

“No, I—no sir!”

“Then take it off and turn the light on inside the house. Just hand out the candy and behave yourself, son, and nobody gets hurt.”

The kid shut the door shamefacedly, and John and the boys walked back down to the sidewalk.

“I didn’t like that man, Daddy,” Dean said in a small voice once the house was far behind them.

John lifted Sammy up in his arms and ruffled Dean’s hair as they went on to the next lit-up doorway. “Neither did I, Dean,” he said gruffly. “Neither did I.”

The Bumblebee
“Oh, aren’t you just adorable!” the woman squeeled.

She leaned down and reached right past Dean to where Sammy stood unsteadily in his bee costume. Sammy’s huge eyes filled his face under the fuzzy black hood and droopy, waving antennae, and wisps of soft baby hair peeked out at the edges. He flapped his arms in excitement as the woman cooed and smiled at him, and the shiny wings at the back of the costume bounced in response.

“I just can’t stand it,” the woman laughed, putting two pieces of candy into Sammy’s trick-or-treat bag.

She noticed Dean in his skeleton costume then. Dean might as well have been dressed as a rock.

“Oh, and you too of course,” she said, dropping a single piece of candy into his bag.

“Happy Halloween!” she called to Sammy as he toddled off down the driveway. Dean trudged off after him, only halfway through what was shaping up to be a long and disappointing night.

The Zombie
There were two houses that Dean loved the most on Halloween.

One had cobwebs in the trees and pumpkin lights in the bushes, and there was always a giant happy ghost hanging at an angle inside the front porch. The Macklebys always gave out the big candy bars, and their daughter sometimes babysat for Dean’s parents.

The other house was surrounded by big oak trees, with warm red and orange balls in the branches and two hurricane lamps on the railing to light the way. That house was always as welcoming as the friend of Mommy’s who lived there, and the treats were always different (and delicious to boot).

Dean ran up to knock on the door, nearly stumbling over the steps in his eagerness to make it there first.

A cheerful laugh leaked through the door before its owner could get it open, but then there she was, as pleased to seem them as ever.

“Missouri!” Dean bounced. “See my costume?” he said happily. “And Sammy’s too?”

“Oh, don’t you boys look wonderful,” Missouri smiled broadly. “A white knight and his little horse—you’re just the cutest things ever.” She crouched down to give the boys a hug, and her arms smelled like flowers and spice.

“What’d you make this year, huh?” Dean asked.

“Molasses crinkle cookies, like my Aunt Lila taught me when I was your age.” She brought out a plate, the cookies still warm from the oven.

“Mmmmm! Sammy, want one?”

“You too, Mary—why you waitin’ over there in the shadows, honey?”

Mary laughed. “I thought I’d give the boys a chance to make their own impression.”

“Well they did just fine. Seems they’re bigger than when I saw them just last month.”

“And eating to make up for it, too," Mary gasped. "Boys!” The two of them looked at her, mouths crammed full and crumbs dribbling down their chins.

“It’s all right,” Missouri laughed. “They just bein’ boys, that’s all. Take another, before you go on down to the Lowrys.”

“Say thank you boys, and let’s leave some cookies for Missouri’s other guests.”

“Thank you!” Dean said as he scrambled down off the porch.

“Bye, Zoori!” Sam followed more slowly, taking the stairs one careful step at a time.

“You boys be good, y’hear?” Missouri called after them.

Dean skipped down the sidewalk clutching Sam’s furry pony paw in one hand and his plastic sword in the other. Mary brought up the rear with their trick-or-treat bags.

Something stepped out of the shadows in front of the boys, and Dean stopped short and gasped.

The face looking at him was horrible—a loose bulging eye on one side, peeling skin and blood on the other.

The creature turned and lurched away, crossing the street and continuing on.

“Mommy?” Dean said fearfully.

“It’s all right, honey,” she said behind him. “It’s just someone in a zombie costume, that’s all. It isn’t real.”

“Are you sure, Mommy? It looked really real to me. Sammy too,” Dean said, holding Sammy closer.

“I promise,” Mary reassured him. “There are no such things as zombies.”

Dean was serious a moment longer, and then nodded.

“C’mon Sammy—let’s see if the Lowrys put out a scarecrow this year.”

The two of them scampered down the street as if nothing had happened, their fear forgotten in the promise of the evening still to come.

The Greedy Teenager
When the doorbell rang, Dean didn’t hesitate to open it. No werewolves or zombies visible through the peephole, and there was a solid line of rock salt under the doorway hidden out of sight.

The front porch of their two-bedroom rental was filled with an acne-faced teenager in street clothes holding a pillowcase.

“What.” Dean said.

“Trick or treat, dude,” the kid said. He held out his pillowcase.

“What are you, fifteen?” Dean asked. He was thirteen himself, and he hadn’t gone door-to-door for three years now.

“So? It’s still Halloween.”

“And you should be home handing out candy, like all the other kids that’re too old to trick or treat,” Dean shot back.

“Trick, dude…,” the kid said meaningfully, gesturing out toward the trees in the front yard.

Dean reached behind the door for the shotgun, cocking it and raising it in one swift motion.

“How about you grow up now, instead,” Dean said huskily.

“Wha—? Aaaah!” the kid screamed, stumbling over himself in his rush to get out of the yard.

Dean looked down at the pillowcase full of candy sitting on the porch, and smiled.

“What’s going on out there, Dean?” John called from the living room sofa.

“Nothing,” Dean said loudly.

He laid the shotgun against the wall and took the pillowcase to his room, whistling as he went.

Happy Halloween to me, he thought cheerfully, eating a Snickers bar as he counted through his hoard.

-------- fin --------

Tags: halloween, holiday, my_fic, sn_gen, wee-winchesters

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    I know this probably isn't news to people living in Europe, but it's the first I've heard of it, and it cracks me up. Can you imagine? Walrus:…

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